Mac had been caught in the same type of media hype, on less of a global scale admittedly, and it had sucked.
Phoenix is currently being treated for depression and begs the media to give her some privacy, he read. He’d heard that Shay had suffered with depression during their breakup and the constant press attention had made the situation ten times worse. He couldn’t do that to Rory, couldn’t risk her like that. Yeah, it was Puerto Rico. Yes, they would be flying under the radar. But it just took one determined paparazzo, one photograph, and their world would implode.
Not happening. He had to keep his hands off her.
“You look like your brain is going to explode,” Rory softly said.
Mac rolled his head on his shoulders and watched as she stretched. “It feels that way,” he admitted, knowing he had to address this longing for her. Now or never, he thought.
You won’t die if you don’t have sex. You might think you are going to, but you won’t.
Mac rubbed his temples again. “Look, Rory, I’ve been thinking.”
Rory sent him an uncertain look. “Uh-huh?”
“Despite my smart comments about us sleeping together and that hot kiss, maybe it would be better if we didn’t. Sleep together, that is.”
He couldn’t help noticing the immediate flash of relief in her eyes. So something had shifted in her after that bizarre conversation with her father. When she’d returned from the bathroom, sexy Rory had disappeared and had been replaced with enigmatic Rory. He still didn’t know what to make of that.
“Want to clue me in on why you’ve had a change of heart?”
You scare the crap out of me? When I’m with you I feel like I am on shifting sand? I don’t want to see you hurt or scared or feeling hunted?
Yeah, he couldn’t admit to any of the above.
So he fudged the truth. “My arm is killing me. I’d like to get to the house and chill, take my meds and just zone out for a while. I want to relax and not have to worry about you or keeping you happy, in bed or out.” Mac stared past her to look out the window. “I’d like us to play it cool, just be friends.” Because he was a man and believed in keeping his options open, he tacked on a proviso. “For now?”
Rory didn’t answer, her gray eyes contemplative. “Sure. Fine.”
Mac watched her out of the corner of his eye and sighed. Fine. God, he hated that word, especially when a woman stated it in that hard-to-read way. What did it actually mean? Was she okay with waiting? Was she pissed? Did she actually want to say “Screw you”?
Sometimes, most times, women made no sense. At all.
Rory loved the Cap de Mar beach house. Shortly after her arrival, she claimed one of the smaller guest rooms, partly because it had an excellent view of the U-shaped bay and mostly because it was a floor below and a long way from the massive master suite.
She pulled on a bikini, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and, walking barefoot, she set out to explore the house. As Mac had said, the living areas, sitting and dining room and the kitchen were all open-plan, leading onto a massive balcony filled with comfortable chairs and daybeds either under the balcony roof or under umbrellas. Tucked into the corner of the balcony was a huge Jacuzzi and she could easily imagine sitting in that tub watching the sun go down.
It was mid-afternoon now, Rory thought, resting her elbows on the railing and looking down into the sparkling pool below her. In a perfect world she’d like to take a swim, lie in the sun and then sit on the beach with a glass of white wine in her hand and wait for the sun to paint the horizon in Day-Glo colors. That, she thought, would be a wonderful end to a rather difficult day...
Rory saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Mac step out of his bedroom through the doors that led straight onto this balcony. He’d shucked his jeans and shirt and pulled on a pair of board shorts. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Why should he? He had a torso to die for.
The rest of him was pretty spectacular too.
Rory huffed out a sigh. She had to corral her overexcited hormones. Speaking of hormones, she’d been caught flat-footed at Mac’s suggestion they postpone sleeping together. She hadn’t expected Mac would let his arm get in the way of pleasure, or that he was humble enough to admit he was in pain and needed some time.
Mac, barefoot, walked over and gestured to the cove. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Gorgeous,” Rory agreed. “It almost feels like we are part of the beach.”
Mac half smiled. “That was the intention when I designed it. I wanted to bring the outdoors in.”
“You designed this?”
Mac sat down on a daybed and leaned back, placing his good hand under his head. His biceps bulged, his shoulder flexed and the rest of him rippled as he swung his legs up onto the cushions. “Yeah.”
She remembered something about him and architecture, about studying it in college. When he was dating Shay, he’d just completed some business courses and Rory had been super impressed that he’d managed to study and still play for the Mavericks. He hadn’t needed to study further; he was earning enough with his salary and endorsements that, if he invested it properly, he could live comfortably for a very long time.
This wasn’t living comfortably, Rory thought, looking around. This was living large. An island home on a secluded beach translated into big-boy money. She recalled what Troy had said about him and his friends investing in property and businesses, and her curiosity had her asking, “How many properties do you own? How many businesses do you have?”
Mac looked at her from below half-closed eyes. “Enough.” He yawned and dropped his arm to pick up a pillow and shove it behind his head. “You want a statement of my assets and liabilities, Rory?”
Rory flushed. Okay, admittedly, she had no right to ask him that; they weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. And she’d rather die than ask any of her other clients such a personal question.
“Kade, Quinn and I have our own projects but a lot of our assets are held together in a partnership, and all the assets we share have to generate an income, this house included. It’s our rule. If it doesn’t make money, we ditch it. That is why we get to use this property but, for the most part, it’s rented out. Not so much during the summer months because it’s so damn hot and it’s hurricane season.”
Rory darted a quick look toward the endlessly blue horizon. “Hurricanes?”
“They happen,” Mac replied. “They aren’t that bad. A lot of wind, a lot of rain.”
“Super,” Rory said drily.
Mac shifted in his seat and winced when he moved his injured arm, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Did you take your painkillers and the anti-inflammatory pills?” Rory demanded.
“Yes, Mom, that’s why I’m feeling so damn sleepy,” Mac murmured. He waved a hand toward the house. “Food and drinks in the kitchen. I asked our rental agent to arrange for someone to stock the place. I’ve also arranged for someone to come and clean and do laundry a couple of times a week. Otherwise we’re on our own.”
On our own was a phrase she did not need to hear.
“Okay,” Rory said, watching him fight sleep.
“Jeep in the garage. Keys in the kitchen. San Juan is thirty-five minutes away, north. Casinos, restaurants five minutes away, south.” Mac yawned again. “Make yourself at home.”
“Will do,” Rory said, but she doubted he’d heard her because he’d drifted