For a moment, Mac looked desolate, then his inscrutable expression fell back into place. He didn’t respond to her question but she knew she’d made her point. “I don’t want you to pussyfoot around me. You push me and you push me hard. As soon as you can.”
He didn’t allow for weakness, Rory thought, his body had to function how he wanted it to. She suspected he carried that trait into his relationships. His way or the highway...
Reason number fifty-four why they would never have managed to make a relationship work.
Going back to their actual conversation and pushing aside the craziness in her head, Rory realized that was the only concession he was prepared to make and she mentally declared their argument a draw. Good enough for her. She stood up to leave and gestured to the folder on the table. “I’ve signed your contract and I’ve been released from my job for ten weeks. We need to set up a schedule for when it’s convenient for me to see you. To check on your mobility, to wrap your arm in the mat.”
Mac shifted on the bed. “Where do you live?”
“I have an apartment in Eastside.”
“I live in Kitsilano, not far from here actually. Commuting to my place three or four times a day is unnecessary. I have a spare room. You should move in.”
Yeah, no way. Ever. That was far more temptation than she could handle. She needed to keep as much distance between them as she possibly could and if that meant trekking across town daily, or three or four times a day, then that was what she would do. She and Mac together in a house, alone, was asking for trouble. Trouble she needed like a hole in her heart.
Rory slowly shook her head.
“C’mon, Rory, it’s not a big deal.” Mac was obviously used to women moving in to his house on a regular basis but she wasn’t going to follow those lemmings off a cliff. Nope, she’d deal with the devil if it meant the chance to run her own clinic, to treat her patients the way she wanted to, but she’d keep this particular devil at a safe distance.
“I’ll live with the driving.” She pulled her cell from her back pocket. “What’s your address?”
Mac told her and also gave her his cell number, handing his phone to her so she could input hers into his state-of-the-art phone. When they were done, Rory looked at the door. She should leave. She picked up her bag and pulled it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later this evening. Around five?”
Mac nodded. She was almost at the door when Mac spoke again. “Are we not going to discuss it? At all? Pretend it didn’t exist?”
Rory turned around slowly and lifted her hands. “What’s the point? You insulted her on national television, we almost kissed, my sister heard us talking. She had to deal with a broken heart while she was stalked and hassled by the press. And she didn’t talk to me for months.”
Mac’s jaw tightened and his lips thinned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”
“You weren’t thinking at all that day,” Rory told him, her voice tart. “Admittedly, I wasn’t either.” Rory exhaled. “Look, it happened a long time ago and there’s nothing to talk about.”
Mac released a laugh that was heavy with derision and light on joy. “You’re right. Nothing...except that the chemistry hasn’t gone away. We’re still attracted to each other.”
She wished she could deny it but that would be a bald-faced lie, and she suspected Mac could still read her like a book. “I don’t sleep with my patients.”
Mac didn’t look convinced. “You think we can resist each other? We’ll be spending an enormous amount of time together and biology is biology.”
“Unlike you, I can control myself,” Rory told him primly.
Mac lifted an arrogant eyebrow. “Really? You think chemistry like ours just evaporates?” Mac snorted. “So if I kiss you, right here, right now...you can resist me?”
Rory rolled her eyes. “I know you find this hard to believe but there are women who can.”
Mac smiled slowly. “You’re not one of them.”
Unfortunately he was probably right. Not that Rory would allow him to put his theory to the test. He’d already kissed her once and, despite the fact that he’d been as high as a kite, the kiss had blown her boots off. There was no way she would confirm his suspicions.
“Get over yourself, McCaskill. You’re confusing me with those pretty, brainless bunnies that drop in and out of your life.”
Mac took a step closer and his hurt arm brushed her chest. “Jealous?”
She wasn’t even going to ask herself that question, mostly because she wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that she wasn’t jealous. Rory made an effort to look condescending. For good measure, she patted his cheek. “Bless your delusional little heart.”
Mac’s eyes darkened with fury, or lust, who knew, and he wrapped his good arm around her waist and pulled her up onto her toes, slamming his mouth against hers. No drugs affected his performance this time. This was Mac, pure and undiluted.
He didn’t tease or tangle. The kiss was hard, demanding, harsh and urgent. Hot. On his lips she could taste her own bubblegum-flavored lip balm mixed with his toothpaste and the stringent tang of the mouthwash he must’ve used earlier. Rory felt his hand drop down her back to palm her butt, kneading her cheek until she was squirming, trying to get closer, needing to climb inside his mouth, his skin, to feel wrapped up within his heat...
Mac jerked back. “Dammithell.” These words were followed by a string of others and it took Rory a minute to realize that his pale face and harsh breathing wasn’t a result of the kiss, but from her bumping his injured arm.
She winced and lifted her hands to do something to help. When he took another step back she realized she’d done more than enough. Of everything.
Rory watched as Mac slowly straightened, as his breathing evened out. When she was sure he wasn’t about to fall over, she slapped her hands on her hips. “That’s not happening again. Ever.”
One corner of Mac’s mouth lifted to pull his lips up into a cocky smile. “Of course it won’t,” he replied, his voice oozing sarcasm. “Because we have no chemistry and you can resist me.”
Lord give me patience. Rory yanked the door open and barreled into the passageway. Because if You give me strength I’m going to need bail money, as well.
She’d had her hand on his crotch.
His life was currently a trash fire—messy and ugly—and all he could think about was how Rory’s fingers felt brushing across his junk, how much he wanted her hand encircling his erection, how nobody had ever managed to set his blood on fire like that pint-size fairy who needed her attitude adjusted.
Mac glared at the half-open door, dropped into the chair and leaned his head back against the wall. He was not having a good day; it was just another day from hell in a series of hellish days in Hell City. He hadn’t felt this crazy since that disaster ten years ago.
Wah, wah, wah... Admittedly, he sounded like a whiny ten-year-old, but wasn’t he allowed to? Just this once? He hadn’t been this unsure of his future since he’d hitched a ride out of his hometown fifteen years ago. And even then, he hadn’t been that worried. He’d made excellent grades in school and a rare talent on the ice had translated into a full scholarship to college. He’d then been recruited to play for the Mavericks and earned serious money. By investing in companies and start-ups, he’d earned more. Considerably more. He was, by anyone’s definition, a success. He was living the life, incredibly wealthy,