Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

She wanted to be petty and tell him to go to hell but she knew he was stubborn enough to dress himself. One fight at a time, Rory thought.

“Yes. If you take some painkillers,” Rory stated, her tone discouraging any arguments. “You look like a breath of wind could blow you over, Mac, and there is no way anyone will believe you have a slight sprain if you walk into that room looking like that. Painkillers...that’s my demand.”

“They make me feel like hell. Spacey and out of control,” Mac muttered.

“I have some in my bag. They aren’t as strong as yours but they’ll take the edge off.” Rory looked at her watch. “What time do you need to leave for this party?”

“Kade and Quinn should be here any moment.” A door slammed below them and the corner of Mac’s mouth kicked up. “Speaking of the devil and his sidekick...”

“Who is the devil and who is the sidekick?” Rory asked.

“Depends on the occasion. We all have our moments.”

Now that she could believe. Rory jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels. “I’ll run downstairs to get those painkillers and one of your sidekicks can come back up and help you dress.”

“Aw, they aren’t as pretty as you. Nor do they smell as good.”

“I’m not so sure...they are both very pretty and they do smell good,” she teased.

Mac sent her a narrow-eyed look. “Do not flirt with my friends.”

He sounded jealous. But that was probably just her imagination running off again.

“Why on earth not?” Rory asked, deliberately ignoring the heat building between her legs and the thump-thump of her heartbeat.

“I wouldn’t like it,” Mac growled.

Rory forced herself to do a massive eye roll as she edged her way to the door. “I think you are confusing me with someone who might actually give a damn.”

“Rory?”

When she turned, Mac did a slow perusal of her body. She felt like he’d plugged her into the electricity grid. “Seriously, no flirting.”

“Seriously, you’re an idiot.” Rory made a big production of her sigh. “They really should invent a vaccine to prevent that.”

* * *

The next morning Mac, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, walked into his kitchen and, ignoring his two friends sitting at his table, headed straight for the coffeepot. Filling a cup to the brim, he gulped a sip, shuddered, swallowed another mouthful and prayed the caffeine would hit his system in the next thirty seconds. He felt like death warmed over. His arm was on fire, his head was pounding and he wanted to climb back into bed and sleep for a week. He supposed being out last night and pretending he was fine contributed to his less than stellar mood.

As did the drugs and the anesthetic, he realized. It always took time for drugs to work their way out of his system. He felt like a wet blanket was draped over his head. He’d work through it, as he always did.

He jerked his head at his friends and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Rory?”

“She went home,” Quinn replied, taking a donut from the box on the table and biting into it.

“But...” Mac frowned, looking toward the front door. “I thought she was here earlier. She wrapped that mat thing around my arm.”

“She was. Now she’s gone,” Quinn replied, stretching out his long legs. “Need anything? I can make eggs.”

Mac shook his head, smiling internally. Quinn, their resident badass, was a nurturer at heart, intent on making the world around him better and brighter for the people he loved. There weren’t many people he showed his softer side to. To the world he was an adrenaline-addicted bad boy, speed-freak player, but his family and close friends knew he would move heaven and earth for the people he loved.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Kade pushed back his chair and pulled back the cuff of his shirt to look at his watch. It was new, Mac realized, and damn expensive. “I’ve got to get moving, my morning is crazy.”

“Can you give me fifteen minutes?” Mac asked, picking up his coffee. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t want to do this. Frankly he was considering abdicating all his rights to adulthood at this point and going back to bed, but he leaned against the counter and held his cup in his good hand.

“What’s up?” Quinn asked.

“This situation is a classic cluster...” Mac allowed his words to trail away and rubbed the back of his neck. He needed air. This kitchen was far too small for three six-foot-plus men.

“Let’s go outside.” Mac placed his cup on the table and grabbed a donut. Maybe a sugar rush would make him feel better. He took one bite, grimaced and tossed the donut back into the box.