Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

“Oh, my God,” Rory said, pulling her hand through the water, hoping to catch a star. “That’s amazing. What is it?”

“Dinoflagellates,” Mac replied. “Prehistoric one-celled organisms, half animal, half plant. When they are disturbed, they respond by glowing like fireflies.”

“They are marvelous. So incredibly beautiful.”

“Worth the effort?” Mac asked, lazily turning around to look at her.

Rory leaned forward to rest her temple on his shoulder. “So worth it. Thank you.” A fish approached the kayak and darted underneath, leaving a blue streak to mark his route.

Mac reached for her hand. Their fingers linked but cupped, they lowered them into the water. When they lifted them out it looked like they held sparkling glitter. The water dropped back into the lagoon, and when the initial glow subsided, the glitter still danced in the water.

“The mangroves feed the organisms, releasing vitamin B12 into the water. This, with sunlight, keeps them alive,” Mac told her.

Her heart thumped erratically, her fingers, in his, trembled. With want. And need. With the sheer delight of being utterly alone with him in this bay, playing in Mother Nature’s jewelry box. She wanted more experiences like this with Mac. She wanted to experience the big and small of life with him. The big, like seeing the bay sparkle, the small, like sharing a Sunday-morning cup of coffee.

She wanted more than she should. She wanted it all.

Rory dipped her paddle into the water and looked at the sparkling outline...spectacular. She knew Mac was watching her profile, his gaze all coiled grace and ferocious intent.

This was beautiful. He was beautiful, too, Rory thought. But like the bioluminescent streaks, he was fleeting.

She could enjoy him, marvel over him, admire him, but he was so very, very temporary.

Nine

There was too much resistance in his arm, Rory thought, frowning. On day twenty-one of physio, a month after his injury she stood behind Mac, gently massaging his bicep and trying to figure out why he was having a buildup of lactic acid in his muscle. The resistance exercises she’d given him shouldn’t have made this much of an impact. She’d been very careful to keep the exercises low-key, making sure the muscle wasn’t stressed more than it needed to be.

Unless...she stiffened as a thought slapped her. Hell, no, he couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

Rory held his arm, her hand perfectly still as she turned that thought over in her mind. He wouldn’t be sneaky enough to go behind her back and push himself, would he?

Oh, yeah, he would.

“Problem?” Mac tipped his head back and she looked into those gorgeous, inky eyes. Look at him, all innocent. Rory whipped around the bed and stood next to him, her hands gripping her hips and her mouth tight with anger.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” she demanded, making an effort to keep her anger in control.

Mac sat up slowly, and she saw he was deciding whether to bluff his way out of the situation. It would be interesting to see which way he swung, Rory thought. Would he be a grown-up and come clean, or would he act like he had no idea what she was talking about?

“I knew that I could push a little harder,” Mac replied in a cool, even tone.

Points to him that he didn’t try to duck the subject. Or lie.

“Did you get a physiotherapy degree in the last month or so, smarty-pants?”

Mac ignored her sarcasm. “I know my body, Rory. I know what I can handle.”

“And I have a master’s degree in physiotherapy specializing in sports injuries, you moron! I know what can go wrong if you push too hard too fast!” Rory yelled, deeply angry. “Are you so arrogant you think you know better than I do? That my degrees mean nothing because you know your body?”

“I utterly respect what you do,” Mac calmly stated, linking his hands on his stomach, “but you don’t seem to understand that this body is my tool, my machine. I know it inside out and I need you to trust me to know how far I can push myself.”

“You need to trust me to know what’s best for you in this situation,” Rory shouted. “This is a career-threatening injury, Mac!”

“I know that!” Mac raised his voice as well, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Do you not think I don’t lie awake every night wondering if I’m going to regain full movement, whether I’ll be able to compete again? The scenarios run over and over in my head, but I’ve got to keep moving forward. That means working it.”

“That means resting it,” Rory retorted. “You’re pushing too hard.”

“You’re not pushing me enough!” Mac yelled as he stood up. “I can do this, Rory.”