Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

Troy groaned. “Oh, God.”

Rory ignored his protest “—you will consider borrowing some money from me to move your mom into that home.”

Troy sighed. “Diabolical.”

Rory’s smile was smug. “I try.”

Eleven

Mac ran a hand through his hair and unbuttoned the jacket to his gray suit. He took a sip of his whiskey and looked at his watch; Rory was late but that was okay. He needed a moment to himself, to think, even if he had to take that moment while standing in a crowded cocktail bar, surrounded by his friends and colleagues. He sipped again and ignored the pain in his arm—thanks to his session on the ice—and the noise around him, ignored the insults, jokes and crude comments flying over his head. The pain wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be but he definitely didn’t have the power and strength in the limb that he was used to. His teammates had tried to cover for him and he was grateful for their efforts. Hopefully they’d done a good enough job to fool Bayliss.

On the plus side, Mac thought, Rory had arrived at the practice. He’d been surprised at the relief he felt, astonished that as soon as he saw her, his heart rate accelerated but his soul settled down.

She was there. Everything was all right in his world. When had that happened? When had she become so important to his emotional well-being that she could calm him with one look, with one sarcastic comment?

If you do any more damage I will personally kick your ass.

It wasn’t an “I love you” or “I will support you no matter what,” but it was Rory’s version of “Okay, this one time, I’ll trust you.” He could work with that.

God, he wanted to work through whatever this was with her. Was it love? He didn’t know, but he knew it was something. Many women had caught his eye over the years, and he’d slept with quite a few of them—probably more than he should have—but Rory was still the only person who’d come close to capturing his heart.

But...and, hell, there was always a but, Mac thought, staring down at the floor between his feet. But he didn’t know if he could spend the rest of his life reassuring her that he wouldn’t cheat, that he wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t cheat, but there would come a time when he disappointed her, when he wouldn’t be there for her, when things went wrong. Would she bail at the first hint of trouble or would she cut him some slack?

He was a man, one with little experience of this thing called a relationship or how to be in it, and he knew, for sure, that he’d mess up. When he did, and it was a when and not an if, would she talk it out or would she walk? If she walked, would he be able to stand it? The rational side of him suggested it might be better not to take the chance, to call it quits now before anyone—him—got hurt. That would be the clever, the practical, the smart thing to do.

Except that would mean not having Rory in his life, and he didn’t think he could go back to his empty life, hopping from one feminine bed to another. Nor did he think he could become a monk. Both options sucked. Mac scrubbed his hand over his face...

Relationships were so damn complicated and exhausting.

“Mac.”

Quinn nudged his elbow into Mac’s ribs and Mac turned to look down into the weathered face of Kade’s investor. He’d changed into an ugly brown suit and combed his thin hair but he still didn’t look like someone who could provide what they needed. Don’t judge a book by its cover, Mac reminded himself. The granddaughter looked spectacular, Mac noticed, because he was a man and that was what men did. Her bright red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and her wide eyes darted between him, Kade and Quinn.

Kade cleared his throat. “Mr. Bayliss, meet Mac McCaskill. Mac, Mr. Bayliss and his granddaughter, Wren.”

Mac shook the man’s hand with its surprisingly strong grip and made the appropriate comments. After they exchanged the usual pleasantries, Kade and Quinn drew Wren into another conversation and Mac tried not to squirm when Bayliss regarded him with a steady, penetrating look. “You’ve definitely lost power in your arm. Your slap shot was weak and ineffectual.”

Hell, Mac had hoped he wouldn’t notice. The old man was sharper than he looked. Mac pasted a nothing-to-worry-about expression on his face and shrugged. “I pulled a muscle a while back and this was my first practice. It’ll be fine soon. I’m regaining power every day.”

“We’ll see. I’m not sure if you will ever regain your form.”

Mac felt like the old man had sucker-punched him. “That’s not something you need to worry about.” He forced himself to keep his voice even. “I will be back to full strength soon and I will lead this team next season.”