Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

“Or your screams of pleasure when I make you fall apart in my arms,” Mac replied without a second’s hesitation.

Rory’s heart thumped in her chest but she kept her eyes locked on his, refusing to admit he rattled her. Instead of making her furious, as it should, his comments made her entire body hum in anticipation. Her body was very on board with that idea.

Rory folded her arms and rocked on her heels. “I hate it when you say things like that.”

“No, you don’t. You want to hate it because it turns you on.” Mac looked up at the ceiling. When he looked back at her, his expression was rueful. “Ignore me, ignore that.”

She couldn’t do as he asked. They needed to address the pole dancing, come-and-get-me-baby elephant gyrating in the room. “Mac, I don’t know what you think is going to happen in Puerto Rico, but us sleeping together can’t happen, won’t happen.”

“I know why I think it shouldn’t happen. I have a few solid reasons for thinking it would be a hell of a mistake, but I’m interested in hearing yours.”

Rory bit the inside of her lip. God, she couldn’t tell him she thought he was just like her dad, unfaithful. That the fact he’d dated her sister bugged her. Or her personal favorite: that he drove her crazy.

Rory thought fast and latched onto the first reasonable excuse that popped into her head. “I’m on sticky ground here. I shouldn’t treat you and sleep with you—that would be crossing some pretty big lines. I have to maintain professional boundaries with clients. I can’t misuse or abuse my position of authority—”

“You have no position of authority over me,” Mac scoffed.

“The point remains—” Rory gritted her teeth “—that if I engage in any nonprofessional behavior I can be pulled up before the board.”

Mac stared at her, his face inscrutable. “Okay, for the sake of argument, may I point out that you’ll be in a foreign country and nobody but us will know? And you’re on holiday.”

“I’d know,” Rory said, her voice resolute. “You might be a rule breaker, Mac, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’re lying, Rory. Besides, last I checked, physiotherapists are allowed private lives.” Mac shook his head. “Not buying it.”

So much for using that as an excuse to keep some distance between them. Rory hated the fact that he could look past her cool, professional shell and see below the surface. And he was right. Nobody would believe she’d bullied Mac into having a relationship he didn’t want to have. Yeah, sleeping with Mac wouldn’t be professional but it wasn’t a death sentence either.

She’d forgotten how damn complicated men could be.

“So what is your reason why we shouldn’t scratch this particular itch?”

“God, I wish there was just one.” Mac dropped a curse and rubbed the back of his neck. “But I can’t remember any of them because I am too damn busy thinking about how you taste, how good you feel in my arms. I want to feel that, feel you, again. It’s not smart, or sensible, but...to hell with being sensible and smart!”

“Mac—”

“Come here, Rorks.”

She could say no, should say no, but she found herself walking toward him. Stopping when she was a foot from him, she tipped her head up to look at his face. His jaw held that sexy stubble, and the corners of his mouth suggested he was amused, but his eyes told her everything she needed to know. He was as turned on as she was.

Crazy chemistry.

Mac lifted his good hand, gripped the edge of her collar and pulled her toward him. Rising on her tiptoes, she kept her eyes locked on his, deciding whether she should kiss him or not. “I just want one kiss, Rory,” Mac murmured, doing his mind reading thing again. “Stop thinking for a second and be.”

He had a way of cutting to the heart of the problem. He was right; she was making far too big a deal of this. It didn’t have to mean anything! Kissing him just made her feel good. Like chocolate or a foot rub.

“That’s it, babe, stop thinking and kiss me.”

Rory moved her head so her lips moved across his ear, under his short sideburns, through his surprisingly soft stubble, slowly, so slowly, making her way to his mouth. Mac’s hand clenched her waist and she heard the low growl in the back of her throat as her tongue darted out to taste the skin on his jaw, to explore the space where his top and bottom lip met. She felt his erection against her hip and knew she had maybe five seconds before he exploded and all hell—possibly heaven—broke loose.

Rory moved her lips over his, her teeth gently scraping his upper lip, her hand grasping the back of his neck. She kept her tongue away, wondering how long he would wait before he took control of the kiss. Five seconds passed and then another ten. Rory sucked on his bottom lip.