Trapped With The Maverick Millionaire

Mac rested his head on his pillow, feeling the sedative effects of whatever the nurse had stuck in him. Ignoring the approaching grogginess, he sucked in some deep breaths and forced his brain to work.

Dammit, why did Vernon Hasselback have to die before they’d concluded the deal they’d all been discussing for the past decade? It was a simple plan: when the time was right he and Kade and Quinn would buy the franchise from Vernon. They’d been working toward this since they were all rookie players and they’d hammered out a detailed plan to raise the cash, which included using their player fees and endorsement money to invest in business opportunities to fund their future purchase of the franchise. The strategy had worked well. Within a decade they had a rock-solid asset base and were, by anyone’s standards, ridiculously wealthy. Money wasn’t an issue. They could buy the franchise without breaking much of a sweat. But to take the team and its brand to the next level they needed a partner who brought certain skills to the table. Someone who had bigger and better connections in all facets of the media, who could open the doors to mega-sponsorship deals, who had merchandising experience.

Unfortunately, because Vernon died in the bed of his latest mistress, his widow and the beneficiary of his entire estate wasn’t inclined to honor his wishes about passing the mantle on to the three of them. Myra wanted to sell the franchise to a Russian billionaire who’d acquired six sports teams in the past two years and was rebranding them to be generic, cardboard cutouts of the teams they once were and mouthpieces for his bland corporation. Kade had convinced Myra to give them some time but they knew she was impulsive and impatient. She would use any setback as an excuse to sell the franchise out from under them, and Mac’s injury was a very big setback.

“No one can know how badly I’m injured.”

Kade and Quinn nodded. “I’m very aware of that,” Kade said. “I also have a potential investor on the hook. He’s a loaded Mavericks fan, meets all our requirements and runs a massive media empire so nothing can jeopardize our negotiations. You are one of the reasons he wants to buy the team. He knows you only have a few more years left at this level and he wants you to spend that time mentoring the rookie talent.”

So, no additional pressure then. Mac pushed the drowsiness away. “So I have to start playing with his team when the season opens.”

“Essentially,” Quinn replied, blowing air into his cheeks. “If not sooner.”

Mac clenched his jaw in determination. It was the same attitude that had won the team the Stanley Cup two years ago, that had taken him from being just another rookie to one of the most exciting players of his generation. When he decided he was going to do something, achieve something, win something, nothing and nobody got in his way.

“Then I will be on the ice when the season opens.”

If that meant working with Rory, so be it. Yes, he’d embarrassed himself a very long time ago. It happened and it was time to move the hell on. He refused to give in or give up—not while there was a chance of getting what he wanted.

“Set up the physio and let’s get this party started.”

Kade smiled. “You had surgery earlier today. How about getting some sleep first?”

“Are you convinced Rory is the best?” he asked with slightly slurred words.

Kade nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

“Get her. Offer her what she needs so she can concentrate on me...” Stupid drugs, Mac thought, making him say the wrong thing. “On my arm. Not me.”

Quinn placed a hand on Mac’s good shoulder and squeezed. “Go to sleep, bud.”

Mac managed a couple more words before slipping off into sleep. “Offer her whatever it takes...”

* * *

Rory paused outside the door to Mac’s room the next day and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. She pushed her hand through her layered, choppy bob before smoothing out a crease that had appeared in her white and navy tunic, thinking that it had already been a weird day and it wasn’t even mid-morning yet. Her day had started with Kade contacting her at the crack of dawn, demanding a meeting to discuss Mac and his injury. She’d told him she could only give Mac her assessment of his injuries and if Mac wanted Kade there, then that was his prerogative. Kade had seemed more amused than annoyed by her crisp tone and had followed up his demands by telling her he had a proposition for her...one that she’d want to hear.

That was intriguing enough to get her to meet with them during her morning break.

Just knock on the door and get this meeting over with, Rory told herself. You are not nineteen anymore and desperately infatuated with your sister’s boyfriend. You’re a highly qualified professional who is in high demand. He’s a patient like any other.

Except none of her patients kissed her like he did, or flooded her system with take-me-quick hormones with one look from his navy eyes.

God, you are ridiculous, Rory thought, not amused.

Not allowing herself another minute to hesitate, she briskly knocked on the door, and when she heard his command to enter, she stepped inside. She ignored Mac’s two friends standing on either side of his bed and her gaze immediately landed on his face. She told her libido to calm down and gave Mac a professional once-over. He was wearing a V-neck T-shirt and someone, probably Troy, had removed the right sleeve. His injured arm was bandaged from wrist to shoulder and was supported by a sling. Clear, annoyed and very wary eyes met hers.

Mac, she also noticed, was in pain but he was fighting his way through it.

Rory looked at his friends, good-looking guys, and smiled. “Hello, Kade. Quinn.” Rory stepped toward the bed. “Mac. It’s been a while.”

Rory held her breath, waiting to see if he remembered the kiss they’d shared, whether he’d say anything about her being in his room the night before. His face remained inscrutable and the look in his eyes didn’t change. Thank God, he didn’t remember. That would make her life, and this experience, easier.

Or as easy as it could possibly be.

“Rory.”

Her name on his lips, she’d never thought she’d hear it again. She desperately wished it wasn’t under such circumstances. Rory gathered her wits and asked Quinn to move out of her way. When he did, she stepped up to the bed and pulled the smaller of the two blankets from her bag and placed the control box on the bedside table.

“What are you doing?” Mac demanded. “You’re here to talk, not to fuss.”

Rory looked him in the eye and didn’t react to his growl. “And we will talk, after I set this up.”

“What is it?” Kade demanded from his spot on the other side of the bed.

Rory explained how the blanket worked and gently tucked the mat around Mac’s injured arm. She started the program, stepped back and folded her arms. “You need some pain meds,” she told Mac.

“I’m fine,” Mac muttered, his tone suggesting she back off. That wasn’t going to happen. The sooner Mac learned that she wasn’t easily intimidated, the better. The trick with difficult patients, and obstinate men, was to show no fear.

“You either take some meds or I walk out this door,” Rory told him, her voice even. Her words left no doubt that she wasn’t bluffing. She picked up the two pills that sat next to a glass of water and waited until Mac opened his hand to receive them. He sent her a dirty look, dry swallowed them and reluctantly chased them down with water from the glass she handed to him.

“You’re not a martyr, nor a superhero, so take the meds on schedule,” she told him in her best no-nonsense voice.Rory held his hot look and in his eyes she saw frustration morph into something deeper, darker, sexier.

Whoo boy! Internal temperature rising...

“You cut your hair,” Mac said, tipping his head to the side.

“Quite a few times in the past decade,” Rory replied, her voice tart. One of them had to get this conversation back on track and it looked like she’d been elected.

Fantastic kiss aside, Mac was a potential patient, nothing more, nothing less. She’d be professional if it killed her. She deliberately glanced at her watch and lifted her arched eyebrows. “I have another patient in thirty minutes...so let’s skip the small talk and you can tell me why I’m really here.”

“I need a physiotherapist.”

“Obviously.” Rory shrugged. “You’re going to need a lot of therapy to get your arm working properly.”

“I don’t want it to work properly. I want it to be as good as new,” Mac stated. “In two months’ time.”

“In your dreams.” Okay, everyone knew Mac was determined but he wasn’t stupid. “That’s not going to happen. You know that’s not possible.”

Mac pulled on his stubborn expression. “It is going to happen and I’ll be back on the ice with or without your help.”

Rory sent Kade and Quinn a “help me” look but they just stood there. She was on her own, it seemed. “McCaskill, listen to me. You half ripped a tendon off the bone. It was surgically reattached. We don’t know how much damage you’ve done to the nerves. This injury needs time to heal—”

“I don’t have time,” Mac told her. “I’ve got a couple of months and that’s it.”

Rory shoved her hands into her hair in sheer frustration. “You can sit out another couple of months—you are not indispensable!”

Dammit, her voice was rising. Not good. Do not let him rattle you!

“Two months and I need to be playing. That’s it, Rory, that’s all the time I’ve got,” Mac insisted. “Now, either I get you to help me do that or I take my chances on someone else.”

“Someone you will railroad into allowing you to do what you want, when you want, probably resulting in permanent damage.” This was how he’d be in a relationship, she thought. All bossy and stubborn and determined to have his way.

After a lifetime of watching her father steamroll their mother, those weren’t characteristics she’d ever tolerate.

“Maybe,” was all Mac said.

Rory placed her hands on the bed and leaned forward, brows snapping together. “Why are you doing this, Mac? You have enough money, enough accolades to allow you to sit out a couple of months, a couple of seasons. This is not only unnecessary, it’s downright idiotic!”

Mac pulled in a deep breath. For a split second she thought that he might explain, that he’d give her a genuine, responsible reason for his stance. Then his eyes turned inscrutable and she knew it wouldn’t happen. “I play. That’s what I do.”

Rory shook her head, disappointed. He was still the same attention-seeking, hot-dogging, arrogant moron he’d been in his twenties. Did he really believe the hype that he was indispensable and indestructible?

“You’re ridiculous, that’s what you are,” Rory said as she straightened. She sent his friends a blistering look. “You’re supporting him in this?”

Kade and Quinn nodded, reluctantly, but they still nodded. Right, so it seemed like she was the only clear thinker in the room. She had to try one more time. “It’s one season! You’d probably not even miss the entire season...”

Mac looked resolute. “I have to be there, Rory.”

Mac had a will of iron. He was going to play, come hell or high water. She wouldn’t be able to change his mind.

“It’s my choice and I’ll live with the consequences,” Mac told her. “I’m not the type to create a storm and then bitch when it rains.”

There was no doubting the sincerity in his words. Now, responsibility was something her father had never grasped, she thought. He’d been a serial adulterer and when he got caught—and he always got caught—there were a million reasons why it wasn’t his fault. And, really, why was she thinking about her father? Honestly, woman, concentrate!

She might not agree with what Mac wanted to do, it was a colossal mistake in her professional opinion, but it seemed he was prepared to accept the consequences of his decisions. She had to respect that. But didn’t have to be party to his madness.

She dropped her eyes from his face to look at the control box. “There’s still twenty minutes to go. I’ll ask Troy to disconnect the mat and pack it away. Have a nice life.”

Rory turned around and walked toward the door, thinking that her bosses at Craydon’s Physiotherapy would throw a hissy fit if they found out she’d turned down the opportunity to treat the great Mac McCaskill.

A part of her wanted to stay, to carry on trying to convince him—them—why this was the stupidest plan in history. But you’re not the jackass whisperer, her brain informed her.

She had her hand on the door when Mac spoke again. “Rory, dammit...wait!”

Rory turned and saw the silent conversation taking place between the three friends. Kade nodded, Quinn looked frustrated but resigned and Mac looked annoyed.

Well, tough.

“Why can’t anything ever be easy with you?” he muttered, and Rory lifted an eyebrow. This from the man who’d dissed Shay on national television and created a public scandal with her sister at the center? Who’d—sort of—made a move on Rory, thereby causing a riff between her and Shay that took many months to heal? Seriously?

“It isn’t my job to make things easy for you,” Rory retorted. “If there’s nothing else...?”

“Hell yes, there’s a big something else!” Mac snapped. “And if you repeat it I’ll blow a gasket.”

Rory just stared at him. The Kydd girls didn’t blab. If they did they could’ve made themselves a nice chunk of change selling their Mac stories to the tabloids.

Mac rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand and proceeded to explain how his being hurt could materially affect the Mavericks. Rory listened, shocked, as Mac dissected the implications of his injury. “If Chenko buys the team, Kade will be replaced as CEO, Quinn’s coaching contract won’t be renewed and if I’m injured, I’m too old for them to give me another chance. The Mavericks will be turned into another corporate team—and I will not let that happen.”

Rory took a moment to allow his words to make sense. When they did, her jaw tightened. The Mavericks were a Vancouver institution that had been owned by the Hasselbacks for generations and she knew—thanks to listening to Troy’s rants on the subject over the years—that when corporate businesses took over sports teams, the magic dissipated. Traditions were lost; fans were disappointed; the players lost their individuality. It became soulless and clinical. She kept her eyes on Mac, pale-faced and stressed. “And if you do play?”

“Then we have a chance of saving the team.”

“How?” Rory demanded.

“It’s complicated, and confidential, but we need a particular type of partner, one who has the connections and skills in PR, merchandising, sponsorships. Even though we are retaining control, we are asking for a lot of money for a minor share and we have to accept that I am the face of the team and an essential part of the deal. I have to play.” Mac rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers, his gesture indicating pain or frustration or exhaustion. Probably all three. “This isn’t about me, not this time. Or, at least, it isn’t all about me. If I could take the time off I would, I’m not that arrogant. But I need to get back on the ice and, apparently, you’re my best bet.”

Rory bit her bottom lip, knowing what he was asking was practically impossible. “The chance of you being able to play in two months’ time is less than ten percent, Mac. Practically nonexistent.”

“I can do it, Rory. You just need to show me how.”

She nearly believed him. If anybody could do it then it would be him.

“Mac, you could do yourself some permanent damage.”

Mac pressed his lips together. “Again, my choice, my consequences.”

God, why did that have to resonate so deeply with her? Okay, so this wasn’t all about him and his career. A part of it was, of course it was, but she knew how much the Mavericks meant to him. There had been many reports about the bond he shared with his mentor, the now dead owner of the team. The cheating dead owner of the Mavericks—dying in his mistress’s bed.

Don’t think about that, she told herself. With her history of a having a serial cheater for a father, it was a sure way to get her blood pressure spiking.

She had to disregard the emotion around this decision, try to forget he was attempting to save his team, his friends’ jobs and the traditions of the Mavericks, which were an essential part of the city’s identity. She had to look at his injury, his need and his right to treatment. If this were any other sportsman and not Mac, would she be trying to help him? Yeah, she would.

And really, if she didn’t help Mac, Troy might never speak to her again.

She nodded reluctantly. “Okay. I’ll help you, as much as I can.”

Mac, to her surprise, didn’t look jubilant or excited. He just looked relieved and wiped out. “Thank you,” he quietly said.

Rory turned to Kade. “You need to contact my office, sign a formal contract with my employers.”

Kade grimaced. “Yeah, that’s the other thing...we’d like to cut out the middleman.”

Rory lifted up her hands in frustration. Was nothing going to be simple today? “What does that mean?”

Kade jerked his head in Mac’s direction and Rory saw that his head was back against his pillow and his eyes were closed. “Let’s carry on this discussion outside and I’ll fill you in.”

“Why do I know that you’re about to complicate my life even further?” Rory demanded when they were standing in the passage outside Mac’s room.

“Because you are, obviously, a very smart woman,” Kade said, placing a large hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go get some coffee and we’ll sort this mess out.”

That sounded like an excellent idea since she desperately needed a cup of liquid sanity.

Three

Rory walked into the diner situated around the corner from St. Catherine’s Hospital and scanned the tables, looking for her best friend. It had only been an hour since Kade had laid out his terms, and she needed Troy to talk her off the ledge...

Dressed in skinny jeans and a strappy white crop top, she ignored the compliments coming from a table of construction workers on her left. She waved at Troy and smiled at grumbles behind her when they saw her breakfast companion—huge, sexy and, not that they’d ever realize it, gay. With his blond hair, chiseled jaw and hot bod, he had guys—and girls—falling over him and had the social life of a boy band member.

Unlike her who, according to Mr. Popular, partied like a nun.

Troy stood up as she approached and she reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. He’d changed out of his uniform into jeans and a T-shirt but he still looked stressed.

“Rough night? Is Mac being a pain in your backside?” she asked him.

“He’s not a problem at all. I was at the home until late. My mom had a bad episode.”

Rory sent him a sympathetic look. Troy’s mom suffered from dementia and most of his cash went to funding the nursing home he’d put her into. Unfortunately the home wasn’t great, but it was the best he could afford.

Rory had decided a long time ago that when she opened her clinic Troy would be her first hire, at a salary that would enable him to move his mom out of that place into a nicer home. Hopefully, if they did well, he could also move out of his horrible apartment and buy a decent car. “Sorry, honey.”

Troy shrugged as they sat down on opposite sides of the table. “You look as frazzled as I do. What’s up?”

“So much,” Rory replied. “Let’s order and I’ll tell you a story.” She pushed the folder she’d been carrying toward Troy. “Look at this.”

After they ordered, Rory tapped the file with her index finger. “Read.”

“Mark McCaskill?” Troy looked at the label. “Why do you have Open Mac’s file?”

Rory pulled a face as the waitress poured them coffee. She’d always loathed that nickname since it was a play on the microphone incident from so long ago, something she didn’t need to be constantly reminded of. Then again, his other nickname, PD—short for Panty Dropper—was even worse. “If you’re not going to read it then fill me in on all the gossip about him.”

Troy frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll explain.” She waved her hand. “Go. Center and captain of the Vancouver Mavericks hockey team. Incredible player, one of the very best. Dates a variety of women. What else?”

Troy rested his forearms on the table, his face pensive. “Well, he’s spokesperson for various campaigns, epilepsy being one of them. He sits on the boards of a few charities, mostly relating to children. He’s also, thanks to investing in bars, restaurants and food trucks, one of the wealthiest bachelors in town. He’s also supremely haawwwt,” Troy added. “And surprisingly nice, even though I know how stressed he must be wondering if this injury will keep him out for the season.”

Mac—nice? Yeah, sure.

Troy flicked the file open and flipped through the pile of papers. “You’re treating him?”

Rory nodded and Troy looked confused. “But this isn’t a Craydon file,” he added, referring to the distinctive yellow-and-blue patient files used at the physiotherapy practice she worked for. “What gives, Rorks?”

Rory folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot, her big, silver-gray eyes tight with worry. How much to tell him? As much as she could, she decided, he was her best friend. She trusted him implicitly and valued his judgment. Still, sharing didn’t come easily to her so she took a moment to work out what to say. “Mac and I have a...history.”

Troy’s snort was disbelieving. “Honey, you’re not his type. He dates tall, stacked, exotic gazelles.”

Rory scowled. She knew what type of woman Mac dated. She saw them every time she opened a newspaper or magazine. “I know that I am short, and flat-chested,” Rory snapped. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Troy quietly stated. “Yeah, you’re short but you have a great figure, you know that you do. And there’s nothing wrong with your chest.”

“Like you’d know,” Rory muttered.

“I know that you desperately need some masculine hands on your boobs and on other more exciting parts of your body. It’s been a year, eighteen months, since you’ve had some action?”

Actually it was closer to two years, but she’d rather die than admit that to Mr. Cool. “Can we concentrate on my McCaskill problem please?”

“He’s a problem?”

“You’ve forgotten that Shay was dating him during the open-mic disaster.”

Troy’s mouth dropped open. “I did forget that. He said he was bored with her, that monogamy was for the birds.”

“Yep. Obviously that’s a position he still holds.”

Troy leaned back so the waitress could put their food down. He frowned at Rory’s sarcastic comment. “Honey, that was a long time ago and he was young. Shay’s moved on...what’s the problem?”

“He’s a man-slut. It annoys me.”

“It shouldn’t. He didn’t cheat on you,” Troy pointed out, and Rory stared down at her plate.

No, he’d almost cheated on her sister with her. The intention had been there. He would’ve cheated if Rory hadn’t stopped him. He was just like her father and exactly the last person in the world she should be attracted to.

It made absolutely no sense at all.

She’d never told Troy—or anyone—what had happened between her and Mac and she still couldn’t. Hurting her sister hadn’t been her finest moment.

“Okay, admittedly, Mac is not the poster boy for love and commitment so I kind of get your antipathy to him since you have such a huge issue with infidelity,” Troy said after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Rory demanded. “Have issues with it?”

“No. And if they do, they don’t take it to the nth degree like you do. Hell, Rorks, I recall you not accepting a date from a perfectly nice guy because you said he had a ‘cheating face.’”

Rory ignored his air quotes and lifted her nose in the air. “Okay, maybe that was wrong of me.”

“Wrong of you? It was properly ridiculous.”

Troy tapped the folder before he attacked his eggs. “Tell me how this came about.”