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.
He muttered something against her lips, something harsh and hot and sexy, and his big hand gripped her butt and lifted her up and into him. The time for playing, for teasing, was over. She’d never experienced a kiss so...sexual, Rory realized. This wasn’t a prelude to sex. This was just another version of the act. His tongue pushed inside and retreated, swirled and sucked, and Rory felt her panties dampen as she unconsciously ground herself against his erection, frustrated by the layers of fabric between them.
She wanted to get naked. Now.
“Plane waiting. Puerto Rico,” Mac muttered after wrenching his mouth off hers.
“You said you could get another time slot and the island isn’t going anywhere.” Rory snuck her hands under his shirt and scraped her nails across the skin covering the hard muscles of his abs.
“Rory...” Mac muttered a curse and slapped his good hand on hers to keep it from sliding lower. She looked up at him and half smiled at the seventy-shades-of-crazy look on his face. She’d put that look on his face, she thought, amazed. This sexy man looked like he couldn’t go without her for one more heartbeat.
“We really should stop,” Mac muttered. “We shouldn’t take this any further.”
“Why not?”
Mac looked rueful. “One reason would be because someone has been pounding on your door for the last minute. At least.”
Rory jerked back, surprised. Really? She hadn’t heard a damn thing. As the bells in her head stopped ringing she heard the rat-tat-tat on her doorjamb. Her heart dropped to the floor; there was only one person who used that particular combination on her door. As a child she’d considered it their secret code, as an adult—about to get lucky—it irritated the hell out of her.
“Problem?” Mac asked as she stepped away from him and pushed a hand into her hair.
“Yes, no...my father.” Rory pulled a face. She lifted a hand, waved it toward her front door and grimaced. “Give me a sec, okay?”
Bad timing, Dad, she thought as she crossed the room to the door. Or maybe he’d arrived just in time to save her from making a very silly mistake. Either way, why was he here? She’d called her mother last night, told her that she’d be out of the country for the foreseeable future. Her parents lived in a suburb twenty minutes from here, and since they weren’t close, Rory couldn’t understand why her father had made the trek to see her.
Rory checked the peephole to make sure it was her father and opened the door. “Dad.”
David Kydd had that sheepish look on his face that she was sure had charmed many a woman into his bed over the years. “There’s my girl.” He leaned forward to kiss her and Rory allowed him to brush her cheek. Since he wasn’t one for spontaneous gestures of affection, Rory had to wonder what he was up to.
Okay, she was cynical, but being cynical protected her. She’d learned that if she had no expectations of him then she couldn’t be disappointed by his behavior.
“Can I come in?” David asked.
Rory kept her body in the open space of the door so he couldn’t look into the apartment and see Mac. Her father was a fan and she didn’t want to spend the next hour listening to hockey talk. And, even if she begged him, she wasn’t sure her Dad would keep quiet about seeing Mac at her place. Her Dad wasn’t the soul of discretion at the best of times.
“It’s not a good time. I told Mom last night that I was leaving the city for a while and I need to get to the airport.”
“She told me.” David gave her another of his sheepish grins. “I thought I’d make the offer to feed your animals or water your plants.”
“I don’t have pets or plants.” As he was well aware. Rory narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you really here?”
David dropped his eyes and shifted from foot to foot. Eventually he muttered an answer. “Your mother and I are going through a rough time.”
Rory felt that familiar, piercing pain shoot through her heart. A rough time... How often had she heard that phrase over the years? A rough time meant her mother had caught him again—sexting, cheating, an internet relationship...who knew? He was a master at all of them.
Rory knew how it worked. Her parents would separate for a month or six weeks. Her dad would get bored with his latest conquest and beg her mother to take him back. She liked the begging, liked the attention, and they swore to make it work this time.
“Anyway,
