Mac touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Go to sleep...if you can.”
“Can I put my head on your shoulder?” Rory asked. “At least then, if the roof blows off, I’ll have you to hold on to.”
“The roof isn’t going to lift, oh, dramatic one.” But he shifted down, placed a pillow beneath his head and wrapped his good arm around her slim back when she placed her head on his shoulder. Her leg draped over his and her knee was achingly close to his happy place. It would be so easy, a touch here, a stroke there...
Mac kissed her forehead and pulled her closer to him. “Go to sleep, Rorks. You’re safe with me.”
“Tonight’s conversation didn’t seem that light and fluffy, Mac,” Rory murmured in a sleepy voice.
It hadn’t been, Mac admitted. They’d have to watch out for that. It was his last thought before exhaustion claimed him.
Eight
There was nothing like the aftermath of a hurricane to decimate a romantic atmosphere, Rory thought, standing on the debris-filled veranda and looking out toward the devastated cove. The sea had settled and broken tree branches covered the beach. A kayak had landed in the pool and there were broken chairs on the beach path. The fence surrounding the property was bent and buckled and the power lines sagged.
Mac had gone to town at first light to call someone about cleaning up the property and to check on how the small fishing village north of the cove had fared. Rory’s cell phone wasn’t working and she felt cut off from the world. Taking a sip from her bottle of water, she felt sweat roll down her back. It was barely 7:00 a.m. but it was very hot and horribly humid.
The scope of the damage was awful but Rory was glad to have some time to herself, away from Mac. Yesterday had been a watershed day—the sex was explosively wonderful and the storm had scared her into opening up to Mac, and that frightened her more than the wind.
Why had she shared her past with him? She never did that! Had she been that seduced by their wonderful lovemaking? Was it the romantic atmosphere and him being all protective that prompted her to emotionally erupt? They’d agreed to keep it light but last night’s conversation had been anything but! Deep and soulful conversations led to thoughts of permanence and commitment, and they’d agreed they weren’t going there. She was an emotional scaredy-cat and he was incapable of commitment.
Mac, she reminded herself, didn’t want a relationship anymore than she did. He’d taught himself to be his own champion and she admired the hell out of him. But he didn’t need her. Anyone who could fight his way out of the enveloping negativity of Mac’s childhood didn’t need anyone. He’d learned to survive and then to flourish. He was emotionally self-sufficient, and a woman would never be more than an accessory and a convenience to him.
What did it matter, anyway? Rory gripped the plastic bottle so hard that it buckled in her hand, the water overflowing to trickle onto her wrist. Men always disappointed and love never lasted and the fairy tales the world fed women about happily-ever-afters were a load of hooey. No, she’d stay emotionally detached, and by doing that, she’d never feel hurt or as out of control as she had when she was a child.
Rory straightened her spine. Mac was a nice guy, a sexy guy, but he wasn’t her guy. It would be sensible for her to remember that because if she didn’t and she did something imbecilic, like fall in love with him, she was just asking for big, messy trouble.
Maybe she should stop sleeping with him...
But look at him, Rory thought, watching as Mac walked up the path from the beach. How was she supposed to resist? He was shirtless and wearing a ball cap and board shorts, his chest glistening with perspiration.
Rory leaned on the railing, and as if he sensed her watching him, he turned and looked up at her, pulling his sunglasses from his face. “Hey. You okay?”
“Fine,” Rory replied. “Was the village damaged?”
“Not too bad. Trees, some missing tiles...it could’ve been worse. Is the power back on?”
Rory shook her head. “No. And it’s so damn hot. I’m desperate for a shower.”
Mac gestured to the sea behind him. “Big bathtub on our doorstep. Come on down, we’ll have a swim.”
Rory pulled her sticky shirt off her body. “Good idea. Do you want some water?”
Mac nodded. “And a couple of energy bars. I’m starving.”
“Five minutes,” Rory replied. Instead of heading inside she just stared down at him, unable to get her feet to move.
It would be so easy to love him, she thought. She was already halfway there.
Yeah, but she couldn’t trust him. And what was love without trust? An empty shell that would shatter at the first knock.