Trapped with the Maverick Millionaire

By: Joss Wood



If she had her own place, she’d slow it down, take more time, do some intensive therapy. But setting up a new practice required cash she didn’t have, premises she couldn’t afford. She’d just have to keep saving... Maybe one day.

She had barely looked over the first file when her cell rang again. This time it was a number she did not recognize. She answered the call with a cautious hello.

“Rory? Kade Webb, from the Vancouver Mavericks. We met a long time ago.”

Kade Webb? Why on earth would he be calling her? “I remember...hi. What can I do for you?”

Kade didn’t waste time beating around the bush. “I have a player in St. Catherine’s, in The Annex Clinic, and I’d like you to take a look at his chart, assess his injury and tell me what you think.”

Rory frowned, thinking fast. “Kade, the Mavericks have a resident physiotherapist. I know because my bosses would kill for the Mavericks’ contract. Why me?”

“Because you have an excellent track record in treating serious sports injuries,” Kade replied. “Will you do it? Take a look and let me know what you think?”

“I—”

“Thanks. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”

Rory wanted to tell him that she had patients, that it was against company policy, but he was gone. Argh! She had questions, dammit! Who was the player? What room he was in? Did he know that she was coming? Had Kade spoken to her bosses about this?

Infuriating man, she thought as she stood up and gathered her possessions. It was said that Kade, like his two partners in crime, could charm the dew off roses and the panties off celibates. He hadn’t bothered to use any of that charm on her, Rory thought with an annoyed toss of her head.

Not that she would’ve responded to it, but it would’ve been nice for him to try.

* * *

Mac McCaskill, you stupid idiot, Rory thought.

She’d had many variations of the thought over the past decade, some expressed in language a lot more colorful, but the sentiment was the same. However, this was the first time in nearly a decade that she wasn’t mocking his tendency to jump from one gorgeous woman to another or shaking her head over the fact that he was, essentially, a man-slut.

As much as his social life irritated her, she felt sorry for him. He was an exceptionally talented player and as she looked at the notes on his chart, she realized his arm was, to use nontechnical terms, wrecked. For a player of his caliber that was a very scary situation.

“Rory, what are you doing in here?”

Rory, standing next to Mac’s bed, flipped a glance over her shoulder and smiled, relieved, when she saw her best friend stepping into Mac’s private room. If it had been someone other than Troy she would’ve had to explain herself.

This was all kinds of wrong, she thought. There were protocols around patient visits and she shouldn’t be in Mac’s room, looking at his chart, assessing his injury. She should’ve refused Kade’s request, but here she was again, flouting the rules. What was it about McCaskill that made her do that?

“I need to get the mat on him, need to get his circulation restored as soon as possible,” she said with urgency.

As a therapist, she wanted the best for him. Even if he was the man who’d hurt her sister. Even if her heart rate still kicked up from just looking at him.

“You’re not authorized to treat him and if you’re caught we’ll both be fired.” Troy closed the door behind him, his handsome face creased with worry.

“I’ll take full responsibility,” Rory retorted. “It’s his arm, Troy. The arm he needs to slap those pucks into the net at ninety miles an hour.”

“Mac usually reaches speeds of a hundred plus miles an hour,” Troy, the sports fanatic, corrected her, as she’d counted on him doing.

“Exactly and the mat will start helping immediately,” Rory retorted.

“Jobs, fired, on the streets,” Troy muttered. Yet he didn’t protest when she pulled a mat from her bag and placed the control box it was connected to on Mac’s bedside table. When the lights brightened, she very gently wrapped the mat around Mac’s injured arm. He didn’t stir and Rory relaxed; he was solidly asleep and would be for a while.

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