Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay)

  Caught Up In You

  Edgeplay: Part 3

  Jenna McCormick

  Published by Captiva Heart

  A Sanibel Moon Imprint

  Copyright 2012 Jenna McCormick

  Cover image purchased from romancenovelcovers.com

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at jenna@authorjennamac.com.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  http://www.sanibelmoon.com/

  Caught Up In You 3

  Edgeplay: Part 3

  Jenna McCormick

  Designer Love and Empty Things

  Chapter One

  It’s moments like these that define a person. Or so I tell myself when I hear Connor Edge’s no-nonsense bass coming from the hallway outside my curtained-off section of the E.R. The scrapes and bruises I’ve received from a car bombing suddenly cease aching, and my heart beats as if I’m running a 10K. Every little thing about the billionaire playboy attracts women like ants to a picnic. It took every ounce of willpower for me to leave him once, and call me weak willed, but I can’t go through it again.

  “Baily Sinclair, where is she?” Connor demands. Only someone who has spent time studying his every move, focusing on the subtle changes in his tone and inflection, would be able to pick up on the layer of rage he’s barely containing.

  You know what you’re in for if he finds you, my inner critic—whom I’ve dubbed Snarkarella—cautions. He’ll call all the shots, from the color of your underwear to the number of calories you consume. Doesn’t matter how tight his butt is, he’s unbalanced!

  She’s right. Connor is the epitome of a control freak. We had a big blow-up over his insistence that I go on birth control and I’d left when he’d had one of his legions of minions enter my home without my permission. Being involved with a man who disregards my wishes and bullies me until he gets his way holds no appeal to me.

  “Where is she?” he repeats louder. Ice coats every word, but I hear panic as well. He’s worried about me, nearly frantic with it. It’s cruel to sit here silently and not reassure him. And I could use a little reassurance myself after almost dying.

  I shiver as that reality sets in. I almost died. Suddenly, his domineering nature doesn’t seem as reprehensible as it did a few hours ago. I want to see him, to feel his arms around me and hear him say everything is going to be all right.

  “Connor,” I call out.

  Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Snarkarella hisses.

  I let out a huge breath. It’s done, he’s coming for me.

  “Sir, you can’t go back there!” A woman’s panicked voice and then the curtain is drawn aside. Those neon blue eyes devour me where I am huddled on the hospital bed. He assesses me quickly, then moves to my side, lifts a hand to the side of my face but drops it before he makes contact. “Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head and then turn to the nurse who had tried to stop him. “It’s all right, he’s with me.”

  The woman is in her late sixties with steel gray hair and even she doesn’t seem immune to the magic of Connor Edge. I see her lips part and her gaze glaze over when she looks at his perfect face. Connor could have easily been a Hollywood heartthrob, but he’d devoted himself to business instead of acting and turned his grandfather’s eighty million dollar inheritance into some serious money.

  “Leave us,” Connor orders. I see her jump and shoot him a squinty-eyed glare. I want to tell him to apologize; the woman is just doing her job after all. But the tightness of his jaw clues me in to the fact he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

  The curtain scrapes as she pulls it back into place, giving us nothing more than the illusion of privacy. Cries and shouts and the general bustle from the ER still surround us, but with him so near, so focused on me, all the background hubbub fades away.

  His eyebrows draw together and he looks as though he’s in pain. “I never should have let you go.”

  “You had no way of knowing what would happen.” Yes, it was his car, driven by one of his security professionals, but Connor has a bad habit of taking responsibility for everything. “Is Justin all right?” I inquire about the driver.

  “He’s in ICU with second degree burns.” Connor runs a hand through his hair and I’m surprised to see it shaking. “I thought that you’d—”

  I reach out one hand toward him, craving skin to skin contact. He looks from my proffered limb to my face and I feel a moment’s panic at his hesitation. Maybe I’m just another obligation to him now. Perhaps he doesn’t want to hold me since I left him.

  Then I’m in his arms and his lips are on mine, his hands cupping my face, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones. He’s so careful with me, as though I’m delicate, not the plus-sized sturdy Irish stock that I actually am. The gentle pressure of his mouth on mine is hungry and welcoming and I lose myself in his addictive heat. The temptation of Connor Edge is too much for me in this moment.

  He pulls back slowly, resting his forehead on mine. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m not really sure. One second we were just driving. Justin asked if I minded if he turned on the radio and I said no.”

  “Did he turn on the radio?”

  What did it matter? “I’m not sure. I saw him reach for it, and then there were flames and he yelled at me to get out. We were in the far right lane, so I dove out into traffic, right over the hood of a taxi. If we hadn’t been at a light…” Emotion causes my throat to close up.

  Connor pulls me into his chest, rubbing my back in a soothing caress while I listen to the steady lub-dubbing of his heart. “I just wanted to go home,” I whisper miserably.

  “I know, sweetheart. I promise, as soon as they let you go, I’ll take you home myself.”

  Relief and apprehension war inside me. I want to stay close to Connor because he makes me feel safe, but the longer I’m with him, the more difficult it is to let go. I haven’t changed my mind about that. Is it selfish to cling to him this way, knowing I’m only going to leave him in a few hours?

  Connor pulls back. “I need to make a few calls but I have a security team in the ER. Will you be all right until I get back?

  “Yeah. The doctor should be in soon.” Is it strange that he’s brought his security people to the hospital?

  “I’ll make sure that he is.” Placing one last kiss on my forehead, Connor leaves me alone.

  I’m right, he’s not gone for five minutes before the ER doctor strides in and studies my chart. He’s young, probably a resident, from the looks of his pasty pallor. He asks some questions, examines the various bumps and bruises, then uses a flashlight to dilate my pupils. “Did you hit your head?” His fingers explore my scalp in that curt, clinically detached way and I wince when he connects with a lump I didn’t even realize was there.

  “I guess so.”

  “Did you lose consciousness at the scene?”

  “I’m not sure. I might have. It’s all a big blur.” Crap, I know where he’s going with this. “You think I have a concussion?”

  He looks mildly surprised. “That’s right. Have you had one before?”

 
“I was studying to be a nurse until my circumstances changed.”

  He nods. “Well then, you know the drill. Have someone wake you every few hours, take acetaminophen for any pain, and call your doctor or come to the hospital right away if you experience any dizziness, blurred vision or nausea. Otherwise, take it easy for a few days and you’ll be fine.”

  “Shouldn’t you do some tests, make sure your prognosis is accurate?” This from Connor, who’s lurking in the doorway. I didn’t have a clue how long he’d been standing there.

  The doctor frowns at him. “I don’t believe that’s necessary. She’s alert, able to answer questions clearly, pupils dilating normally. Sometimes mild concussions don’t show on a head CT.”

  Connor moves in closer, until he’s looming over the doctor. “I want to speak to the hospital administrator.”

  “Connor,” I hiss, mortified that he’d challenge the doctor’s diagnosis. “It’s not necessary.”

  I am, of course, ignored, as he’s too busy staring the medical professional down.

  “Fine. I’ll order the head CT.” He leaves, pulling the curtain once more.

  “I’m leaving.” The hospital already has my information, they’ll bill me.

  “No.” Connor cages me in against the side of the bed, tilts my chin up until I’m forced to look into his eyes. “Baily, I want to be absolutely sure you don’t have something more serious going on before I put you in the car for a two hour drive. Think about it. The Rosemont is at least half an hour from the hospital. I won’t take that risk with you.”

  “You’re overreacting,” I tell him.

  “Indulge me, just this once.”

  “I think you’ve already been indulged way too much. It’s not good for your massive ego.”

  He smiles and feathers a light kiss over my lips. “We’ll work on that first thing tomorrow.”

  ~*~

  It’s after three in the morning by the time Connor pulls up in front of my little stone cottage at the Rosemont. Tears fill my eyes when he gently shakes me awake and I see the outline of the familiar little structure, though I’m not sure if it’s from exhaustion, the persistent headache or overwhelming frustration. I wipe the moisture away with my sleeve.

  “I’m fine,” I snap irritably when Connor offers to carry me inside. “Stop treating me like an invalid.”

  One eyebrow goes up. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m assuming you want to sleep here tonight.”

  I don’t respond, just push my way past him into my little home. The light beside my chair and a half is on, which grates on me because I sure didn’t leave it on. “Who was in here?”

  “An assistant.”

  “Not the French snot.” I groan, thinking about her messing with my space. She’s already on my shit list for making me think Connor ran off on me.

  “Of course not. I terminated her employment on Saturday.”

  “You did?” It may be the concussion but that doesn’t make any sense to me. She was at the party Saturday night, I had talked to her myself. And Connor has been with me nonstop since.

  “Why would you do that?” I ask him.

  He moves into my kitchen, retrieves a glass from the cupboard and checks the fridge. “No bottled water?”

  “The well water here is excellent. Answer the damn question, Connor.”

  He fills it with tap water and brings it to me, then meets my gaze. “She lied to you about me. We have enough miscommunications without her malicious intent.”

  I blink, stunned that he would fire a competent employee over me. And if I’m honest, a little flattered that I mean so much to him. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying.”

  He grins. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

  I roll my eyes and then wince at the pain it inflicts on my already throbbing skull. “Please. Being jealous of all the woman who desire you would be full time job.”

  “I only want you,” he says, in that low, husky voice I can’t resist.

  Only this time I can. “Connor, everything hurts and all I want right now is a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

  “I know. Where’s your Tylenol?”

  I shuffle toward the bedroom, too tired to fight or banter with him now. “Bathroom medicine cabinet. Feel free to snoop. I know you will anyway.”

  After setting the water glass on the nightstand, I lie on the bed fully clothed. A light flicks on in the bathroom and a few pill bottles rattle, before Connor reemerges with the extra strength Tylenol.

  I prop myself up only long enough to swallow two capsules and then collapse back onto the bed.

  Connor lifts my left foot, pulls my shoe and sock off and repeats the motion with the right. I blink at him blearily when he reaches for the snap at my waistband. “What are you doing?”

  “Making you more comfortable. Lift up.”

  My hips rise automatically and he peels the jeans down my legs. I take my bra off myself and fling it toward the laundry corner, unwilling to let him do that for me. I’m down to a tank top and underwear, more than I’ve worn to bed with Connor in the past.

  He sets the alarm on his phone, pulls the duvet up over me and clicks the light off. I hold my breath when he climbs into bed beside me, but he’s still fully clothed. I know that too is a gesture to make me more comfortable. He pulls me into his arms and spoons up behind me before whispering, “Goodnight.”

  My eyes drift shut, but my head is still throbbing. I wish I’d taken Connor up on the offer to stop at a drugstore before the drive. Acetaminophen works best when taken at the first signs of pain, and between the fluorescent hospital lights, unnecessary testing and the drive, I’ve already been hurting for hours. I’m hot and kick at the heavy covering.

  “What’s wrong?” he murmurs in my ear.

  “Headache,” I whisper. “Can’t get comfortable.”

  He’s silent for a minute. “Will you let me try something?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “I want to give you an orgasm.”

  Really? What is he, sixteen? “Nice try but—”

  “I’m serious. Sexual climax releases endorphins and blocks pain.”

  “I’m really not in the mood.” Isn’t having a headache a reason to dodge sex?

  When he answers, his voice is quiet, almost pleading. “Just let me pleasure you, Baily. I hate to see you suffer.”

  I know he won’t stop harping on this until he either gets his way or my skull implodes. “Alright. One orgasm. No sex sex, though.”

  “Understood.” His breath is hot in my ear and his tongue flicks out to toy with the lobe. He pushes the cover away and the cool night air raises goose bumps on my skin. Calloused palms explore my arms in slow, sweeping caresses, stroking my skin. “So soft. I love how soft you are.”

  I close my eyes, blocking out the pain as he moves in to the center of my body. He lifts my tank top up and I’m sure he’ll take one of my breasts into his mouth. He doesn’t though, instead touching my bare stomach and slowly tracing my ribs. He skips over my breasts, instead massaging my shoulders lightly, skimming my clavicle. Heat builds inside me, catching me off guard. I want him to touch my breasts, I realize, or between my legs, where my sex is growing slick and ready for him.

  “How does this feel?” he asks when he presses his thumbs into the taut muscle between my shoulder and neck.

  I groan in relieved ecstasy. My nipples harden to stiff peaks and my clit throbs with every beat of my heart.

  He kisses me once, a chaste sort of peck, before maneuvering down to my neck. “I love the taste of your skin. It’s exquisite and unique.”

  “Please.” The pain has dampened, hidden behind the need I’m drowning in. “You said you would….that you’d make me…”

  Even in the dark, I recognize the wicked smile, feel it as the air crackles between us. A few quick touches and I’m clay in his hands, ready for molding. I should be disgusted with myself but I’m too turned on to care about pride. “Please, I want to come.
”

  Settling by my side, he traces one finger slowly down the center line of my body across my sternum, dipping into my bellybutton and then delving inside my underwear. Hot lips close over one nipple while he strokes my mound. I spread my legs wider, inviting him to touch me more intimately. His tongue flicks over my nipple as he traces the seam of my labia, but doesn’t part the swollen lips.

  I squirm, but he anticipates, lifting his hand and head away so I sag back onto the mattress in frustration. He owns me in this moment and I resent the hell out of him for it. “It’s really lousy of you to take advantage of my pain to make a point.”

  He stills. “I’m not, baby.”

  “Then what’s with all the playing? You’re getting off on making me beg you, right?” My thighs tremble but I can’t force myself to close them, to shut him out completely, no matter how big a bastard he is.

  He moves over me then, and takes my lips in a harsh kiss. His finger delves deeper into my folds and he exhales a harsh breath into my mouth. “I didn’t know, honey, I swear. I was just trying to turn you on. Hell, you’re drenched.” He groans the last word as two fingers sink inside my opening.

  I arch my back, taking the thick digits deeper, letting him finger fuck me right out of my anger, out of my pain, hell, right out of my mind. His lips claim the other nipple as his thumb finds my clit. He works the small bundle with a steady rhythm, matching the thrusting of his fingers until I’m riding his hand, galloping toward release.

  The pad of his index finger unerringly seeks out that hot spot inside my clenching channel and that’s all it takes before my body bows in total release.

  I’m still panting when Connor takes his hand back. I turn toward him instinctively, but he’s rigid with tension. “I’ll be right back.”

  I’m half asleep when I hear the small, stifled sounds emanating from my bathroom and realize he’s bringing himself to climax by his own hand while still covered in my juices. Such an intimate act to share, but he’s not really sharing, because he took mine and then withheld his. I’m not sure how I feel about that, and am too exhausted to care.