Caught Up In You 5: No More Denial (Edgeplay) Page 2

  He strokes my face tenderly. “You have nothing to feel badly about.”

  “Then why do I feel so awful?” I whisper.

  “Don’t.” It’s a command, given in his dominant tone, the one that commands respect, but I ignore it. No matter that he owns my heart, or that we’re going to be married. I know he’d move heaven and earth to make me happy, but Connor Edge does not have the right to tell me how to feel.

  He lied to you. Used you, Snarkarella hisses. She’s an insidious bitch, but she’s always there looking out for me, and for once I answer her in the privacy of my own mind, even as Connor holds me close.

  How did he use me?

  Think about it. He came here looking for revenge against Thomas Sinclair. The Alzheimer’s took that from him. He couldn’t punish a man who was already damned. You were the next best thing.

  Do you think he loves me? I need to know. This inner critic is the only person I trust to be honest with me.

  I think it doesn’t matter. Your relationship is built on a web of lies. It’s destined to crumble.

  In that moment I know why I despise her. She may be harsh, a task mistress I can never please, but she always encourages me to do the right thing.

  What do I do now?

  Her words make me shiver, chilling me to my marrow. Leave. There’s nothing holding you here now. Pops is gone. You owe Connor nothing. It’s time to live your life.

  A tear leaks out from my tightly shut eyelids. I’ll tell Connor tomorrow.

  You think he’ll let you go? Come on Baily, use your head. You know this man. Even if Mr. Edge somehow manages to let you walk away, Connor the Dom will come after you. The only way to get away is to do it covertly.

  She makes it sound like mission impossible. Maybe it is. I have to say goodbye to him.

  Snarkarella doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t need to. I already know she doesn’t like the idea.

  Connor shifts against me, his erection prodding my thigh. “I need you. I need to be inside you right now. I feel like you’re slipping away from me.”

  Because I am. Though my heart is willing, my body doesn’t respond to his caresses. Or maybe it’s my mind causing the problem. I don’t want to accept him for what I’m sure will be the last time.

  His lips are on mine in a sweet and tender kiss, full of reverence and love. He’s never made the declaration, and now I don’t want to hear it. Turning my back on all he offers, all the safety and tenderness, is hard enough. I can’t give up his heart.

  My body trembles as his hand skims farther down, not from lust or need, but from the agony I know is coming. My spine is so stiff it feels as though it will snap in half. A breath bursts from me when he reaches beneath my panties to pet my sex.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasp when his fingers touch my sex lips and find no wetness, no liquid desire. All the moisture in my body is trickling from my eyes in an endless wave of tears. I want this to be special, perfect, but the slickness I’ve started to take for granted when I’m with him is gone. “I can’t—”

  “Ssshhh, you have nothing to apologize. It’s not your fault. I’m a greedy bastard and it’s been days. Let me get you ready.”

  Again his lips take mine, his kiss ravenous. I’m out of breath when he pulls away. He tugs my camisole over my head and tosses it aside. His lips descend on my bare breasts, tight from the chill in the room. My fingers go to his silky hair, trying to memorize the way the strands feel.

  Switching his mouth to the other breast, one hand toys with the wet peak while the other cups my sex. I feel his heat, his warmth. but it doesn’t melt me. I strain for that burning pull, but it’s far away now. I’m already gone. I sob harder. Can’t I just have this one final goodbye?

  Connor eases back, his brows drawn. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” I’m a blubbering mess, frantic at the thought that he won’t continue because I’ve turned frigid all of a sudden. “No, please, keep going. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  The wariness slips away to reveal devotion, tenderness. “There’s nothing wrong with you, baby. I don’t want to push you—”

  “Yes, give me this. I need it.” I claw at his chest, nearly frantic. The urgency drives deeper, like a splinter in my mind. It’ll drive me mad soon if I’m not careful.

  Connor reaches for the bedside table and extracts a bottle from the drawer. I have to wipe my stinging eyes to see he’s holding a bottle of lube. I spread my legs before he can ask, eager to show my compliance.

  Struggling out of his boxer briefs, he pours lube onto his hand and starts massaging my sex. “You’re so soft here,” he whispers as his fingers trace over my folds, leaving slipperiness in his wake. “So warm.”

  “Please.” My fingers curl into his bicep as he eases one slick digit into my opening. The pressure, the fullness is exactly what I crave, and I tilt my hips up, silently begging for more.

  Slowly, my body stretches and prepares for him. The artificial lubrication summons my own, and he slips a second finger inside me while his thumb seeks out the tight bundle of nerves at the top of my sex.

  “Connor,” I pant, closing in on mindless need. “Please.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  My gaze latches on his. “You. All I’ve ever wanted is you.”

  My words send him into a frenzy. He dumps copious amounts of lube onto his cock, until he’s as slick as I am. Taking his shaft in one hand, he feeds it into my sex, his gaze focused on my face. My limbs go around him, arms encircling, legs twining with his, holding him to me. I revel in our joining, the slide of his flesh against mine, into my aching tunnel.

  “So tight,” he groans, closing his eyes and breathing through his mouth.

  “I love having you inside me.” The words fall from my lips and he shudders above me. I kiss along the curve of his jaw, where his five o’clock shadow peeps out. My fingers dig into the taut muscles of his back. He’s huge inside me, stretching me with every swivel of his hips.

  Though every tendon stands out in sharp relief, he holds still, the head of his shaft nudging the mouth of my womb. I wriggle beneath him, but he’s so large I don’t gain any ground. His arms go around my, holding me to him, and he buries his face against my neck.

  “I love you.” His whispered words pierce my soul.

  No! my mind screams. Why is he making this so hard on me? Sobs break forth again as I clutch him desperately. I have no control over my emotions, my body. He holds me and rocks, joining with me as though he wants to surge into me until we are one.

  Against all odds, an orgasm crashes through me and I scream his name, tears still tracking down my temples. As my sex clamps down on him, his control breaks and he shoves even deeper inside, burying his thick length as far into my greedy sex as it will go.

  We’re both shaking in the aftermath. Sweaty, sticky and shaken to our marrow. The sheets are undoubtedly ruined, and I’m not much better, quivering like a Jell-O mold in turbulence.

  Still inside me, he moves us back to the position where we started, face to face yet now bonded by flesh and spirit. His lips kiss away my tears and he wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me closer still until all I hear is the steady drumming of his heartbeat.

  I can’t do it. It would kill me to leave him after that. He’s everything I never knew I needed, delivered like a miracle into my arms. It’d be sacrilegious to walk away.

  Stop rationalizing, Snarkarella hisses. Remember that he kept the truth from you, is still keeping secrets. It should take more than a decent fucking to blot that from your mind.

  But she underestimates his hold on me—not his arms around me, but the tethers he’s sunken into my heart. He doesn’t want me to go, even if I am the granddaughter of the man who betrayed him. Shouldn’t I consider that in my decision?

  How about what you want? Snarkarella’s question lacks her usual vitriol. What do you want for us, independent of Connor Edge, the Rosemont or anything else? There’s a whole big world out t
here. Don’t you want to see it?

  Of course I do.

  Even if he let you see it, what would the view be like, behind walls and teams of security guards? Connor will never ease up on the safety measures. Everything will be on his schedule, his timetable, done his way.

  There’s no arguing with the truths she speaks. Connor does sequester me. Sure it’s for my protection, but if not for him, I wouldn’t need protection, would I?

  His breathing has evened out, he’s asleep. Again my heart clenches as though someone is squeezing it in a fist. I can’t just abandon him.

  Who says it has to be forever? Go get a life and if you decide to let Connor Edge be a part of it, then more power to you. Just make sure the choice is yours and that you’re not backed into it or bullied into it.

  Worries abound. Will he wait for me? He said he loves me, and I believe him, but love is not always an endless well. His might dry up if I’m not here to reciprocate.

  But is that fear enough to justify my staying here? I know I’ll never want anyone else the way I want him. And I have no doubt that a fresh start, away from the Rosemont and all the skeletons buried here, will be good for us.

  Connor’s hold on me loosens. This is my moment. Quietly as I can, I slip from the bed, away from his warmth and into the bathroom. His breathing is deep and even when I come back out dressed only in a bathrobe.

  If he catches me I’ll say I’m hungry, that I wanted something from the kitchen.

  The house is silent and I descend the stairs. I know the security procedures by now. The nights when I stay at the main house, there’s no one guarding my cottage. I still need to avoid the security teams sweeping the grounds, but I know something they don’t.

  I move to Connor’s study and my gaze falls on the wall safe where two important documents sit. One is our marriage license. I swallow hard when I think that by leaving, I’m rendering it useless. We’ll have to apply for another one.

  If he still wants to marry me.

  The other is even more troubling. It’s the safe, sane and consensual clause that I signed for Dom Connor. Even if this Connor doesn’t chase after me, I know he will. A thrill shoots through me when I think about him catching me.

  The misery shrouding me squashes any positive feelings. If not for my grandfather there wouldn’t be a Dom Connor, a controlling man with deep-seated issues that stem from three years of he alone knows what. Maybe if there are no more Sinclairs here at the Rosemont, Connor will finally heal his fractured psyche.

  The Connor who just made love to me so exquisitely still thinks he wants me. But he doesn’t have the whole picture. He doesn’t know what happened to him after my grandfather’s betrayal.

  It’s Dom Connor who has to make that choice. And I have to look out for myself, because I can no longer trust anyone else to have my best interests at heart.

  The tunnel is as creepy as I remember, worse without Connor’s reassuring presence. Slowly, I make my way through the winding corridor until I reach the root cellar beneath my cottage. Relief fills me but it’s short lived. This is the first place he’ll look when he discovers I’m gone.

  My bedroom looks as though a bomb went off inside. Connor packed hastily before the trip to Dubai. Though it’s only been a week, everything looks different. The space that used to feel snug and cozy now seems chokingly claustrophobic.

  No time to mull things over. It’s pitch black, and turning on lights would alert any patrolling security to my presence. Fumbling in the darkness, I don a tank top and underwear, then yank on the first pair of jeans I find. My black duffel bag is under the bed. A suitcase will be too cumbersome and I need to ditch my truck at the train station. I stuff various articles of clothing into the bag along with a picture of me and Pops at the county fair. It’s the only photo I have of the two of us together. I was about six in the picture, around the same age as Connor when Pops took him…

  Can’t think about it. Though it pains me, I left both my cell phone and Simon, the tablet Connor bought for me, back at the main house. Electronic devices have GPS tracking, and I have to leave everything Connor could use to find me. No trail of breadcrumbs for him or anyone else to follow.

  With one final look around, I turn away from the only home I know and face the future head on.

  Chapter Three

  I stop at the drive up ATM at the bank on my way out of town. A few hundred dollars and the contents of my duffel bag and purse are all I have to start my new life. But where to go?

  The train station seems the logical choice. I have no doubt Connor could pull some strings with the state troopers and find my truck. But buying a train ticket in cash is harder to trace. Thinking like this could drive a person insane. Especially since part of me wants him to catch me, to haul me back to his bed and keep me there for the rest of my life.

  The roads are deserted so early in the morning, and I make great time heading to the Poughkeepsie train station. Leaving the keys in the truck is another message for Connor. Another way of saying I’m not coming back.

  I scan the choices, trying to decide where to go. Part of me thinks I should head north, to Albany or Syracuse. I have a few friends living around there who might help me.

  But he’d figure that out eventually. I approach the counter, cash in hand. “Grand Central Station.”

  The train is already in, waiting for the early bird commuters who flock to the city like the swallows to Capistrano. Stowing my bag overhead, I take my seat. My mind whirls as I consider what comes next.

  I know no one in Manhattan, or any of the other boroughs. Well, that’s not exactly true. Rochelle is due back from Dubai at some point this week. I can’t recall exactly when. My teeth sink into my lower lip. Can I trust her to help me hide from Connor?

  The train fills and pulls out of the station. Panic claws at me and my heart beats so fast I fear I’ll pass out. What the hell am I thinking? I’m walking away from an established life with a man who loves me, who supports me.

  Who smothers you. Snarkarella adds her perspective.

  My hands are shaking. For lack of anything else to do, I paw through my belongings, searching for the picture of Pops. I find something paper-like and, thinking it’s the photograph, pull it free.

  It’s a business card for Dr. Sanjay Trammel, the physician Connor brought in to start me on birth control. I must have tossed it in the bag by mistake.

  A fortunate accident. I innately trust medical professionals and hope to join their ranks someday. The good doctor had no love of Connor, thought he was abusing me. While that certainly isn’t the case, it assures me she’ll help me and not tell Connor my whereabouts. Her office is on Lexington, only a few blocks from the train station.

  Having a destination eases my mind somewhat and I stare out the window at the Hudson River. The early train is an express, making only a few stops at the larger stations along the way. The conductor punches my ticket, but otherwise I sit, undisturbed.

  Once the train pulls in to Grand Central Station I follow the signs to Lexington Avenue. Other than the brief visit with Connor, I’ve only been to the city twice before. Once to the Thanksgiving Day Parade with a few girlfriends in high school and once on a class field trip to see a musical. On every occasion the hustle and frenetic energy of the city surrounds me. This time there is also a feeling of security, of anonymity. The dense population is even better to get lost in than the tree covered hills of upstate. I merge onto Lexington and join the crowd. New York is a walking city.

  The doctor’s office is situated on the third floor, suite 300. A receptionist unlocks the door as I climb off the elevator. She offers me a neutrally detached smile. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Dr. Trammel.”

  “She’s got rounds at the hospital and won’t be in until ten. Do you have an appointment?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Are you a patient?”

  I nod. “She’s seen me before. I’m here on a pe
rsonal matter.”

  She maneuvers around the desk and pulls up her computer screen. “Have a seat in the waiting room. I’ll see if I can fit you in.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  The waiting room chairs are faded but comfortable. I set my bag to the side and reach for a magazine I have no intention of reading. Just trying to look normal, not a desperate woman with nowhere else to go.

  I’m sure Connor is awake by now. He never sleeps more than four hours at a time. I try not to dwell on how frantic he must be, to wonder if he’s found my truck yet. Try and fail. I can see the wild-eyed desperation so vividly, can feel the frustration radiating from him. I should drop him a line somehow, let him know I’m all right. I had to leave secretly but now that I’m gone I should set his mind at ease.

  “Is there a pay phone nearby?” I ask the receptionist.

  She blinks, as if she has no idea what a pay phone even is. She’s young, hell, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she thinks we’re all born with smartphones in our hands.

  After a moment her mouth closes and she says, “At the diner on the corner across the street.”

  I thank her and head back out of the building. Sure enough, a payphone hangs on the wall of the diner, easy to see through the plate glass window. I jaywalk like a native, making a beeline for the phone. My hands shake as I pick up the receiver, inserting a few coins and dialing his cell.

  He picks up halfway through the first ring. “Baily?”

  I close my eyes, the tension in his voice flaying me open. “I’m all right, Connor.”

  “Thank God.” He sighs in pure relief. “Who took you?”

  “Took me?” He thought I’d been kidnapped? My guilt redoubles.

  “There was no note but I knew you wouldn’t just vanish in the middle of the night.”

  I’m a horrible person. Of course he would think I was snatched from the Rosemont by some thief in the night. It had already happened to him. Sucking in a breath, I push the words out. “Connor, I did. I had to go and I knew you wouldn’t let me leave.”