Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) Page 6

  “Enough questions.” Connor rolls off the bed. “I’ll run us a bath.”

  Stung by his curt dismissal, I curl up onto my side. The thought of still being on the outs with the Mr. Edge version of Connor bothers me. The sexually dominant Connor possesses answers, but he won’t share them with me. Why?

  Why didn’t I tell him about my grandfather’s illness? Because I was afraid. So what is Connor afraid of?

  He has everything, at least on the surface. More money than he knows what to do with, looks, and other than his divided personality, his health. But he’s paranoid beyond reason, cagey and untrusting of most people. He goes to great lengths to conceal his true self, even from himself. There has to be a reason for that.

  I need to find out what.

  Chapter Seven

  I follow Connor into the oversized bathroom. White votive candles are scattered about the room and the scent of vanilla fills the small space.

  “Turn around,” he instructs.

  Slowly, I pivot away from him.

  “God, you’re luscious.” His words are rough and filled with emotion.

  I blush under his observation. “You’re the only one who thinks so.” And I love him for it. I’ve come to terms with my feelings. I’ve never been a reckless person, but with Connor, I throw caution to the wind time and again.

  He tugs my hair until I tip my head back. “You started a bar fight, Baily.”

  “Not really.” I think back to that Saturday a few weeks ago when two of my male friends got into it at the local watering hole. “Greg was already drunk and Eric has always been stubborn. Their personalities clashed. It was stupid and it wasn’t about me. I was just there.”

  He shakes his head and twists my hair up off my back, clips it to secure it. “You’re so naive. Men only fight about one thing, territory. Those bozos were infringing on mine.”

  “I don’t like being referred to as part of your territory,” I say.

  “It’s not meant to be insulting or to go against the women’s rights agenda. I know you are perfectly capable of caring for yourself. But you can’t reason with millenniums of ingrained instinct. It’s imprinted on our DNA. Alpha males lay claim to the choicest resources around and you are my crown jewel.”

  I don’t know how to respond to his crude yet somehow flattering explanation. He runs a wet washcloth over my lower back and butt, removing the evidence of his passion from my skin, before helping me into the tub. It’s a modern convenience, big enough for six people and lined with jets.

  Connor follows me in and I settle between his bent legs, resting my head on his chest. Warm water bubbles around us and I breathe out a sigh of contentment. “This is nice.”

  He traces the bumps of my spine in a steady up and down motion. “What can I give you?”

  I frown and look up at him. “What do you mean?”

  Lines form around his brow. “I mean, I don’t have anything to hold you here with me. I know you must be restless with nothing to do. What can I give you that you’ll actually take?”

  This is the reason I came to see him in the first place before we got sidetracked. “I want to go back to school, get my degree so I can be a nurse.”

  He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rises and falls. I stay pressed up against him, waiting for him to speak. “It isn’t safe.”

  “Connor, just hear me out, please.”

  He engulfs my shoulders with his large palms. “Baily, someone tried to kill you. I don’t know who or why. Lying low for a month isn’t enough. I can’t send you off into the world knowing that you could be in danger every second. I’ll go insane worrying.”

  I sit up and put space between our bodies. “Listen to me very carefully, all right? I don’t need your permission; that’s not what I’m asking for here. I want you to support me in what has been a long standing dream. But I’ll do it with or without your help. With would be nicer. For both of us.”

  To emphasize my point, I wrap my arms around his neck and crush my breasts against his chest. He inhales sharply as I press my sex to his, demonstrating my eagerness for us to get along.

  “You’re not playing fair,” he murmurs, rocking himself against me. I reach down, parting my labia so the head of his cock rubs against my clit directly. It amazes me that we could both feel such a strong desire after the earlier scene, yet our bodies strain toward each other as though magnetized.

  “You never play fair.” I nip at his earlobe. “Why should I?”

  I wrap my fist around the plump head of his erection and he throws his head back. Power surges through me as I pump him with my fist in long, drawn out pulls.

  “I love touching you,” I whisper. “You’re so hard, and so smooth. But you know what I love even more?”

  “Baily....” His hands seek out my hips and pull me even more tightly against him. His eyes are heavy lidded, almost as though he’s drugged. Maybe he is. I know that’s how I feel in the throes of our combined passion.

  But right now I’m clear headed. I have a point to make. “You ask me what you can give me? Freedom. The right to make my own life choices. I make some good ones.”

  I move my hand away and sink onto his solid length. His eyes fly open and I see panic there. “Baily, I’m not—”

  I kiss him to stop his protests and whisper the truth. “It’s okay. I’m on the pill. I have been for weeks.”

  His sigh is pure relief. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  It shouldn’t sting that he’s so paranoid about impregnating me. I’m not ready to be responsible for a tiny helpless life, so why should I expect him to be? Yet I feel like there’s something I’m missing, some monster that dwells in the darkness of his soul that he hasn’t shown me.

  “Ride me,” he whispers, nuzzling my neck, and I push away my unease. Without a condom he feels even hotter and I can tell from the little gasping sounds he makes that our lovemaking is different for him too.

  “You like this?” I squeeze him with my feminine muscles, and the tendons in his neck stand out, answering my question. I’m thrilled he’s responding to me this way. I wasn’t sure his controlling self would like it. “See what can happen when you give me a little room to maneuver?”

  His lips part and I take advantage, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, tasting him and letting him sample me in return. His hands find my breasts and his calloused palms abrade my nipples. I add a circling of my hips to each downward stroke and he grunts in satisfaction.

  He’s almost ready to agree; I can see the indecision warring with the pleasure on his face. There’s fear there too, fear for my safety, but it’s not the red alert panic he’s demonstrated before. He’s starting to trust me the way I trust him. Without reservation.

  “Connor?” a feminine voice calls from the hallway.

  His eyes fly open and a string of profanity the likes of which I’ve never heard from him falls from his lips. He’s still hard and throbbing inside me.

  “Who is that?” I ask, searching his expression.

  His lips part but I don’t hear his response as the bathroom door opens and an elegantly dressed blonde peaks around the corner. She takes one look at the two of us, and a feline smile curves her lips.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but we had a date.”

  ~*~

  “A date?” I ask Connor when he returns carrying my clothes. “What the hell happened to exclusivity!”

  “I can explain.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking flustered and irritated. The irritation is probably because he didn’t get a chance to finish what we started in the tub. But with his blonde “date” waiting downstairs, relieving his sexual frustration is not uppermost in my mind.

  Those words do little to reassure me. “By all means.”

  “Rochelle and I are faux dating, for the tabloids. We go out every few weeks to a club or a restaurant, until I’m sure we’re photographed together.”

  “So you’re dating.” My bra falls from my numb fingers. I cross my arms ove
r my chest.

  “It’s not real, Baily.”

  “With you, nothing ever is.” I pick up my clothes and turn my back to him to disguise the hurt the situation has inflicted. “If it’s just pretend, why haven’t I met her before?”

  “She’s only been here once before. She’s an actress and she just finished filming in Dubai. Come meet her now. You’ll see you have no reason to be jealous.”

  I open my mouth to deny his accusation, but he’s right. She’s an actress; I thought her face was familiar. With a start, I realize I’ve probably seen her and Connor photographed together. Of course I’m jealous. She’s beautiful and he shows her off to the world while he hides me away like some dirty secret. I pull on my clothes under his intense scrutiny.

  “You’ve lost weight.” Connor doesn’t look happy about it. “Come on, we can all have dinner together.”

  If he’s expecting some wild threesome action, he’s setting himself up for disappointment.

  Rochelle has made herself at home in the kitchen. An open bottle of wine stands at the counter and she’s sipping from a goblet lined with gold filigree. Everything about her speaks of casual sophistication and I can’t help feeling intimidated in my country bumpkin attire of denim and flannel.

  She arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Connor. “So I gather you got a better offer and our plans for the night have changed?”

  “You gathered right.” Placing his hand against the small of my back, he urges me forward. “Baily, this is Rochelle Newhart, also known as Rachel Meade. Rochelle, Baily Sinclair, my girlfriend.”

  She gives me a slow once over. “Hi, real girlfriend, I’m the beard.”

  “I thought I was your beard?” Connor pours us each a glass from the wine bottle.

  Rochelle kicks off her shoes and curls her feet up under her before turning her attention to me. “It’s a mutually beneficial faux relationship.”

  “I’m not sure I see the need for a faux relationship when he’s in a real one.” My words sound more hostile and possessive than I feel. Something about Rochelle is too easy-going to really worry me. As a woman who truly desires Connor beyond all reason, I’m plenty familiar with the symptoms.

  Rochelle casts Connor a look of amusement. “Well, Mr. Hotshot here has a knack for pissing people off. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  Shooting Connor a glance, I see he isn’t insulted or even surprised. “Yeah, I’ve seen it in action.”

  Rochelle empties her wine glass and holds it up to Connor for a refill. “Yeah, he’s kind of a bull in a china shop when it comes to social graces. People only put up with him because he’s got more money than God.”

  I barely stifle a laugh. Connor refills both of our wine glasses and stands behind me, pressing his body against mine. “Glad you two are bonding,” he mutters.

  “Anyhow, sometimes people like to try and take him down a peg or two. And some of those very important people with unlimited resources and grudges galore also lack morals. They want to hit him where it hurts. Like by hurting someone close to him. Which is why he’s “estranged” from his family.”

  “Tell her how many attempts have been made on your life since we visibly hooked up.”

  “Six, but don’t credit yourself with all of them. I too have a knack for pissing people off.” Rochelle winks at me.

  Hearing her description of Connor’s life breaks my heart. Anytime he gets close to anyone he has to wonder if they’ll be used against him. I put my hand over his where it rests on my shoulder and squeeze his fingers in a silent show of support. That must be a terrible way to live, always afraid of losing those closest to you.

  His paranoia makes so much more sense now.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way because I’m grateful to you for helping him, but what do you get out of all this?”

  “Rochelle is gay,” Connor says.

  “And proud of it.” She toasts to that, then purses her lips. “Unfortunately, coming out would be the death knell of my career as a leading lady. As if who I shag has anything to do with my acting ability. But it’s the world we live in. Could be worse; at least no one is trying to stone me because I munch rug.”

  I blink, totally out of my depth.

  “Do you understand why I said you have no reason to be jealous?” His breath in my ear makes me shiver. “More likely she’ll hit on you than me.”

  “I don’t poach from my pals. Besides, it’s obvious she bats for the away team. She hasn’t checked out my rack once.” Rochelle hops up from her chair and stretches. “Well, if we aren’t going out to be seen, I’m gonna go get comfy. Same room as last time?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  She blows us both a kiss and sashays from the room.

  “I forgot she was coming today, or I would have warned you before.” Connor pushes some hair behind my ear. “Do you feel better about our arrangement now?”

  “I’m having a hard time processing everything,” I admit. “It’s all so overwhelming.” And me, the sad little country mouse who’s never left the state of New York.

  Connor drops a kiss on my forehead. “Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I wouldn’t bet on it, Snarkarella whispers.

  Chapter Eight

  The change overtakes Connor while the three of us are sitting around the formal dining room enjoying dinner.

  “This is incredible.” Rochelle, now dressed down in yoga pants and a tiny T-shirt pronouncing her a ‘Gold Digger,’ tucks into the Szechwan stir fry Connor whipped up.

  “Nothing to it. I just great in a little fresh ginger for extra kick.” He smiles in that wicked way of his, his focus on my face.

  Heat scalds my cheeks as I think about the earlier use of the ginger, and I reach for my water glass.

  Connor turns to Rochelle. “Actually—” He stops speaking and his eyes roll back in his head.

  “Shit.” Rochelle is up, out of her chair and moving to him. “Let’s get him flat on the ground.”

  “You know what this is? What’s happening to him?” I ask as I help her hoist his big body from the chair. It isn’t easy; he’s heavier than the two of us combined and pure deadweight.

  “I’ve seen it before.” Her tone is grim.

  His expression is almost slack, as though he’s in a catatonic state. I’ve spent enough time in nursing homes to know the signs, but seeing Connor’s normally vibrant face practically lifeless fills me with horror.

  We maneuver him until he’s lying flat on the Oriental rug. Rochelle tugs my hand, trying to urge me up from my position by his side. “Back up, in case he comes up swinging.”

  “He won’t,” I tell her, cupping his head in his hands. It’s Mr. Edge who’s coming back, and he’s more a cut the enemy with words sort. “You’re sure this isn’t some kind of seizure?” There are no tremors, but epileptics don’t always display the same symptoms.

  “I have no idea. He never told me what causes this. I just know he wakes up…altered.”

  Our eyes meet and I’m glad she’s here, that I’m not alone in my worry.

  She studies my face and her lips part. “You’re in love with him.”

  Now isn’t the time to discuss it, and I focus on his face, searching for any signs of change. This is the first time I’m able to see his expression as he undergoes his transformation. “How long does it usually take?”

  “I’ve only seen it once, but it was less than a minute and nowhere near this dramatic.”

  His eyes open and I see the haze of confusion there. I stroke his cheek and whisper, “Hey you, you had us worried.”

  He blinks, and his gaze snaps to Rochelle. “How long?” he rasps.

  I glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. I came to the house at five and it’s now after ten. “About five hours, maybe a little less.”

  He sits up smoothly and I study his every move. He’s as graceful as ever, his motions fluid.

  “What’s the last thing you rememb
er?” Rochelle steps closer now that she sees Connor’s not in a violent mindset.

  “We were in the pool.” He runs a hand through his hair. I notice the slight tremor, but ascribe that to disorientation more than any physiological malady.

  “Well, when I got here a little over an hour ago you two were in the tub. Must have been a watersports kinda day.” Rochelle grins, trying to lighten the mood.

  Connor’s focus darts from her to me. I see the frustration there and can only imagine what’s going on in his head. The last thing he knew he was angry with me, and now he finds out we’ve kissed and made up. I can’t even imagine how he’ll react if he finds out about the figging. I’ve barely wrapped my mind around that. “Rochelle, I don’t mean to be rude but would give us some privacy?”

  “Not a problem.” She picks up her wineglass and heads for the stairs. “See you two crazy kids in the morning.”

  I don’t miss his wince at the word crazy and my heart breaks a little for him.

  Slowly, he lowers himself into the chair, rests his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. “I need a drink.”

  “Do you want me to open another bottle of wine?”

  “Something stronger.”

  “’Kay, I’ll be right back.” I go to the parlor where I know he keeps a stocked liquor cart. The crystal decanters are all full and I can’t tell what’s what. Picking one at random, I grab a highball glass and carry it back to the dining room.

  He actually smiles when he sees what I’ve brought. “That’s hundred year old Scotch.”

  I set it down in front of him. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “I remember that much at least.” His eyes meet mine. “Thank you.”

  I’m not sure if he’s thanking me for retrieving the booze or something else. “I actually have an ulterior motive for getting you liquored up.”

  He pours a drink and takes a sip. “What would that be?”

  He’s playing coy, but he knows what I’m after. “Don’t you think it’s time you tell me what’s going on with you?”