“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 dee
per, 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.
Connor returns, still dressed, climbs onto the bed behind me and snuggles me up against him. I turn toward him and seek his lips. He seems surprised but then returns the gesture, melding his mouth to mine. We settle down, content to have shared one last kiss tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll do the smart thing.
We’ll see about that, Snarkarella mutters.
13
An irritating beeping sound penetrates my dreamless rest. I blink groggily, still suffering from exhaustion, but disturbed by the sense that I’ve forgotten something important.
Connor strokes his thumb over my elbow. “You awake?”
“Yeah.” At least my headache is gone. His home remedy worked like a charm. “What time is it?”
“A little after seven.” He buries his face in my hair, which can’t smell that great after the explosion, but the gesture is still sweet.
“Seven?” I scowl, wading through the fog until a cold wave of terror washes it away. “Oh shit.”
Connor sits up. “What’s wrong?”
“My second pill. It was in my purse. I left it in the car.” The one that exploded last night.
I brace myself for his overreaction, wondering if he’ll try to drag me back to the city. He surprises me by reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand. “I’ll have Doctor Trammel prescribe you another at the local pharmacy. One of my security patrols will pick it up for you. Go back to sleep.”
I wonder if he’s been body snatched again, but a reasonable Connor is much easier to deal with. “Thanks, but the scare kind of got my adrenaline going. I think I’ll just take a shower.”
“I’ll make some coffee.” He smiles at me, a shy, hopeful smile that breaks my heart a little.
I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water pound my sore muscles. Maybe I’ll do some yoga later to help loosen myself up a bit. When the hot water is finally used up, I dry off, shrug on my blood red terrycloth bathrobe and swath my hair in a towel turban.
The bedroom is empty and I can hear Connor talking to someone, though I can’t make out the words. I wait for a few minutes, unsure who is in my house now. I really ought to stop thinking of this place as mine, even if I did grow up here. It’s the groundskeeper’s cottage. Connor owns it, just like he owns the rest of the Rosemont Estate. If I end our sexual relationship, will he evict me?
Of course he will, Snarkarella hisses. Do you really think he’ll let you keep on here when you reject him?
I sink onto the bed and close my eyes. I’d grown up here, in this cottage, on this property. At times it was confining, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t resent living in the shadow of the various wealthy people who’ve owned the Rosemont over the years. Where would I go though?
Even if he did let me stay here, could I really stay here, see him bring other women here after being so intimate with him? The thought causes my throat to close up.
“How are you feeling?” Connor’s leaning in the doorway holding a steaming mug of coffee.
I force a smile. “Okay. I think I’ll be a little derelict in my duties today though. I have some personal stuff to take care of.” Visiting Pops is number one on the list. I don’t know if he’ll realize I missed a day, but I know it and the need to see him compels me. Then there’s the headache of replacing my driver’s license and my ATM card and getting a new cell phone.
He moves into the room, telegraphing wariness with every step. “Baily, you can’t. Someone tried to kill you yesterday.”
“What?” He can’t be serious. “I thought it was an accident.”
He shakes his head. “No. The incident report states that it was a car bomb, although not a very effective one, since the electrical system caught fire before it detonated. I have the email if you’d like to see it.”
I feel slightly ill. Somehow I’d convinced myself it was an accident. But knowing someone had made that happen….
“You’re shaking.” Connor sets the mug down and wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you but you have to know it isn’t safe for you to just run around unprotected, at least not until we find whoever is behind this.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper, clinging to his already rumpled shirt. “Why would someone want to kill me?”
He rubs my back. “I don’t even know that you’re the target.”
I push back and meet his gaze as hope dawns over the cold landscape of my terror. “Then…?”
“We don’t know that you’re not, either. At this point we don’t know anything, but I refuse to take chances with your life.”
That steely determination is back in his voice and I know I have to stand my ground now. “Connor, you can’t keep me locked up in some safe house forever. I have a life, things to do.”
His jaw clenches and his eyes close. I see the struggle in him and sympathize. His intentions are noble—he wants to protect me. What I so easily dismissed as paranoia yesterday, now I see is actually caution.
His lids lift and his gaze is so tormented it actually steals my breath. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, Baily, but I don’t know what to say to you to convince you of that. I’m not trying to keep you locked up, I’m trying to keep you safe. You have no idea how much you mean to me, how much it kills me to deny you anything. Knowing that you’re in danger because of me, that you almost fucking died because of me, it’s eating me alive.”
It’s not an act. I gape at him as he stands and begins pacing the narrow confines of my messy room, muttering as though to himself. “I’m not used to this, to not knowing what to do, what’s right. Your life might be in danger. My instinct is to protect you at all costs. I can keep you here, guarded by force if necessary, but you’ll end up hating me for it. But letting you go on with a giant target on your back…either way I risk losing you.”
I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite my face. “Connor, it’s okay. My job is here. Most of the other stuff can wait. Maybe they’ll catch whoever planted the bomb soon and it won’t be an issue.”
He stops and shoots me a plaintive look. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I get up, following my heart to him, and wrap my arms around him. “I’m right here. I’m safe.” Beyond that I wouldn’t make any promises.
He holds me for several minutes, his cheek resting on the top of my head. I’m completely enveloped in his warm embrace and I’ve never felt so cherished.
A knock sounds on the front door. “I’ll get it. It’s probably your medicine being delivered,” Connor says, and shuts the bedroom door.
I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and twist my still-wet hair up into a ponytail before emerging from the bedroom. Connor has poured me a glass of orange juice and is whipping something up at the stove.
“I thought you might like some French toast and sausage for breakfast.”
“Sounds great, but where did the food come from?”
“I had it delivered,” he answers, cracking eggs into a bowl.
I watch in awe as my kitchen gets a real workout for the first time in years. Connor even find
s an electric frying pan I’ve forgotten all about. Thick slices of cinnamon raisin bread that must have come from a bakery are dipped in the rich batter and then cooked on the hot griddle beside aromatic sausage patties. My mouth is actually watering.
Connor sets a huge plateful of what must be 1500 calories in front of me before going back to fix his own breakfast.
I cut up a slice of toast and can’t suppress a groan of pleasure. “You really are a gourmet. No wonder you’re so popular with the ladies.”
He casts me a veiled look over his shoulder. “I’ve never cooked for anyone before.”
Seriously? “Why not?”
He shrugs but I can tell there’s more to it than he’ll admit. He brings his plate to the small table and sits down across from me. I’ve already eaten two slices of French toast and two sausage patties. I bite my lip trying to resist going for a third.
“Have more.” Connor gestures to my plate.
“I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” he challenges, meeting my gaze.
“I’m not going to be able to burn all that off. It’ll just stick to my hips, where it’ll be in good company.”
Connor, who already ate twice my portion size, scowls. “So?”
This from the man who dated at least three supermodels in the last six months. “I already need to lose about forty pounds.”
“No,” he says simply and begins clearing the table.
“I’m sorry?” I must have misheard. He couldn’t have just shut me down.
But he repeats himself. “No, you don’t need to lose forty pounds. You’d be severely underweight for your height, and it would put too much strain on your organs. There is nothing attractive about starvation. Your body is perfect exactly as it is. If you weren’t still recovering I’d throw you over my shoulder and demonstrate exactly how perfect you are.” The heat in his eyes tells me that is no bluff.
Something warm spreads through my chest and I can’t seem to wipe a silly grin off my face. Knowing that Connor Edge desires me so intensely is heady stuff. Is it any wonder I’ve become completely addicted to him?
Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial Page 11