Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial

by McCormick, Jenna

  “That makes much more sense.” I laugh and take the wrapped box from her. “I have to run home, but I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Want some company? It’s too quiet here with Connor gone.”

  I trip, just catching the railing to prevent myself from falling down those blasted stairs. “Connor left?” Hurt wells that he hadn’t said goodbye.

  “Your face is like an open book and not a mystery either. Doll, you can’t show your entire hand of cards like that, the world will chew you up and spit you out. I’m surprised Connor hasn’t eaten you alive.” Rochelle shakes her head as a wicked grin steals over her features. “Then again—”

  I blush at her lewd implication, more because she’s right and I’m embarrassed and she laughs again. We descend the stairs and she shuts the front door behind us.

  The grounds are deserted and I can’t help scanning the landscaping checking to see if the flowerbeds have been winterized yet. I’m halfway through and tabulating a mental list of what needs to be done when I remember it is no longer my job.

  “How serious is it between you two, anyway?” Rochelle asks.

  “He asked me to marry him.” As soon as the words are out I want to call them back. If I wasn’t holding the box I’d clap a hand over my mouth. I don’t want to tell anyone until I make up my mind about how to answer Connor.

  Rochelle makes a high pitch squealing sound and literally clicks her heels together. “That’s incredible! Oh Baily, I’m so happy for the two of you!” She spins in a circle on the open lawn.

  “Wow. Um, not to rain on your parade, Rochelle, but I haven’t said yes yet.”

  I expect her movie poster beautiful face to fall but the grin stays firmly in place. “That’s almost incidental. Just the fact that he’d ask, that he’s so smitten with you that he’d break his bachelor vow is an enormous deal.”

  “He took a vow to stay single?” The air is cool and the grass laced with frost. I shiver but it has nothing to do with the cold. “When was that?”

  “Not sure really. Before we met, definitely. But it doesn’t matter now because he’s seen the light and he wants to be with you. If there’s hope for Connor Edge, there’s hope for all of us.”

  Her enthusiasm is infectious and I find myself grinning. “Oh there’s definitely hope.”

  We walk in silence down the knoll toward my cottage, both lost in our own thoughts.

  “How charming,” Rochelle breathes, genuinely taken by my little stone abode. Coming from someone with her financial resources the words could sound condescending, but the way she reaches out to touch the house in completely sincere.

  “It’s my favorite spot in the entire world. Would you like to come in?”

  Setting the box down on the table, I make a beeline for my purse. “Want some coffee?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” She’s asks, moving closer to the fireplace. “God, Baily, I love the feel of this place. There’s so much history here.”

  I fill a glass with water and swallow the pill before moving to the coffee pot. “Are you a history buff?”

  “Yes and no. I’m no historian, but I like the look and feel of old things, imaging different ways of life. My role I just finished was a period piece. Think Lawrence of Arabia meets Romancing the Stone.”

  My phone beeps again, probably another reminder notice. I scoop the grounds into a filter and fill the pot. “Sounds exciting. Where were you filming?”

  “The UAE.” At my blank look she grins. “The United Arab Emirates. Dubai is one of my favorite cities. You should get Connor to bring you.”

  Considering Connor wouldn’t even let me leave the Rosemont without an armed escort, I highly doubt a trip to Dubai is feasible. “I’ll mention it to him.”

  “Seriously. It would be fab. I’m going back for a spell, just to enjoy after postproduction wraps. You could meet Lola. Have him bring you when he comes next week. We could double date and the tabloids would eat it up, him, out with three women, like his own harem.”

  This time I hide my hurt that Connor’s planning another trip Rochelle knows about and I don’t. We need to spend less time shagging and more time talking. “Your girlfriend’s name is Lola?”

  “She was a showgirl, with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there…,” Rochelle sings. “Seriously, she used to be a showgirl. In Vegas though, not the Copacabana. Don’t even mention Barry Manilow in front of her. I learned that the hard way.”

  She’s too much. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

  The coffee finishes and I pour us each a mug and set it down on the kitchen table before deciding to go on a little fishing expedition. “So what is Connor doing in Dubai?”

  Rochelle shrugged. “Business guy stuff. He has a building in the city that he uses for home base with all of his eastern hemisphere projects. You’ll have to ask him for anything more specific than that. Not what I’ll be doing, which is shopping. They have this killer mall….”

  I listen while Rochelle waxes poetically about the Dubai mall, apparently the mecca for shopaholics worldwide. Though I try to pay attention my mind keeps wandering back to Connor. The phone beeps again and I reach for it, think it’s the alarm.

  Two new text messages have come in, both from Connor.

  The first Sorry to run off, I have a meeting with the DOD I can’t miss. Call me when you open your present.

  The second, Last night was amazing. XOXO.

  “You should see your face.” Rochelle sighed. “I may have the showgirl but you’re the one who fell in love.”

  I may have only just met her, but I desperately need someone to talk to. And she already knows about Connor’s affliction. “Can I trust that anything I say to you will stay between us?”

  Rochelle sobers. “Is it about his issues?”

  I nod. “That’s a good name for it. You know what he’s dealing with. I want to be with him, help him, but he’s so possessive of me already. I don’t want to just sit here all the time, waiting for him to get back from all these exciting places. I have my own dreams and he won’t even discuss them with me. Is that any way to start a committed relationship?”

  I expected her to mull it over a moment but her answer is immediate. “Fuck no. What is he not letting you do?”

  “I want to go back to nursing school. I could register now and start up again in January. But ever since the car bombing, Connor has me under guard here.”

  Rochelle nods slowly. “He’s afraid for you, afraid you’ll be hurt because of him. But that’s no reason to stop living your life. He can’t ask something from you he’s unwilling to cede himself. My advice, for what it’s worth. Register for your classes and let him deal with the fallout. You tried to talk to him about it, right? So it won’t come as a total shock and he’s a butthead for not listening in the first place. Draw a line in the sand and make him cross to you. Let him know right now how it’s going to be between the two of you, that you won’t let him brush you off or bully you. If he wants you—which I know he does—he’ll bend. Just because you’re thinking about taking on his boatload of issues doesn’t mean you’re willing to do sacrifice your own ambitions for him.”

  I breathe out a sigh of total relief. “So you don’t think I’m being ungrateful or stupid?”

  Rochelle grins. “I think you are being exactly what he deserves. It’s human nature to value greatest the things we work the hardest to obtain. There is more than one way to make a man pay. And Connor Edge can definitely afford you.”

  21

  After Rochelle departs, I eyeball Connor’s gift. The last time he’d given me a present we barely knew one another yet he’d picked out the most exquisite dress. I pick it up to confirm my suspicion; it’s much too heavy for clothing, unless he got me a chainmail vest. I stick my tongue out at it. Knowing Connor’s protective streak, that idea might not be totally off base.

  Turning my back on it, I head to the bathroom, intending to have a relaxing soak in the tub. It’s too early for wi
ne, though I am sorely tempted. There’s a bottle of Rosa Regale I splurged on for my last birthday and never got around to drinking. But for the decisions ahead of me, I figure having a clear head is probably my best bet.

  The phone rings just as I’m about to climb into the tub. Always vigilant of possible problems with Pops, I scurry to answer. “Hello?”

  “Did you open it?”

  I roll my eyes heavenward. “Connor, you are so impatient!”

  A pause. “I take that as a no.”

  I hear murmuring in the background, phones ringing, people talking. “You can take a hike. I’m having a bath before another second passes.”

  He makes a satisfied sound. “Wish I was there to share it with you.”

  So do I. Which confuses the hell out of me. Instead of admitting how truly pathetic I am, I ask, “How’d your meeting go?”

  “I haven’t gone in yet. Call me when you open your gift.”

  “It’s not chainmail is it?”

  He laughs, a genuine sound of pleasure. The soft murmur of conversation in the background ceases. I wonder if he’s gone into a more private room. “Why would I give you chainmail?”

  Not wanting to give him any ideas I say, “No reason. Come over for dinner tonight?” The invitation is out before I think it through. Really need more coffee.

  Dumbass. This from Snarkarella, my caustic inner voice. You can’t cook worth shit.

  “You want to cook for me?” His tone is filled with surprise and pleasure.

  “Nothing fancy,” I warn. Snarkarella’s right, this was a bad idea. But I want to broach the whole college thing again with this version of Connor before I register.

  “As long as I get to vote on desert.” His voice is a smooth purr.

  I shiver at the sexy tone, the sensual promised laced within. “Talk to you soon.”

  After hanging up I head to the tub. The water soothes stiff muscles, body parts I’d never heard from before I started the Connor Edge cardio sex program. Part Pilates, part yoga, all arousing. Though I’ve always been a plus size girl, years of working outdoors and landscaping kept me in pretty good shape but the things that man does to me…

  Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the lip of the cast iron tub but now the seed of curiosity he planted is growing. I want to know what the heck is in that box. He seems so pleased with himself, so insistent that I call him the second I open it. He wants my genuine reaction.

  Since he said he’d be in a meeting I have a little time to ground myself. Last night short circuited my brain. Sex, meeting Rochelle dinner, more sex, Connor’s revelation and proposal and more sex. Manual labor isn’t this exhausting.

  And he’s off ruling the world, leaving me to my own devices. After talking with Rochelle, my mind is made up to go back to school in January but I’m going to try talking to him about it once more at dinner tonight. I’d almost had Dom Connor convinced, but business tycoon Connor still didn’t know about it.

  My mind drifts to possible meals I can prepare. The stuff I’ve experimented with before has been of the country home style variety staring meatloaf and mashed potatoes, pot roast, fried chicken and sausage sage stuffing. Will Connor even like that kind of food or is it too simple for his refined palette?

  The questions regarding our relationship and its direction overwhelm me. We barely know each other. Yesterday I’d was convinced he didn’t want me anymore, that our sexual fling was a phase he’d gotten over. But the preparation he showed, buying us matching bathrobes, and whatever the heck was in that box, that had to happen while we were apart. He was trying so hard, something that Rochelle who knows him better than I do, thought was miraculous. Considering what I’ve learned about his past and the C-PTSD, I agree.

  Climbing from the tub, I dry myself off and go hunting for a pen and paper. I’m a list maker at heart and seeing my jumble of thoughts organized on paper might give me a little relief.

  Notepad in hand, I pour a second mug of coffee and curl up in my leather chair and a half, wrapping a blanket around me for extra warmth. In some ways it’s nice not to have to go rushing out the door to work.

  First the dinner menu. Autumn soup with Southern spoon bread, a nod to his Dixie heritage. Pumpkin pie for desert, in addition to whatever he has planned. My teeth sink into my lower lip when I think about desert. Need to stay focused.

  Flipping the page, I start with questions. Does Connor know who kidnapped him or why? How long was he held? Was the criminal ever brought to justice?

  Tapping my pen against the paper I stare at the last question. Somehow I have a feeling that is a big fat no. He’s so tormented, so driven and I get the feeling that might be another symptom.

  On the third page I start a to-do list for myself. Number one is do some research into C-PTSD. I need to know what I’m getting myself into with Connor. His personalities switching back and forth is difficult enough to keep up with. Are there any other surprises I should prepare for? As much as my heart and other various parts of my anatomy want to jump right in, I know what kind of heartache is in store if I’m not careful.

  Flipping back to the questions I write, what kind of life does Connor envision us having together? I already know what I don’t want, to be his browbeaten doormat wife waiting for whatever time he is willing to give me. But figuring out what I do want is trickier. Does he want me to travel with him? It would be tough for me to do on a nurse’s twelve hour a day four days a week schedule. So where’s the middle ground?

  Looking around my cozy little cottage, I sink my teeth into my lower lip. If we get married I won’t live here anymore. The thought alone makes my lungs seize until I struggle for breath. No way can I ask a multibillionaire use to all the luxuries available to move into my damp little stone abode with me.

  And what about Pops? Connor was so cold to him, almost brutally distant. Could I really marry a man so dismissive of my only living relative, the man who raised me? Connor isn’t close with his family, is actually estranged. Is that how he expects me to be, just someone to warm his bed? Will we ever have a family of our own?

  The idea of children brings me up short. I’ve always imagined having a couple of kids but did Connor want that too? A ball of ice forms in my belly as I recall his panic and extreme measures to ensure I didn’t become pregnant. His relief when I went on birth control. Those were not actions of a man who would welcome fatherhood anytime soon.

  The ringing of my phone jerked me out of my ruminations. I look at the display and sigh. Patience might be a virtue but it is one Connor clearly doesn’t bother with.

  “Meeting over already?”

  “We’re on a break. Did you open it yet?” His voice is anxious.

  “No, I was just making some lists.”

  “You’re killing me, love.”

  The smile spreads across my face. He has yet to say the phrase I love you, but he did call me love. I’m his first real girlfriend and he wants to marry me. Surly love is implied. “Okay, I’ll open it right now if it’ll make you happy.”

  Getting up, I stretch and then move to the box. His impatience radiates across the phone line. The package is wrapped in silver paper with a green bow. “Is there any special occasion for this?” I ask, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can pick it up.

  He draws in a deep breath. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you while we were apart. Every time I went to the city, I bought something for you. It made me feel like I was still connected to you even though we weren’t talking. Like there was still a chance for us.”

  I bite my lip, glad he isn’t there to see it. His words cause my lungs to constrict. Knowing how painful being apart from him was for me and discovering that he felt the same way touched me deeply. “I missed you too.”

  “Open it,” he growls.

  I’m not one of those people who saviors the unveiling of a gift, trying to heighten my anticipation. I tear the wrapping off and toss it over my shoulder. Inside is a large white box. Removing
the lid, I blink in surprise.

  “Baily?”

  “You got me a tablet?” Picking it up, I stare in complete shock at the device. I’d never even owned a computer before, having to go to the library to do any internet research. Running my fingertips over it I marvel at having state of the art technology at my fingertips.

  “I thought it would be useful when you start school again.”

  I sit down hard, my butt barely hitting the chair. “School?”

  “The nursing program.” His voice is hesitant. “Don’t you still want that?”

  “Yeah.” I’m in total shock.

  Connor mutters a curse. “I wish I could see your face. I should have waited til I was there with you. Do you hate it? I can return it or—”

  “I love it.” I interrupt him. He’s so anxious and I can’t let him go on fretting another second. “You’re okay with this, with me returning to school? Did you catch whoever set the car bomb?”

  “No, I haven’t found him yet and yes, I am fine with you going back to school if that’s what will make you happy. We’ll make it work somehow, even if I have to pay for a security team to go through it with you.”

  The device on my lap is more than just an expensive toy. It’s a symbol of his faith in me, an investment in our relationship. Connor the Dom might fight me on it, but this Connor, he could bend, knows the art of negotiation, understands risk and reward. My happiness is his reward. “I love you, so so much.”

  “Good.” I can hear his satisfaction radiating over the phone. “Are you wearing my ring yet?”

  I left in on the nightstand. “We still need to talk about—”

  A murmur in the background and then Connor says a brisk “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He hangs up and I’m left alone again.

  Though I want nothing more than to play with my new tablet, it’s almost time for the security team to escort me to Golden Oaks for my daily visit with Pops. I dress in a hurry, pulling on a pair of jeans and a baggy brown sweater and braid my hair. Grabbing my list off the counter and my purse from the table, I hustle out into the autumn afternoon.