Decided, I release him and focus on his flushed face. He’s breathing hard, his fingers still tangled in my hair so I can’t go far. Not that I intend to.
“Why’d you stop?” he rasps.
“I want you to make me.”
“What?” he blinks, clearly stunned, his muscles tight, tendons standing out. He’s a man on the brink and I’m sorry if he ends up with blue balls, but things have got to change if we’re to have a fighting chance.
Licking my lips I say, “Use me to finish yourself. Use my body any way you want. You can fuck my face, my pussy, my ass. Whatever you want. But you have to make me.”
“Baily….” His hands tremble in my hair.
I squirm, the lips of my sex sliding in the spill of need from my aching channel. The hair pulling, the taste of him on my tongue has got me poised to. “Don’t you want me?”
“Of course.” It’s automatic, a reflex.
“Then take me.”
Maybe it’s wrong to do this to him when he’s so far gone. Too much to ask of him. I’m about to cave and just finish him on my own when he releases me hair. Lunging, he vaults onto the bed behind me. A tearing sound and my panties are gone, shredded. Shoving my thighs wide thick fingers explore my slit, hard, demanding. Unyielding. Exactly as I wanted.
“So wet and ready.” His words are full of awe and male pride.
“Yes,” I hiss when two of them shove inside my throbbing tunnel. His strokes are sure and steady, but over far too soon. A hand between my shoulder blades guides me down onto the mattress with my ass in the air. He stands over me, his sex poised at my opening. One forearm wraps around my waist, holding me in place.
“I love you, Connor,” I say, an instant before he slams home. Black dots float before my eyes as he fucks me hard and deep, exactly how I crave him. He’s rough, pistoning his hips into my backside, the thick ridge of his sex invading my blood engorged tissues, making room for himself, forcing his way inside my body with the same relentless siege he used on my heart.
His thumb dips down and presses into my clit and I go off, like a million fireworks exploding at once, a blinding cacophony of light and sensation. He’s right there with me, roaring like a primal beast set free of his cage. Magic, bliss, perfection as our bodies unite.
Exhausted we collapse onto the bed.
* * *
We spend the entire plane trip, up until the decent to LaGuardia alternately napping and making love. For a while I was worried I’d flipped the switch, brought Dom Connor forth again. And for once I don’t want him to interrupt. But that isn’t what happened at all. He’s too full of questions in between, still apprehensive but trusting his instincts finally.
“You like me to be rough with you?” He asks as he draws patterns on my bare back.
“I like you any way I can get you.” I say. Then turning onto my side I say, “What really turns me on is your confidence, your surety. I trust you completely and it kills me when you don’t trust yourself. Like you’re telling me those feelings of mine are a mistake.”
“So you’ll marry me now?” One eyebrow goes up.
I show him the ring. “It’s a done deal.”
He slips inside me then, hard but gentle as he rocks me to ecstasy. “Good, we’ll get the license on the way home.”
And that’s all we say for a while.
True to his word, Connor has the chauffeur drive us to the city clerk’s office and we fill out the paperwork for our marriage license on the way home.
“It’s only good for sixty days,” I say, overwhelmed at the idea of planning a wedding in less than two months.
Connor nuzzles my neck. “We’ll get it done. Pick a date and I’ll make it happen.”
He will, I know he will. With a contented sigh, I rest against him.
Justin is waiting for us on the steps of the Rosemont. “Mr. Edge, Ms. Sinclair.”
“Any updates?”
He shakes his head. “No DNA on the object other that the two of yours.”
By object he means the damn butt plug. They sent it for DNA analysis for cripes’s sake. I turn bright red when I think about the things he knows about my sex life.
Connor laughs softly. “Don’t worry, Baily. Justin’s a hell of a kinky fucker. He’s seen it all.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The security specialist grins. “And then some.”
“So not the point,” I hiss. From now on, I’m not accepting any gift that isn’t hand delivered.
“What’s the status on Mr. Sinclair?” Connor asks.
“Being prepared to move as we speak.”
“I should go help him transition.”
Connor’s face falls. How can he be disappointed when I lost count of our mile high adventures. “I’d go with you, but we need to consult on the staff interviews.”
“It’s fine. I’ll see you for dinner.”
He nods, then pulls me into his arms and kisses me half stupid. “Love you, Red.” He murmurs.
Another four man security team escorts me to Golden Oaks. My smile vanishes when I see Pops is in a state, agitated, probably due to the transition.
“Pops, sit down. Tell me what’s the matter?”
“I can’t go back there.” He shakes his head. “They’ll find out, Rose. They’ll find out what I did.”
“Ssshhh. It’s okay.” I try to hug him but he shoves me away. “Everything’s going to be fine, Pops. You’re coming home, to the Rosemont.”
“No!” He’s emphatic this time. “I can never go back there, not after what I done.”
One of the nurse’s aides is standing in the door. “Call Dr. Fletcher,” I say. Maybe he can prescribe something to help ease Pops’s anxiety.
The woman scurries off and I turn my attention back to my grandfather. “Pops, listen to me. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”
His eyes lock on mine, sharper than I’ve seen them in recent memory, full of fear and pity. “I did something terrible, Rose. May God forgive me.”
I have no idea what demons are tormenting him but maybe if he tells me about it I can help him. “What’s so awful?”
“We needed the money. You were so sick and we had so many bills. The Rothschilds wouldn’t help, no one would help. Oh my love, forgive me for what I did to that boy. What I caused to happen to him.”
I chill goes through me. “Who. Pops? Who are you talking about?”
But I know, even before the name croaks out I know exactly what he’s going to say, I see the sword seconds before it pierces my heart.
“Connor. His name is Connor Edge.”
28
There are times in my life when I wish I am someone else. Someone smarter, thinner, with more connections and fewer obligations. It’s human nature to think the grass is always greener on someone else’s side of the fence.
But never have I craved a new identity more than in this moment. Staring at my grandfather’s weather-beaten face, a dull roaring in my ears. His features are momentarily free of the confused daze that accompanies the darker periods of Alzheimer’s. He’s scared but the words he just spoke, the damning sentence that hangs between us like a noose, is part of a memory.
“Pops, say that again.” I heard him perfectly the first time, it’s my utter disbelief that begs for a repeat.
Tears track down his craggy face, lined from years of working outdoors. No one shaved him this morning and his stubble contains more salt than pepper. Combined with the wild look in his blue eyes, he appears manic, unstable. “They gave us money, Rose. We needed it so badly. They promised they wouldn’t hurt him, that he’d spend the weekend watching television and eating ice cream. But it all went to hell.” His shoulders slump under the weight of his secret.
Glancing to the door, I check to make sure the security team my fiancé, Connor Edge, hired is out of earshot. The very same man who my grandfather is confessing to kidnapping as a small child. To say it went wrong is putting it mildly. Connor suffers from C-PTSD since his three year im
prisonment. He has no idea what happened to him during his abduction but somehow I doubt ice cream played any part in it.
“How could you?” The words are automatic, teaming with my absolute disgust.
Pops makes a pained sound, a gasping struggle for breath, and grips his left arm. My training as a medical professional kicks in and I shove my incredulity away. “Pops? Where does it hurt?”
He doesn’t answer and my fingers search for his carotid artery, checking for a pulse. Panic swamps me when I realize his heart isn’t beating.
“Help!” I scream, beginning chest compressions. “He’s having a heart attack!”
I keep up CPR as the flurry of voices whirls around us. He doesn’t wake up, his pallor turning gray.
Paramedics rush into the room and take over, shoving me aside. I wrap my arms around myself and wait. The defibrillation paddles appear, a no nonsense voice calls “clear” and his whole body arches under the electrical onslaught.
“I have a steady heartbeat. Let’s get him to the hospital.”
“I want to ride with him.” I move to follow, but the head of the security team stops me. “Mr. Edge wants you with us at all times.”
I yank my arm free. “Follow us in the SUV. He might die on the way there.” Breaking into a jog, I chase the paramedics before my bodyguards truss me up for my own good.
Pops doesn’t regain consciousness on the trip. They have to shock him again and his heartbeat is irregular by the time we get to the hospital. He’s wheeled off to emergency surgery and I’m escorted to a waiting area to slowly go insane.
The security team is hot on our heels, and relief crosses their faces when they see I’m intact. No doubt they didn’t want to be left explaining to Connor what happened,
Connor.
The three carat diamond on my left ring finger catches the hospital overhead lights, seeming to mock my joy from hours ago when I still believed in happily ever after.
So close, it was so close, but never real. Intangible like smoke, the future I want might have been in my reach, but I never stood a chance of holding on to it.
I can’t deal with this. It’s the only thought spinning around in my brain.
You don’t have a choice. This from Snarkarella, my know-it-all inner critic.
The security team is trying to pretend they aren’t there to bear witness to my meltdown. I don’t think they heard what Pops said before he collapsed, but it doesn’t matter. Connor needs to know the truth.
As though summoned by my thoughts, I hear the smart sounds of his footsteps striding purposefully down the hall. The telltale tingle that spreads through my system like an Early Connor Alert confirms it before I hear his voice. I don’t look up, still unprepared to face him.
But it doesn’t matter what I can deal with, what I’m prepared for. Life just happens whether we want it to or not.
I hear him speak in low tones with the security team. They must have called him. My eyes hurt. The damn lights are too bright, exposing things better left hidden in the shadows. I cover my face with my hands
His energy washes over me as he draws near, formidable and electric. He sits in the chair next to me but doesn’t speak. My heart pounds. Every muscle in my body is tense, poised for the hit. It’s not a physical blow I fear, but the emotional one when Connor finds out my grandfather took part in his kidnapping—an event so horrific it made him into a paranoid control freak who occasionally suffers blackouts. He’ll hate me when he finds out.
Self-loathing flays me from every side. My grandfather is in the emergency room fighting for his life and I’m fretting over my relationship. And in my secret heart I don’t want to tell Connor the truth because I’m afraid I’ll lose him. I’ve been alone for so long and we fit so well. Deep down I know I can never be happy without him.
His arm comes around me and he pulls me against his side. The cold metal arm of the chair cuts into my waist but I don’t care, needing his closeness. We don’t speak, both of us mired in our own thoughts. Nothing disturbs the stillness but the overly loud ticking of the clock on the wall and the bustle of hospital personnel going about their business just outside the door.
At some point one of the security men brings us a cup of hospital coffee. I don’t do anything but clutch it in my hands, absorbing the warmth until it turns cold, my head still resting on Connor’s shoulder.
“Ms. Sinclair?” The ER resident who barked orders to the staff when Pops was brought in lurks in the doorway. Her expression is somber.
Connor and I rise together. He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to move as I wait for her to continue.
She holds my gaze steady for an endless heartbeat. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could, but his heart was too stressed, the deterioration too far along.”
I don’t cry, too numb to really feel the truth of what she’s telling me. Pops can’t be gone. He’s larger than life, strong and steady. Never mind that I’ve been caring for him since he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Despite what he said he did, he was my one constant, my rock. He can’t be gone. I need him.
Connor folds me into his arms, squeezing me to him. I can barely breathe, he has me pressed so hard against his chest. Or maybe the problem is with my lungs. The damn things have seized up until I can no longer inhale, fight, do anything.
Distantly I hear them talking about me—Connor and the doctor. It’s like I’ve gone through a tunnel and their conversational echoes along the walls and carries to where I eavesdrop, not really a part of their scenario. Words like shock and prescription are bandied about, and someone pushes me down into a chair, gives me a paper cup of water and two tablets. My lids feel heavy. Everything does, like gravity is increased and the earth is sucking me down, swallowing me up.
“I’d better get her home,” Connor says.
He doesn’t understand, I don’t have a home anymore. My little stone cottage at the Rosemont, the palatial estate Connor owns, has been tainted. I need to tell him the truth and then remove myself from his presence. It’s the only decent thing to do.
But I don’t want to be decent when his warmth is the only thing keeping me from flash freezing to the chair. I need him now, whether I deserve him or not. There is no one else who wants me, who’ll help see me through this.
Connor leads me out of the hospital. Sharp northern wind cuts through my clothes and smacks me in the face. It’s cold, the air holding the promise of snow, though it’s barely November. The Rosemont is beautiful in the winter, like a Currier & Ives Christmas card. I remember sledding on the big hill by the estate, Pops dragging the old-fashioned wooden toboggan up for hours on end. Then we’d go in for hot cocoa with a touch of chili powder, his special recipe. Just the two of us, as always. Bile rises in my throat and I barely choke it down.
Connor leads me to the vehicle and settles in beside me on the backseat. The SUV roars to life and heads north, through downtown Poughkeepsie. It must be late—the arterial is nearly deserted as we speed through the dark. His hand is entwined with mine, fingers meshed. The engagement ring on my finger is an icy weight.
“I need to tell you something,” I croak.
I see him turn, his profile strong in the dimly lit car. “Tomorrow is soon enough.” Those are the first words he’s spoken directly to me.
The medication is kicking in and I don’t have the will to fight him. I slide down into sleep, hoping it’s all just a terrible dream.
* * *
There are very few funeral arrangements to make. Pops spent his entire life within a twenty mile radius of the Rosemont. His plot next to Grandma Rose has been waiting for him since her death. There is no reason to delay the burial. We have no other family to invite.
I have yet to cry. Dry-eyed, I lean against Connor in my black sheath dress and watch his casket slowly lowered into the frost covered ground. The lump in my throat grows bigger as my grandfather is settled in his final resting place beside the woman he loved more than life
itself.
The woman he committed unspeakable evil for.
The memorial service is held at the Lady Liberty, the bar in town. A sea of faces offers me condolences and I want to scream. The niceties are just another burden on top of the one I already bear. Guilt is my ever-present companion, sticking to me like sap to a pine. Every time I meet Connor’s gaze, my whole body seizes up. I can’t live like this.
“I’m so sorry, Baily.” This from Greg, the UPS driver whose mother is another resident of Golden Oaks.
I nod, my default acceptance. “Haven’t seen you for a while.” Not since the night he and Eric got into it in this very bar and Connor hauled me out. It seems like a lifetime ago.
Greg looks sheepish. “Now’s not the ideal time, but I owe you an apology. I was out of line with that guy.”
He was, but I don’t feel the need to rub it in any more. “Water under the bridge, right?”
Greg nods slowly. “Tell your boyfriend I’ll pay him back.”
I frown, clearly missing something. “Who, Eric?”
“Not that putz. Mr. Edge.”
“What would you need to pay Connor for?”
“He paid for the damages so Steve Henson didn’t press charges.” Greg winces as Steve, the bartender and part owner of the Lady Liberty, glowers in his direction. “I’m really not supposed to be in here.”
I watch him go, more puzzled than ever. Why would Connor pay for the bar fight damages?
The crowd starts pressing in on me and my head pounds. Connor is at my side, that sixth sense of his tuned in to me perfectly. “Are you ready to go?”
I nod. “More than ready.” I need a hot bath and another dose of those magic pills to help fight off the migraine.
Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial Page 24