Caught Up In You: Edgeplay The Complete Serial: A Billionaire and BBW BDSM romance

by Jenna McCormick

“I need to get my grandfather settled first,” I tell him.

  The guy doesn’t look thrilled with my noncompliance, but too bad. I’m tired, sweaty and weak from relief. Seeing to Pops is a higher priority than Connor’s temper tantrum. He can fire me later.

  One of the security vehicles gives Pops, Ian and I a ride to my cottage. It feels like a year has passed since I left. We help Pops down out of the SUV and settle him on the couch. Doctor Fletcher has his medical supplies in his backpack. “You gave us all quite a scare, Thomas. It’s not nice to disappear without a word.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Connor says from the doorway.

  15

  “Connor,” I say, rising from my crouching position on the floor. “I’d like you to meet—”

  “Ms. Sinclair, when I request your presence at the main house, I don’t expect to have to retrieve you myself.” His tone is ice cold and unyielding. His eyes are distant, but I see the blazing rage within. I knew he’d be mad but I never expected him to be this furious.

  I try to explain. “There were extenuating circumstances—”

  He holds up a hand. “Your personal matters are just that, personal. I’m here about business.”

  “Business can wait,” I snap. “My grandfather just had a very difficult day.” He isn’t the only one. My head is pounding and I’m swaying on my feet.

  He assesses me with a quick glance. “Sit down Ms. Sinclair, before you wind up back in the hospital.”

  “Back?” Dr. Fletcher, or Ian as he wants me to call him, looks from Connor to me and back again.

  Connor’s face remains impassive as he sizes up the doctor. “I see she didn’t tell you. Ms. Sinclair was supposed to spend today resting and recovering from the aftereffects of the car accident she was in just last night.”

  “Baily?” Doctor Fletcher looks to me for conformation and I nod once. “I wish I had known.”

  Great, one more guy who knows what’s best for me.

  “Sit down, Ms. Sinclair.”

  Though I’m defiant by nature, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to remain upright. I resent Connor swooping in like this, lording over the proceedings and bossing everyone around. “If you’ll just give me a chance to explain—”

  But Connor ignores me. His gaze is now fixed on my grandfather’s vacant stare. I can’t place the expression on his face, though it looks like some combination of anticipation and anxiety. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Dehydration, fatigue, a few scrapes,” the doctor responds. “He should be fine after a good night’s rest, though I’m tempted to hospitalize him, get him hooked up to an I.V. to rehydrate.”

  Connor scowls. “There’s more to it than that.”

  Ian looks to me, then back to Connor. “I’m not at liberty to discuss his treatment.”

  He’s right; it’s my secret to share. The circumstances are less than ideal, but I’ve lost my chance to pick my moment by stalling in every way possible. Time to face the music. “He has Alzheimer’s Disease. Advanced. There’s not much of him left.”

  Connor closes his eyes, drops his head. Says nothing. I hold my breath, waiting for detonation. Doctor Fletcher stands back, his gaze moving between Connor and myself, eyebrows drawn down as though studying a puzzle.

  The clock ticks away the seconds and it feels as though time itself is holding its breath. My hands are shaking from nervous energy and I ball them into fists, sinking my nails into my palms. The sharp pain helps me stay focused.

  Finally, Connor lifts his head. His eyes are still closed and he nods once before opening them, centering all of his formidable intensity on my grandfather. “Mr. Sinclair? Can you hear me?”

  I don’t know if it’s his commanding tone, but Pops actually turns his head in Connor’s direction. They stare at each other for an endless moment, old, foggy eyes to sharp crystalline blue ones. Something’s going on there, some message passing between them that I don’t understand and can’t put a name to.

  Then Connor gets to his feet, literally looking down at Pops. “You’re fired.”

  He strides from the cottage without a backward glance.

  I’m stunned for several moments, unable to think, powerless to move from my position. Doctor Fletcher says something, but I’m not paying attention. How can Connor be so cold? Yes, of course Pops is in no condition to be head groundskeeper, but to just dismiss him and walk away like that?

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Ian and sprint after Connor.

  He’s halfway up the hill already, his long legs eating up the distance in sure, rapid movements.

  “Connor,” I yell, but he doesn’t turn. I’m exhausted and I feel like hell, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to walk away from me without a word and leave my life in chaos. Picking up my pace, I run until I catch his elbow. “Talk to me, damn it.”

  He rounds on me, eyes blazing. “Don’t, Baily. I’m not getting into it with you now.”

  “Well you’re going to have to because I’m not moving until you explain to me what just happened.”

  “Thomas Sinclair is unable to perform the head groundskeeper duties. What would you have me do, keep paying him for a job he can’t do? That’s not how I do business.”

  “I’ve been doing the job, me.” A seed of hope unfurls. “Are you going to hire me as head groundskeeper then?”

  But Connor is shaking his head. “No. You’ve lied to me repeatedly, and turned this place into a zoo today. That is unacceptable behavior from one of my employees.”

  My throat closes up, or maybe I’m just choking on my pride as I beg. “I need this job, Connor. I don’t have the money to take care of him.”

  His gaze softens just a tad. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “He’s my grandfather. He’s sick. Of course I have to worry about him! And me too. We have no one else; it’s us against the world.”

  “You have me,” he says simply.

  My jaw drops and I snap it closed with a click of my teeth. “Bullshit. You just evicted me from the only home I’ve ever known.”

  He moved in closer, looming over me. “I did no such thing. You’re welcome to stay there as long as you like.”

  “As what? Your mistress? I’m not a whore, Connor.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You have no idea how livid I am right now, or you would not continue to provoke me. After you lied to me about staying on the property, deliberately placed yourself in danger by leaving without a security team, didn’t even call to tell me where you were or what was going on. No Baily, you are not a whore. You’re a troublesome woman and that’s your family’s home. Consider it part of your grandfather’s pension.”

  Shock rocks through me. “Really?”

  He nods once. “Obviously, you can’t sell it because it’s within the grounds of the Rosemont. But maybe now you’ll stop worrying about being homeless.”

  “Thank you.” I try to wrap my arms around him, but he brushes me aside.

  “Go see to your grandfather.” He’s dismissing me, but I recognize his coldness for what it is this time, a shield to ward off more hurt.

  I’ve hurt him, this man who just gave me the single greatest gift I could ask for, roots and a sense of permanence.

  “Connor, I’m sorry.” I say.

  He looks back at me, his eyes telegraphing an ocean of pain and betrayal. He’s almost drowning in it. “If only I could believe you mean it.”

  It’s been almost a month since I saw Connor. He’s come and gone multiple times from the estate, but he hasn’t been by to see me once. The day after Pop’s great escape, papers arrived deeding the small groundskeeper’s cottage to the Sinclair family for the next three generations. I don’t even need to worry about a sale of the main house as we are listed as tenants to the Rosemont Estate.

  The days are long and boring. One of Connor’s security teams takes me to Golden Oaks every evening to visit with Pops and then escorts me back home. I had one doctor’s visit where
I was pronounced fully recovered from the car accident. Otherwise I don’t leave the estate. My security guys are responsible for my grocery shopping. I thought for sure my face would catch fire when I handed one of them the list that included tampons and chocolate.

  I’ve reread almost every book in my collection and watched hours of pointless television. I’ve even taken up cooking real food, after having become used to Connor’s delectable dishes. Of course my concoctions are nowhere near the quality of his, but it’s something to keep my mind occupied.

  I’m not sure what my next step will be. If I’m careful, I have enough money to keep Pops in Golden Oaks for another two months, but eventually that nest egg will run out. There’s a serious shortage of employers here at the Rosemont and I doubt Connor will give me a recommendation to work with one of the landscapers.

  More than anything else, I miss him and regret hurting him. The look on his face the last time we spoke is burned in my mind. With nothing but time to think, I’ve gone over the scenario, replayed it from every angle. I’ve come to the realization that I could have handled a few things differently. Maybe if I’d enlisted his help in finding Pops we wouldn’t be at this giant impasse.

  Even if things between us can’t go back to the way they were, I owe him an apology.

  With that in mind, I head up the hill to the main house. As far as I know, Connor hasn’t hired a new head groundskeeper. Maybe there is still some hope that I can get my old job back.

  Although, with the threat of eviction no longer looming large on my horizon, I’m not sure I still want it. Knowing I can stay here and enjoy the change of seasons without bearing the massive weight of the care taking responsibility is kind of nice. Freedom after so much confinement.

  The tips of the oak leaves are turning golden on the northern side of the property, the maples outlined in burgundy and orange. The nights are growing colder; we’ve already had a few that came close to the freezing point. I love fall here, and seeing the first stages of my favorite season must be a sign heralding good things to come.

  A new minion answers my knock. She’s a mousy little thing, so unlike the polished sex kitten she replaced. I offer her my hand immediately. “Baily Sinclair, here to see Mr. Edge.”

  She shakes it tentatively, as though she’s afraid to touch me. “He’s down in workout room. I could call him if you’d like.” I get the impression that the idea of interrupting him terrifies her.

  “That’s okay. I’ll go to him. Where’s the workout room?”

  “Basement,” she squeaks. Poor thing, Connor’s obviously been running roughshod over her.

  The access to the basement is through the kitchen. I pause for a moment when I hear men’s voices coming from that direction. Another security team. From what I can tell, there are four men to a team and Connor has at least three in his personal employ, two on duty at any given time. I wonder how much money he’s spent keeping me guarded around the clock.

  Three of the men sitting around the kitchen table are wearing black suits and holding fists full of cards. The fourth is in well-worn jeans, his arm and the side of his face covered by massive bandages. When those eyes turn toward me I smile for what feels like the first time in ages.

  “Justin. It’s so good to see you.” I want to hug him, my relief at seeing him out of the hospital and on the mend is so strong.

  “Liar,” he says with a grin. “But it will be once my skin grafts heal.”

  “You doing okay?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Be back to work full time in another week.”

  It says something about Connor that a man who almost died protecting his girlfriend is so eager to return to work. Something about Connor Edge inspires loyalty. It’s more than a fat paycheck. People want to work for him, be around him.

  I sure do.

  With no idea how much the security staff knows about my relationship with Connor, I keep it simple. “I’m just going to go see the boss for a minute.”

  “Good to see you, Baily. We’ve been missing you around here.” Justin’s eyes cut to the basement door.

  Until that moment, I didn’t know if Connor would refuse to see me. “’Kay, I’ll see you all later.”

  The basement at the Rosemont main house is huge, spanning the entire sprawling foundation. I’ve been in smaller malls. Directly beneath the kitchen is a wine cellar, with rows and rows of vintage labels. I suspect some of the bottles are worth more than my truck, but that really isn’t saying much.

  To the left is what the previous owners used as storage and I’m guessing the most likely spot for Connor’s workout room. I see light under the door and hear the sounds of flesh connecting with something heavy in massive thuds.

  I pause with my hand on the doorknob and take a deep breath. I’ve rehearsed my speech more times than I can count and I only hope my sincerity shines through. He needs to know how grateful I am, and how sorry for not trusting him with my secret. I try not to hope for a renewal of our sexual relationship, but it’s been a lonely month and my body craves his.

  I guess hope really does spring eternal, Snarkarella whispers without her usual rancor. She’s been quiet these last few weeks. Someone else who has abandoned me.

  The door swings open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges. Connor’s naked back is to me, muscles flexing as he pounds what looks like a robot. The thing has sensors in several spots throughout its mannequin like body that light up when a blow lands precisely. It must be weighed down because it barely moves under his vicious onslaught. He is raw masculine power in motion and my sex creams with want as I study him.

  He’s wearing loose basketball shorts that ride low on his hips. His hair is damp from perspiration, slicked away from his face. The muscles in his shoulders are bunched as he crouches low against the robot, protecting himself from an imaginary counter attack. I watch the sweat trickle over his back down to the elastic band and lick my lips. I’d bet anything he’s not wearing anything under them.

  His movements are fluid, he doesn’t strike the same place twice, but I get the impression any one of those hits is enough to fell a full grown man, if any were dumb enough to cross him.

  “Switch to combat mode,” Connor calls out and his artificial opponent lights up like a Christmas tree before taking a clunking step forward.

  Connor hops back to avoid a left cross and kicks out with his foot. A beep and a flash registers a direct hit to the robot’s sternum. He keeps on and on, weaving away from the advancing mechanical man, his body pure poetry in motion.

  I realize I’m holding my breath as I watch him. This man doesn’t need security protection at all. He’s a fierce warrior, a demigod so far above mortals that he has to do battle with machines.

  Connor lets out a fierce yell and charges the android. He hits it center mass and the thing crashes to the mat with astounding force. I’d hate to be pinned beneath it.

  “End simulation, report statistics.” Connor barks.

  A whirring sound and then a flat male voice answers. “Simulation complete. Opponent survives with seven percent injury rating. Fatality for bot, unlikely.”

  Connor nods and turns in my direction. I see the moment he becomes aware of my presence, because he goes still.

  “Hi.” I offer a wan smile.

  “Ms. Sinclair.” He doesn’t smile back.

  “I thought we could talk.”

  “I’m busy today.”

  “Beating up machines? Brings new meaning to the phrase pick on someone your own size.”

  “Bot, repair mode.”

  The metal man rolls over and gets up, before lumbering off to what looks like an upright metal coffin. It steps back and some whirring noise fills the space. It looks like the bot is plugging itself into a giant battery.

  “That is just too cool,” I murmur.

  “I think so.” Connor heads for a bench along the wall and picks up a towel to mop his brow. His hair is longer, looking more unkempt than the last time I saw it. I want to run my fingers thr
ough it, but I fear he will reject me.

  “Where did you get him?”

  “We built him. He’s a prototype for a defense contract my company is trying to land. Hand to hand combat training is all well and good, but it’s hard to practice kill moves when you don’t want your sparring partner to die. The bot is hard to take down, but can withstand anything short of a nuclear attack.”

  “So he’s your crash test dummy.”

  Connor tosses the towel down and reaches a bottle of water. “What are you doing here, Baily?”

  I want to tell him I’ve missed him, that I’m sorry for the things I said and the way I didn’t trust him. But he’s so cold, so ready to dismiss me.

  Luckily I have a plan B.

  “I owe you,” I say.

  “I don’t want your money,” he practically snarls.

  “No, not money. I promised I would help you try and retrieve your memories.”

  He stops, blinks as though he’s not sure he heard right. “You’re still willing to do that?”

  “A promise is a promise. That is, if you still want me.” The words sound suggestive to me and I hastily tag on, “For that, I mean.”

  He surveys me from head to toe. “Come with me.”

  That’s the plan, Snarkarella purrs.

  16

  Connor dismisses the security team in the kitchen with a wave of his hand. Justin shoots me a quizzical look and I smile to reassure him. Connor’s glower grows darker and the men hurry from the room.

  “Where are they going?” I ask.

  “The property to the north. That’s my security headquarters.”

  “The horse farm? You bought it? I didn’t even know it was for sale.”

  “I convinced the owners to sell several of the neighboring properties.” When my mouth falls open he adds, “I like my privacy.”

  There’s a big, fat understatement. I try to imagine purchasing a huge estate and the ones around it just for privacy. Rosemont already feels like the middle of nowhere sometimes, and knowing that everyone for miles works for Connor seems ludicrous.