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

by Jenna McCormick

  Through the glass dome of the ceiling, I see the twinkle of stars. The walls are stone façade in the few spaces that aren’t occupied by built-in mahogany shelves. The lighting in the study comes from wall sconces and standing lamps that resemble torches. A large river stone fireplace takes up the north corner facing an opulent mahogany desk. A bearskin rug lies before it, the only softness in the otherwise hard-edged space. This room always makes me think of a medieval castle, and more than one of my favorite sexual fantasies involves that rug.

  “Cold?” Berkowitz notes my shiver and misjudges its source.

  “I’m fine.” Curiosity is gnawing a hole in my stomach. “What did you want to see me about?”

  The lawyer strides around the desk and withdraws an envelope. Placing it on the desk, he beckons me forward with one hand, while sliding a sheaf of papers from his briefcase with the other.

  “If you sign this,” he sets the papers down and taps them once, “you can have this,” he slides the envelope closer to me.

  I frown as I pick up the envelope. “What is it?”

  He gestures for me to see for myself. The flap isn’t sealed, and I lift it. Inside is a check. My eyes almost bug out at the amount. “A quarter of a million dollars? For what?”

  “Your discretion. Mr. Edge is a very private man, and he wants to ensure his privacy is protected.”

  Apparently privacy doesn’t come cheap. “I don’t understand.”

  “Here.” Berkowitz slides the stack of papers forward. “This is a nondisclosure agreement. Read through it carefully. If you choose to sign, the check is yours. If not, then you’ll be escorted from the grounds tonight.”

  My mouth hangs open. “Connor never said anything to me about—”

  The lawyer cuts me off. “Mr. Edge has interests that need to be protected at all costs. Read the papers, Ms. Sinclair, and then make your choice.”

  Anger builds inside me as I take the papers to the leather wingback chair and start reading. Legal jargon aside, the message is straightforward. I can’t tell anyone about anything that happens in private between myself and Connor Edge. No blabbing on social networks, blogs, to press of any kind about anything I witness. If I breach this confidentiality, it’s grounds for immediate dismissal, forfeiting my bonus, and the possibility of legal action if the offended party deems necessary.

  The word witness gives me pause as I conjure all sorts of unsavory activities. “I’m not going to cover up any kind of crime spree.”

  Berkowitz raises an eyebrow but merely says, “Page seven, paragraph three.”

  I flip to the page and read aloud, “This contract shall be void in the case of illegal activity such as, but not limited to, theft, murder, rape, assault, money laundering, treason, fraud, arson…” The list went on to cover scenarios I had never imagined. Treason, really?

  “As you can see, this is for your benefit as well as his.”

  I start over from the beginning, reading every page and trying to keep an open mind, but in the end it comes down to whether or not I need to keep my job. “Can I have my own lawyer look this over?” I ask.

  Berkowitz appears put out, but he says, “That is your right. Do you wish to call him?”

  I don’t even have a lawyer. I just wanted to see what he would say. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Striding to the desk, I flip to the last page, my heart thudding against my ribcage as I scrawl my name on the signature line.

  Nodding, the attorney re-tucks the papers in his briefcase. “The check is yours.”

  I bite my lip, feeling scuzzy about accepting Connor’s money when I haven’t earned it. “What exactly is it for?”

  The door to the library opens and Connor strides into the room. He looks incredible in his ash gray suit and a bright blue shirt that matches his eyes. Ignoring me, he focuses on the lawyer. “You satisfied now, Noah?”

  “Almost.” He’s back to digging through his briefcase. I stare at Connor, who scowls at Berkowitz. The other man extracts a single sheet of paper and places it on the desk.

  “Have her sign this,” the lawyer says.

  Connor glances down and shakes his head. “No.”

  “Connor—,” Berkowitz’s tone turns pleading, but Connor crosses his arms over his chest, the very image of defiance.

  “I’m not asking that of her.”

  “What is it?” I ask, but the men ignore me.

  “You’re a wealthy man. I’d think after Shelia—”

  “Stop talking,” Connor snaps.

  The lawyer makes a disgusted sound. “Fine. But I’m leaving it here in case you come to your senses. Be smart.”

  “She’s not like that,” Connor insists.

  Berkowitz rounds the desk and gives me a slow up and down before turning back to Connor. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

  The men shake hands and Berkowitz leaves us, closing us in the library together.

  “What was that all about?”

  Connor lets out a heavy sigh. “Noah has appointed himself my keeper. This is his way of making sure my ass is covered, legally speaking. I apologize if he offended you.”

  I’m still holding the envelope and extend it to him. “I don’t want your money.”

  He brushes it aside and clasps my shoulders. “Baily, listen to me. I need to know that you have an out, that if things go wrong, you’ll be taken care of.”

  The chill is back and I barely suppress a shudder. “What do you mean?”

  He lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. Turning toward the desk, he stares down at the lone paper. “What you just signed is a standard nondisclosure agreement, with a few…alterations. All of my employees are required to do the same, at least the ones that spend time with me on a one-on-one basis.”

  “Okay…” I say slowly. That makes sense.

  “But this,” Connor picks up the piece of paper, “this is personal. It’s a get out of jail free card for me.”

  Taking the paper from him, I read slowly. “I, the undersigned, being of sound judgment, do hereby swear that everything which transpires between myself and one Connor Alexander Edge falls into the category of safe, sane and consensual. I do hereby swear I am a willing participant, actively choosing to partake in any and all sexual activity.”

  He snatches it back, and I let go because my fingers are numb. “Please explain this to me,” I whisper, my mind too hyped up to really grasp what’s going on.

  He paces on the front of the desk. “You’re not going to sign it. I won’t let you.”

  “Safe, sane and consensual?” I ask.

  He stops and turns to face me. “He snagged the phrase from a BDSM club contract. It’s to cover rough sex, or any kind of unusual sexual activity that might result in injury.”

  “Oh.” Really, what else can I say to that?

  Just say no! Snarkarella chimes in. You’re dumber than you look if you sign that.

  “Do you understand now? I could beat you and get away with it. Rape you. It wouldn’t matter if you sign this, because it’s proof that you wanted me to do it. And the very idea of that scares the hell out of me, because I’m not always aware of what I’m doing.” His voice teems with frustration.

  I swallow. “Okay, maybe we should just put it away for a while. Not think about that.” Plucking the paper from his hand, I set it down on the desk, face down. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

  Heaving a jagged breath, Connor sags into the wingback chair. He appears so tormented that I can’t help moving closer to him. “Connor, look at me.”

  His gaze remains fixed on the fire.

  I step in front of him, get in his face. “Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who’s concerned about you hurting me. I’ve felt safe with you right from the start, even before I knew who you were. I trust you.”

  His eyes are so expressive. I see the fear there, the self-loathing, and even a glimmer of hope. “I don’t know that you should.”

  “When I let you tie me up
last night—”

  I don’t get the chance to finish, because he explodes out of the chair, knocking me on my ass.

  “No, no, no, Baily! You can’t ever let me tie you! What if I lose control? Or switch over and forget that I’ve left you like that?” He’s hit DEFCON two and is en route to full nuclear meltdown.

  I have no idea what to do, what to say to reassure him, so I just sit and wait. God, I loved being pinned down, dominated by him. And he loved doing it, having me at his mercy and giving me incredible pleasure. Maybe if he could remember how wonderful the sex was, he’d feel better. Swallowing, I wait for a break in his tirade before saying, “Connor?”

  He stops and sees me sitting on the floor. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Even when I’m in control around you, I’m really not.”

  I’m absurdly pleased by this. He extends a hand to help me to my feet, but catching him off guard, I pull him down on top of me.

  “I’ll do it.” Brushing my lips along his cheekbone, I whisper in his ear, “I’ll reenact it all with you. I want you to remember how good it is between us.”

  He pulls back and closes his eyes, shoulders sagging in relief. “Thank you.”

  Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Snarkarella cautions.

  Connor insists on introducing me to the gathered crowd as his “estate manager.” Not one to turn my nose up at a promotion, I smile and nod to every member of the sea of curious faces.

  The food is excellent, the wine and good humor flowing freely. A live band is set up in the corner of the ballroom, playing smooth jazz, and couples take the floor. Connor greets everyone by name and thanks them for coming to his housewarming party. I gather many of them have traveled up from the city. Some are even staying for the weekend.

  I try my best to keep up, but it’s useless. I’m so not a people person. Eventually I give up and fall back on smiling and nodding like whoever I’m speaking to is the most interesting person on the planet.

  “Wherever did Connor find you?” a lady with a blonde beehive asks.

  “I grew up here,” I reply, intentionally leaving the answer vague.

  “Such lovely country.” She sniffs as though she smells cow shit.

  Condescending old bag, Snarkarella and I think in unison.

  “Care to dance?” Connor appears by my side and extends an elbow.

  I take his arm and let him lead me away from Señorita Sourpuss, but dig my heels in when he clearly intends to lead me onto the dance floor. “Connor, no. I haven’t danced since the eighth grade shuffle.”

  “You trust me, right?” he smirks.

  It’s a dirty trick, and I call him on it. “You, sure, just not my own two feet.”

  Still smirking, he leads me to the floor. Luckily, the band is playing a slow song, so the eighth grade shuffle is sufficient. I lean into him, enjoying the spicy tang of his cologne, the hard feel of his body pressed up against mine.

  “Overwhelmed yet?” he asks, pushing a lock of hair back from my face.

  “Completely,” I confess. “How do you keep them all straight?”

  “Pneumonic devices mostly. The woman you were talking to? She’s been wearing that same hairstyle since the sixties, so mentally, I call her Beehive Betty, married to Frank the Tank, an Army vet, built like a brick wall.”

  “Says the pot to the kettle.” I poke him in the chest.

  He grins down at me, but his smile slowly fades as sexual heat takes hold. “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?”

  I blush, unused to being complimented on anything but my landscaping. “Thank you for the dress.”

  “Setting for the diamond. My pleasure.” His eyes are hot. “I can’t wait to get you out of it.”

  Though I know we won’t be able to stage our reenactment tonight, I still want to be with him. “Will you come back to the cottage with me?” I don’t want to spend the night here with all his guests milling around.

  He opens his mouth to respond, but his assistant taps me on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s an urgent phone call for Mr. Edge.” Her expression is so smug that I know she isn’t the least bit sorry.

  Connor leads me from the dance floor back to our table. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, before bringing my hand to his lips and brushing a gentle kiss across my knuckles.

  He leaves and my blush deepens when I realize everyone seated nearby is staring at me.

  A short man with a bald pate and a handlebar mustache is the first to approach. “I see that some things never change.”

  I take a sip from my water glass. “I beg your pardon?”

  The man sits beside me, uninvited. “New house, but the same old Edge. Doesn’t even wait a week before hopping from one woman to the next.”

  “A day,” the man next to him pipes up. “He just broke up with the starlet yesterday. Damn shame, too, she was a looker. But I’m sure the rookie here knows the score.”

  I freeze with the glass poised to my lips. These are Connor’s friends, saying such horrible things behind his back? Swallowing the hurt at knowing he just broke up with someone, possibly the blonde I saw in the limo yesterday, I interrupt their gossip. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression, but Mr. Edge and I are not involved romantically.”

  Neither man looks as though he believes me. Uncomfortable under their scrutiny, I make my way to the nearest restroom and lock myself in.

  Though I received many compliments on my dress, I’ve had more than enough of this crowd. What kind of people talk nasty about their host to his date the moment his back is turned? No one I want to be associated with, that’s for sure. I can’t wait for them all to leave and so I can have Connor to myself once more. Of course, if we try to pursue any kind of real relationship, I’ll have to deal with these sorts of people on a regular basis.

  A knock sounds on the door.

  “I’ll be right out,” I call, turning on the water and washing my hands.

  “Ms. Sinclair?”

  Great, it’s his little harpy of an assistant. Unlocking the door, I ask, “Yes?”

  Her smile is gone and she says, “Mr. Edge asked me to inform you that he had to leave suddenly.”

  I blink, stunned. “Leave?”

  “Yes. He’s ordered a car to take him back to Manhattan tonight.”

  6

  After being ditched by one very large, very confusing billionaire, I decide there’s no reason to hang around the soiree any longer. The caterers bustle about as I weave through the kitchen, but my mind heads south, toward Manhattan. The next thing I know, I’m sprawled flat on my ass and so is the guy I smacked into.

  “Sorry,” I grumble, irritated that Connor Edge has such a ridiculous hold on my every thought.

  “Baily?” he asks, and I take my first good look at him.

  “Eric?” I haven’t seen Eric Faulkner since the summer after high school graduation. He’s as handsome as ever, shaggy blond hair and warm brown eyes that remind me of melting chocolate. We went to a few movies together before he left to attend Cornell. “What are you doing here?”

  “Working.” He gestures to the black smock worn by the catering staff. His eyes rove down my body. “You look fantastic.”

  I smile. “Amazing what a decent dress will do.”

  His eyes are glued to my cleavage. “We’re wrapping up here. You wanna go grab a drink with me afterwards?”

  My mouth opens and I’m about to automatically decline when I consider that my other option is to sit at home and brood about Connor. The mental image makes me cringe. No thank you. “Sure. You can tell me how you ended up working in the food service industry.”

  True to his word, in less than ten minutes Eric and his coworkers load up the van, and we’re buckled into his Ford Fiesta on our way into town. The silence is awkward, and I look down at my dress, wishing I changed into jeans. There’s something a little bit scuzzy about wearing an expensive dress one man bought me, to a bar with another man.

  “So, catering, huh?” I
ask and then roll my eyes at my own lameness.

  “It’s my sister’s business. I help out on the weekends.”

  “That makes much more sense. You wanted to be a history teacher, right?”

  “I am actually, though it’s only been as a sub for the last year. I start full time at Pawling High School this fall.”

  The drive into town is quick, and Eric pulls up in front of Lady Liberty. The bar is packed to the gills, but Eric snags us a table in the corner. “What are you drinking?”

  I’ve already downed a few glasses of champagne, and that’s well beyond my normal tolerance. “Shirley Temple, please, extra cherries.”

  “You’re cute,” Eric smirks and goes off to get the drinks.

  I look around the room, feeling vaguely uncomfortable in my designer dress and satin shoes. This is much more my scene than a soiree in Connor’s mansion, so why do I feel like an outsider here too?

  “Baily! You made it!” Greg, sans his UPS uniform, weaves his way over to me. His teeth flash brilliantly against his mocha skin and his pupils are dilated. I guess the drink in his hand isn’t his first. “Wow, you look fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” I shift as he takes Eric’s chair. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”

  As soon as the words are out, I realize how rude they sound. “That is, I didn’t want to just sit at home alone, you know?”

  “I hear ya.” He either doesn’t pick up on my rudeness or is too drunk to care.

  Eric returns with our drinks and raises an eyebrow at Greg. “Here you go, Baily.”

  “Greg, this is Eric Faulkner. We went to high school together. Eric, Greg Simms, our local UPS driver.”

  The men stare each other down. Eric says, “You’re in my seat.”

  Greg rises and looks at the chair, then smirks at Eric. “Don’t see your name on it, pal.”

  “Guys, there are more chairs,” I say, but they both ignore me.

  “Come on man, you don’t want to do this.” Eric’s words are reasonable, even if his tone is belligerent. “She’s here with me.”