Caught Up In You 4: The Point of No Return (Edgeplay)

by Jenna McCormick

  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.”

  Chapter Two

  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 wine, 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.

  “I want to go in the grocery store after.” I say as soon as my seatbelt is secured. There are four men in the SUV, two in the seat behind me, the driver and one in the passenger seat in front. Even though we’ve been doing this for a month, I still feel ridiculous.

  The driver shakes his head. “Mr. Edge specifically said you are to wait in the car. We’ll get whatever you need, Ma’am.” The ma’am is tagged on almost grudgingly.

  “Look, I know I’m a pain in your ass. I’m not trying to make your life any more difficulty but I want to shop for my own freaking dinner.”

  “I’ll go with her, Dave.” The man beside him says. He casts me a quick smile over the seat.

  Dave rolls his eyes but nods once. “It’s your ass when he finds out.”

  The two in the back stay silent. Smart of them, since I’m seething.

  I stew as we drive the short distance to the nursing home. The good mood from Connor’s gift is almost gone at having to beg to be allowed out like some incompetent idiot. I cringe inwardly, hoping that’s not how Pops feels at being shut up in the nursing home. Maybe that’s why he keeps escaping, making a bid for freedom.

  Squaring my shoulders I march from the parking lot, surrounded by big, burly men. There’s no pretending they aren’t there, they block out most of the light. It’s so much different when Connor’s the one guarding me, but someone needs to work around here.

  Pops is in his room, staring out the window, his gaze foggy and distant. I plant a kiss on his withered cheek. His body may be in the room with me but his mind is elsewhere. I hope wherever it is, it’s happy. “How’s it going, old timer?”

  Not so much as a hair on his head moves.

  The security team, after assuring themselves that the room is danger free, wait for me outside the open door. Even though I was pretty sure they can’t hear me, I lower my voice. The things I tell my grandfather are none of their business.

  “So Connor and I sort of made up. He told me about what happened to him to make him the way he is. I want to help him, Pops. Just like I want to help you.”

  The difference is Connor might benefit from my help. There was little I could do for my grandfather, the man who raised me, who cared for me when no one else could or would. . The thought brought a flood of tears to my eyes. Not just for him but selfishly for me, at what I’ve lost since his mind went away. My confidante, my parent and teacher, the man who’d give his life for mine, who taught me how to love.

  “He asked me to marry him, Pops. He calls me love, just like you did with Grandma Rose. He’s yet to actually say he loves me, but I know how stubborn you alpha males are.” I smile and take his withered hand in mine. Ignoring the age spots, the paper thinness of his skin, I hold it tightly. “He’s so messed up, so troubled. We have so much to work out. But I’m going to do it because I can’t imagine not having him in my life. I’m going to marry Connor Edge.”

  “No.”

  I blink, actually look around the room to see if someone else said the word. But the voice, rusty from disuse comes again, stronger this time. “No.”

  “No what, Pops?” My throat closes as I see the steely determination in his eyes. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

  The fog lifts for a moment but instead of the keen intelligence I remembered I see only fear.

  “No, you can’t marry him.”

  Chapter Three

  Lost in thought, I stir the soup absently. The scent of cornbread fills my small kitchen and two red taper candles stand sentinel over the small shaker table I cleared of junk mail for the occasion. I’ve changed into a black broomstick skirt and cobalt blue sweater with a sweetheart neckline, going for the romantic yet low maintenance look. My feet are cold, bare against the hard floor but I don’t have any sexy shoes and don’t want to kill the look with sneakers or boots.

  A knock sounds and I call out “It’s open!”

  “You should at least see who’s at your door if you leave it unlocked,” Connor chides me. He looks delicious in his jet black suit with a slide tie the same color as my sweater.

  Putting the wooden spoon down I move toward him eager for a kiss. “Then what the heck are you paying security people for, if strangers with ill intent can wander onto your property to do me harm any old time they like?”

  “Sassy.” He pulls me toward him and gives me a light swat on my backside, leaving his hand to cop a feel through the thin fabric of my skirt. I press into him and he raises both eyebrows when I wiggle against his hand. “No underwear?”

  “For easy access.” Rising up to my tiptoes, I feather my lips lightly over his.

  “I love the way you think,” he growls, pulling me even tighter into his solid body. His hard shaft presses into the soft flesh of my belly. “Can we skip right to dessert?”

  “It’s not ready yet.” I nod to the pie cooling on the windowsill.

  “That’s not what I meant.” His blue eyes rove my body, leaving a trail like a hot caress.

  Though I’m tempted to let him drag me into th
e bedroom and help me forget about the disturbing encounter with Pops, I have too much I want to discuss with him first. “Dinner’s almost done. We’ll get there soon enough.”

  I see the struggle in the twitch of muscle around his jaw. His dominant tendencies may be dormant, but they still exist in this more user friendly version of Connor. Taking pity on him, I step back toward the stove. “Light the candles, please?” I ask, bending to take the spoon bread out of the oven.

  Draping his coat over the back of the couch he inhales deeply. “It smells wonderful in here. You’ve been learning to cook?”

  Setting the hot dish on a trivet, I meet and hold his gaze. “It reminded me of you while we were apart.”

  Saying things like that are becoming easier for me. Though the vulnerability is still there, I have more faith that Connor wants to hear the absolute truth from me, regardless of how dweeby or pathetic I think it sounds.

  Wrapping and arm around my waist, he pulls me toward him. I expect a kiss, but he simply touches his forehead to mine in shared communion. One hand fists in my hair, removing the elastic holding my braid securely. Fingers spear through the strands, undoing the hairstyle until it flows freely down my back. “I like it loose.”

  “I never leave it loose. Only when I sleep.”

  “Which is why I like it. I’m the only one who gets to see it unbound in all its fiery glory.” His gruff voice and sincere expression turn the melodramatic words into something heartfelt.