Caught Up In You 5: No More Denial (Edgeplay)

by Jenna McCormick

  Then comes the dress. A sleeveless form fitting raw silk top with an asymmetrical hem in the same shimmering rose color as the accessories. I hold it up, stunned.

  “Holy mackerel, it matches your nails!” Rochelle points.

  I look to my freshly manicured hands and lick my suddenly dry lips. “What do you think the odds are of this being a coincidence?”

  “What, you think Connor is having you followed?”

  I think back on our conversation, at how easily he dropped the matter of Justin acting as my security. So unlike the hyper vigilant yet paranoid billionaire I’ve given my heart to.

  Craning my neck to look behind us, I watch the city traffic, but can’t spot a tail. “I’m no Perry Mason, but I’m pretty damn sure of it.” Connor is a stalker, whether he’ll admit it or not.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  I stare at the dress once more. “Nothing until after we get that drink.”

  Chapter Six

  “My dear, you are shitfaced.”

  I grin at Rochelle and hold up my chocolatini. “Why didn’t anyone ever tell me about these suckers?”

  “So you’re making up for lost time, is that it?”

  I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since we came into this bar. It’s a trendy little place not far from Rochelle’s. Twinkle lights surround the rectangular bar, suspended from exposed beams lining the high ceiling. The two male bartenders bicker in what Rochelle says is an ongoing lover’s quarrel.

  “Explain it to me again.” I wave the taller bartender over and indicate my empty glass. I can’t be sure, but I think he shakes his head before turning away. His name is Gerry and he’s got a nice smile.

  Rochelle rolls her eyes. “Okay. Gerry lives with Jesse, but he’s dating Thad.”

  “Thad’s the other bartender.” I wave to him and almost fall of the stool.

  Rochelle grabs my hand. “Not so obvious. They won’t let me come back. But yes, that’s Thad.”

  “And Thad used to date Jesse.” This is better than prime time television.

  “Bang. Thad used to bang Jesse. Back when he worked here, before he got his big break on Broadway. Anyhow, Thad’s convinced that Gerry and Jesse have something going on, on the side, because they’re living together. Lots of opportunity.”

  “But without the motive.” Gerry winks and sets a fresh chocolatini down before me. “It’s purely financial.”

  “But Thad’s irrationally insecure, wanting to keep track of your every move. I so feel your pain.” Do my words slur slightly?

  Gerry raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”

  “Tell him.” I wave Rochelle on.

  “Her billionaire boyfriend is stalking her, showering her with designer gifts and trying to win her back.”

  “Sucks to be you.” Gerry winks again.

  “Doesn’t it just?”

  He shakes his head. “You better not be driving tonight.”

  “Actually, I have a date with my stalker.”

  “Well, then, you better drink up.” Gerry walks away.

  “I like gay people,” I announce to Rochelle and the room at large. “I wish there were more of you.”

  Several claps follow us out into the night. “That was interesting.” Rochelle says as she guides me across the street. “You’re a happy drunk.”

  “I’m a happy person.” I hiccup.

  “Just not with Connor.”

  That seems so unfair. I tug away from her. “I can be.”

  “Not when I’ve seen you. You’re always stressed or anxious or moping.”

  “He makes me happy,” I insist. “Not as happy as chocolatinis, but happy.”

  “I’m not arguing with you, Baily. Just telling you what I see.”

  We continue on in silence, walking past the famous Dakota building. It looks stark against the leafless trees, and my fanciful imagination makes me jumpy. Though I try to hide it from Rochelle, I keep glancing over my shoulder.

  “He’s on the other side of the street,” Rochelle murmurs.

  “Who?”

  “Connor’s guy.”

  “You’re sure he’s Connor’s?” I’m not sure how she would know him from any other random stalker.

  “I’ve seen him before. Don’t know his name, but he’s definitely on your boy’s payroll.”

  “I trust your judgment,” I tell her.

  “Wish I could say the same, Baily Boozehound.”

  “How’s Lola?” I ask in classic drunken non-sequitur.

  Rochelle glances away. Suddenly I feel like a jerk for not asking sooner. When did I become so self-centered? “Is everything all right with you two?”

  “I haven’t talked to her in a while. Not since Dubai. I get the feeling she’s brushing me off.”

  “No, I bet she’s just busy. Have you called her?”

  “No.” Rochelle doesn’t look at all convinced.

  “You know how it goes.” I nudge her. “You get back from a long trip and then your needy despondent friend shows up on your doorstep and you get sucked into her drama. Time goes by and before you know it you’re half carrying her drunk ass home.”

  “And here I thought it was just me.” She shakes her head. “For a boozehound you make sense.”

  I grin at her, then lurch to a stop when I see Connor standing on her front steps. Hell. If only a simple phone call could fix my damage so easily.

  “Do you want to deal with him now?” Rochelle whispers.

  “I said I would.” I could have called him to cancel but instead I drowned my sorrows in a vat of liquor. Like mother, like daughter.

  Rochelle looks like she wants to argue. “Don’t make any life altering decisions until you sober up, okay?”

  Connor’s posture stiffens when he sees us. When he sees me. I stand a little straighter, the cold night air and his presence acting like several cups of coffee, banishing my lethargy.

  “Are you all right?”

  “She’s drunk as a skunk.” Rochelle lets go of me and heads to her apartment. “Don’t let anything happen to her, Connor. And I mean anything.”

  He scowls. “I wouldn’t take advantage of her—”

  His words are cut off when I seal my mouth over his. He responds instantly, wrapping his arms around me, hands splaying across my back. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open my mouth, letting him inside, eager for his taste. Circling my arms around his neck, I press my body closer to his heat, needing to feel him.

  “Don’t make me get the hose,” Rochelle says.

  Connor breaks the kiss, panting hard. Irritation fills me. That felt too good to stop, and I scowl at Rochelle. “Go call your girlfriend.”

  Casting us another disapproving look, she mutters, “Play nice you two. No fucking or fighting in public. I’m not bailing either one of you out.”

  Connor seems to be having trouble catching his breath.

  I grin up at him and try to step away but the world tilts. “Whoa.”

  Connor scoops me up into his arms. “Exactly how many drinks did you have?” He carries me into the waiting limo. The privacy glass is up and he settles me on his lap.

  “Didn’t count.” I rest my head against the curve of his neck. He smells delectable, a heady combination of dark masculine spices, and I want to lick the skin over his pounding pulse.

  “Were you trying to get drunk?” Condemnation fills his tone.

  “My fiancé is stalking me. It seemed like the thing to do.”

  His shoulders tense. “I’m not stalking you, Baily.”

  As comfortable as his body is, his attitude rankles. “Oh really? What would you call it then, having someone follow me around, gather information about what I’m doing, what freaking nail polish I’m wearing, and report back to you?”

  “Gathering intel. It’s what I do with all my investments.” He’s so arrogant, so sure of himself, and completely unapologetic.

  I whack his shoulder. “I am not an investment, damn it! You’re not going to se
e any returns from spending time with me.”

  Gripping my both my wrists in one of his, he holds me still. “You don’t think so?” He shifts, rubbing his erection against my backside. “I think I get plenty from you and plan to get even more.”

  His kiss is like a brand, searing my lips. I try to bite him, still irate over the stalking and his easy handling of me, but he stretches me out on the seat of the limo, trapping me beneath his massive frame, his tongue plundering my mouth ruthlessly. He tastes me deeper, rocking between my spread legs with his impressive length. There’s not enough friction, and I turn my head away, gasping for air.

  “Is that why you didn’t wear the dress? Because I knew what color to buy?” Another wicked shift of his hips. “Did you intend to stand me up all along? Is this your way of punishing me? Or are you trying to tempt me beyond reason until I take what I want by force? Is this a game, Baily?”

  We’re pressed together in the tight space. My breasts are flattened against his chest. Lust and alcohol have muddied my thoughts and I can’t seem to stop myself from rocking up against him, trying to increase the friction.

  “Is your pussy wet for me?” His free hand unbuttons my jeans and tugs the zipper down. His actions are tinted with violence, his normally tightly controlled motions jerky. Shoving my pants and underwear out of his way, he cups me between my legs. Two fingers slide easily through the slickness, pressing against my throbbing clit. “I knew it would be.”

  “Connor.” I arch into his touch, greedy for more.

  “Damn you,” he hisses. “I tried to be gentle for you, to be considerate, but that’s not what you want, is it? Not a drop of lube when I was tender, and now this? You put me through hell, drove me out of my mind, but all along you craved the same thing I did.”

  Two digits shove into my tunnel, driving ruthlessly. The look in his eyes is almost feral as he fingerfucks me hard and fast, his calloused thumb grazing my tightened clit.

  I shatter beneath him, my mind splintering into fragments of sensation as my pussy clamps down on his marauding fingers, drawing the pleasure out.

  He groans in my ear and attacks his pants. “Now. Now I’m going to punish you.”

  I barely hear him, dazed from the intense orgasm. Clothes rustle and then his face looms over me, eyes blazing with anger. It’s the look that gets me, one promising punishment.

  “Connor?”

  “Spread your legs,” he rasps, shifting his weight to align his cock with my opening. “Take it.”

  Something isn’t right here. “Wait a second—”

  Shoving my legs apart, he stares down at my exposed pussy with grim determination.

  “Connor, I don’t want this.” If I could just have a minute to think.

  But he’s impatient. “Yes you do. You’re eager for it, needing me to pound into your body, to show you who’s in control. To take it from you.” The crown of his cock prods me again.

  “I said no.” Fuck, what’s going on here and how do I make it stop?

  Safeword, Snarkarella whispers.

  “Rosasharin,” I scream, pounding my clenched fists against his massive, immovable shoulders. He’s a hulking brute and he could do anything he wants to me. I haven’t been playing with fire, but with explosives. Destruction is imminent.

  For an endless moment I’m terrified that he’s not going to stop, that whatever demons are dogging him have taken over completely. Then understanding. Blue eyes come into focus and horror dawns as he stares down at me.

  He lurches away so violently, his elbow cracks the car window. I scramble to the other side of the seat, curling into the smallest ball possible.

  He almost did it. Almost got his revenge on my grandfather and abused my trust, my faith that he is more than a broken little boy with something to prove. My eyes water until my vision blurs, but I refuse to let the tears fall.

  Get dressed. Go inside. Snarkarella barks orders like a drill sergeant. Seeing as how she just saved me, I’m willing to take her advice.

  Connor remains frozen in the same position against the window. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. Slowly, so as not to startle him, I reach for my jeans. My underwear is shredded. Like my heart.

  I get dressed and it’s only when I reach for the handle that he speaks. “Baily—”

  “Save it.” My tone is sharp. I’m done playing this game with him. It’s too dangerous.

  “I need you.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

  I turn, pinning him with my gaze. “Why? Tell me why you need me so badly. So you can break me too?”

  He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes wide. “It was supposed to be a game.”

  I get out of the car. “And now it’s over. Goodbye, Connor.”

  After scurrying up the steps, I duck into the building, unwilling to watch him leave.

  ****

  I sleep like the dead that night, emotional and physical exhaustion taking their toll. No floundering over decisions or regrets disturb my rest. I did what I did for me and I will keep doing it.

  Rochelle is gone by the time I get out of bed the next morning. Her note says she caved and went to the grocery store. Another reprieve. She was talking to Lola the night before, so she didn’t witness my disheveled state after the car incident.

  I refuse to think about the car incident. Or check my email or voicemail for more conniving messages engineered to reel me back in. I’m not a damn fish or a dog or any kind of witless animal put on this planet for a rich man’s entertainment. Snarkarella’s right, I need to hike up my big girl panties and move the hell on.

  With that thought in mind, I shower and dress for the day. The pink gown is hanging in my closet. I’m tempted to cut it to shreds and send it back at him, to drive my point home, but I vowed last night to stop playing crazy chicken with him.

  With nothing to do I’m edgy and restless. I flick the television on and then turn it off immediately. Ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning is slim pickings for entertainment. Prowling the apartment, I finally give in and turn on my phone.

  “You have no new messages.” The automated voice tells me. Huh. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s out at the nearest CVS prowling the aisles for an I’m sorry I almost raped you card.

  “Good luck with that, pal,” I mutter. My gaze lands on the clock. 10:45. Where the heck is Rochelle? A trip to the Trader Joe’s around the corner shouldn’t take this long.

  Of course she has a life, independent of me. I should leave and let her get back to it. I will as soon as I figure out what my next move is. But I’m too restless to plan, too keyed up.

  The buzzer sounds and I jump, heart pounding. I really need to get out more.

  “Who is it?” I ask through the intercom.

  “Baily?” A man’s voice. Not Connor’s. I refuse to let myself feel disappointment.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Doctor Fletcher. Ian.” He clears his throat.

  “Doctor Fletcher?” Though Pops’ former doctor had asked me to call him by his first name, I’d never picked up on it. “How did you find me?”

  “Your employer, Mr. Edge. I’ve been looking for you since your grandfather died, to offer my condolences. I know how difficult it must have been for you to go through that alone.”

  I’m barely listening. Connor sent Doctor Fletcher here to see me? He seemed to hate the man the one time they met, right after Pops wandered away from the nursing home. Of course it might have been the Doctor’s obvious interest in me that bothered the billionaire.

  Another possibility arises. What if sending the doctor here is a message to me? Like, I accept that we’re over so here’s the next available male. My hands clench into tight fists. It would be just like Connor to send me a man. In his addled mind he probably thought I needed one!

  I realize I’m spacing out on my visitor. “Why don’t you come up and have a cup of coffee? I’m afraid that’s all I can offer you, but my friend should be back with provisions soon.”

&nb
sp; I buzz him through, my mind whirling. My tablet is devoid of messages too. I’m convinced Connor is scheming again and I compose a brief note without a subject line.

  Dr. Fletcher. Really?

  I press send just as a sharp knock sounds on my door.

  Doctor Fletcher’s expression is pure relief. He crosses the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “I was so worried about you.” He holds out his arms for a hug.

  “Um, okay.” It seems rude not to accept the comfort he offers so I step into his embrace.

  His arms crush me against him and I’m about to pull away when I feel the sharp prick of a needle against my neck. “What the hell?”

  My limbs feel heavy and I sag against him, no longer in control of my body.

  My vision tunnels and the last thing I see is his satisfied expression. “There there, we’re together now. Everything will be all right.”

  Chapter Seven

  Slowly the world comes into focus. I wince at the stabbing pain in my head. What the hell happened? My eyelids feel heavy and I can’t recall ever being so hung over. The world jostles and I moan, then realize there’s a gag in my mouth. I try to remove it, but my hands are bound behind my back with what feels like an electrical zip tie. My ankles as well.

  It all comes back in a rush. Dr. Fletcher, Ian, showing up at Rochelle’s apartment. Jamming a needle into my neck. Why would he do that?

  A shiver tears through me as I relive the fervent look on his face, the relief that he found me. I’ve been so distracted by Connor that I somehow missed the clues that the man I trusted with my grandfather’s mental health was fixated on me. And apparently Ian Fletcher has it in him to come after me.

  Another thump and my entire aching body is jostled. I can’t see a thing but I think I’m in the trunk of a car. He’s kidnapping me! Bound and gagged by a madman.

  Panic wells, my heart beating so fast my limited vision goes spotty. I tamp my anxiety down and struggle for rational thought. Someone will realize I’m missing. Rochelle will see signs of a struggle and call the police. Or Connor. I just need to endure. Connor will never give up until he finds me.

  Even after last night? Snarkarella whispers. You said horrible things, do you really think he’s eager for more?