We talk about where I am in my cycle and when the unprotected sexual activity occurred. She takes my temperature and blood pressure and hands me a packet with two small pills. “Take these twelve hours apart within 120 hours of unprotected sex, preferably with food. Some women experience nausea if taken on an empty stomach. I have a pamphlet here that with some more information.”
“I really appreciate this.” I look down at the pamphlet. At least one of my problems will be solved, temporarily.
“Has he ever hit you?” The doctor asks quietly.
I whip my head up. “No! It’s nothing like that. Connor would never hurt me.” Even as the words come out, I think about his fear of becoming physically violent, or raping me. Why is he always so concerned about that?
Pushing my doubt aside I say, “It’s complicated. Him and me. But there’s no violence and I can leave whenever I want. This isn’t an abusive situation, he’s just panicked I might get pregnant.”
The doctor nods, though I can’t tell if it’s in acceptance. “Here’s my card. Call me if you need help. With anything.” She leaves the definition nebulous.
I follow her back down the hall to the front door, where Connor paces restlessly. His head whips up and his gaze focuses on my face.
I smile at the doctor and we shake hands. “Thank you, Doctor Trammel.”
Connor hands her a check, then blinks when she rounds on him. “Is everything alright?”
“She’s a sweet girl, Mr. Edge. Be good to her.” Her tone is abrupt.
“I’m doing my best.” He sounds slightly defensive, but mostly stunned.
“Try harder.” She nods once more to me and then strides out the door.
“I think you have an advocate.” Connor tone is full of awe. “I can’t remember the last time someone was so unimpressed with me. Especially after I paid them.”
“Money isn’t everything,” I tell him.
He puts his arm around my shoulder. “Are you alright?”
I’m not sure how to answer that one. “I need something to eat so I can take this.” I hold the pill up.”
His eyes light up and he grins at me. “I’ll cook for you. What do you feel like?”
“Something light. Pasta maybe.”
“Come keep me company.” He strides off toward the kitchen as though with renewed purpose. His mood swings are giving me whiplash. Maybe he’s the one who needs his hormones regulated.
Connor’s kitchen is a work of art. A soapstone countertop spans three sides, with a built in breakfast bar acting as the fourth. I sit on a barstool and take it all in. I’m no chef but I can see every gadget and appliance is top of the line. “You really like to cook?”
He nods, chopping fresh herbs while waiting for the water to boil. “It helps relax me. Cooking is like business, once you understand the basics and gather quality ingredients; it’s all about intuition and bold improvisation.”
Within minutes he set a huge bowl of rotini in a white wine sauce in front of me, then turns and reaches into one of the glass front cabinets for a goblet. “Wine?”
I shake my head as I pick up my fork. “Water, please.”
He nods and retrieves a bottle or Perrier from a pantry bigger than my bedroom. “You don’t drink much, do you?”
The food is delicious, but my stomach keeps cramping up, so I push my plate aside. “No.”
“Will you tell me about it?” He takes a seat on the barstool next to me.
“It’s not exactly dinner conversation.” No way am I spilling my guts first. He’s promised me an explanation and I’m holding out for one.
“Another time then.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“Soon,” he murmurs, pushing food around his plate. I haven’t seen him eat a bite, yet.
The silence between us is unbearable. I take the first pill and glance at the clock noting the time. “Where’s my bag? I need to set an alarm on my phone so I take the next one in twelve hours.”
Connor gets up and walks down the hallway. He comes back, wheeling a red suitcase and holding my bag from the beach as well as box.
“What’s all this?” My brow furrows as he sets the box down in front of me.
“I got you a smartphone. Your phone is archaic.” He actually looks pleased with himself. Smug bastard.
My jaw clenches tight. “And the suitcase?”
“I had someone pack up some of your clothes and bring them here for you.”
I stare at the suitcase and shake my head. “Who did it?”
“I’m sorry?”
I almost scoff at that, because I know he isn’t. “Who packed my fucking suitcase? Who was in my house, pawing through my personal items without my permission?” God help him if it was his snooty assistant.
“I gave them permission,” he states as though that will make everything better.
I want to throw something at his head. “And who gave you permission? Huh, Connor? Who gave you the right to dictate my life?”
“I just wanted—”
But I bowl right over the top of him. I’m on my feet now, with my fists clenched, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. “Why should I care, when what I want clearly doesn’t matter to you?”
He scowls at me. “That isn’t so.”
I’m building up to my full head of steam. “Oh, I’m sorry, my opinion matters only when I agree to do and say and wear what you want. But the second I make a choice that you don’t like you bully, and browbeat and emotionally manipulate me right back into line. You never intended to bring me home, did you? What was your plan, to move me into that blank slate apartment and keep me here for your convenience? Safely on birth control and ready to bend over the nearest piece of furniture on your whim? I have a life, damn you! It might not seem like much to you, but it’s mine. I have a grandfather who needs me and I never signed up to be some rich man’s sex doll!”
I can see the fury building in him, hot enough to match my own. “Is that really what you think is going on here? Do you really think so little of me? I told you, you are different for me, that I want to protect you! Provide for your needs. Why is that so wrong?”
“Because you’re doing it against my will, without listening to what I tell you. I don’t want you to make those decisions for me. Rosasharn.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It’s my safeword. I’m putting an end to this now.”
Without looking at him, I take up the bag in one hand and wheel the suitcase with the other back to the taupe apartment. He follows me, but I shut the door in his face. Heaving the suitcase onto the bed, I flip it open and study the contents. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a tank top, I take off the dress, sandals and bathing suit and add it to the bag with the party clothes. Putting my own clothes back on is such a relief. I start feeling like myself for the first time all day. I fish the quarter million dollar check out of my clutch and rezip the suitcase before heading back out to face him.
“Here. This is all yours. Sorry it isn’t laundered but I’ve been busy.” I drop the shopping bag next to him and hold out the check.
“What are you doing? That stuff is yours. I don’t want it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Baily don’t do this.” He’s lost all color in his face. There’s no anger written on those handsome features now, just blind panic. “Don’t leave me.”
My heart twists at his words, as though someone has reached inside my chest and was trying to ring every last drop of blood from it. “I can’t stay, Connor. It’s either you or me. And I may want you, but I need me.”
He turns away, those big shoulders rounded in, as though warding off a blow. I wait for him to say something else, but he remains silent.
I’m almost to the door when he mutters, “I’ll have Justin drive you home.”
“I’ll take Metro North.”
He inhales a huge breath, as though struggling with something. “How will you get home from the Poughkeepsie train station?”
/>
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The Rosemont is a solid forty five minute drive from the station. “I’ll call a friend.”
“Please. Let Justin take you, so I know you get home safely.”
Exhaustion pulls on me as I think about lugging this suitcase into a cab, onto the train, and explaining to any of my acquaintances why it was even necessary. “Okay.”
“I’ll call him.” Connor walks away and I open the door.
Justin enters a few minutes later and takes my suitcase. “Car’s ready whenever you are.
“Ms. Sinclair, a moment?”
I close my eyes and murmur to Justin, “I’ll meet you down there.”
Stealing my resolve, I turn to face Connor. He’s holding the new smartphone out to me.
“The other one is deactivated, so you need to take this one, at least until you can switch it back.”
Wordlessly, I accept the small device. I refuse to thank him for it.
Fingertips run across my cheekbone in a tender caress. “Baily.”
With a shaking hand, I pull his fingers from my cheek, and hold them to my lips for a moment. One last taste. “Goodbye, Connor.”
Turning away is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And one of the most necessary. I fear I’m leaving my heart behind, but know that there is no going back for it. No matter how much I might want to.
I just don’t trust myself that much.
It’s full dark out by the time Justin pulls the SUV out into the flow of traffic. I’m belted in and fighting tears that I know will win the war once my head is buried in my pillow at home. There are so many things to think about. What am I going to do? The thought of staying on at the Rosemont makes me ill. What will happen when I see Connor there? What if I see him with another woman? Just the thought has bile rising in my throat.
Justin glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”
“Go for it,”
His hand reaches for the radio dial a second before an explosion rocks the front end of the vehicle goes up in flames.
“Shit!” Justin yells. “Baily, get out!”
Panicked, I fumble the seatbelt and fling open the door into oncoming traffic. A horn blares out angrily but I barely here it, so focused on getting out.
The seatbelt gives way and I lunge out of the car, onto the hood of a taxi a moment before the SUV fireballs.
~Continued in Part 3,
Coming October 2012 from Sanibel Moon Books!~
http://www.sanibelmoon.com/
Caught Up In You (Edgeplay Part 2) Page 7
