Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) (10 page)

  She arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Connor. “So I gather you got a better offer and our plans for the night have changed?”

 “You gathered right.” Placing his hand against the small of my back, he urges me forward. “Baily, this is Rochelle Newhart, also known as Rachel Meade. Rochelle, Baily Sinclair, my girlfriend.”

 She gives me a slow once over. “Hi, real girlfriend, I’m the beard.”

 “I thought
I
was
your
beard?” Connor pours us each a glass from the wine bottle.

 Rochelle kicks off her shoes and curls her feet up under her before turning her attention to me. “It’s a mutually beneficial faux relationship.”

 “I’m not sure I see the need for a faux relationship when he’s in a real one.” My words sound more hostile and possessive than I feel. Something about Rochelle is too easy-going to really worry me. As a woman who truly desires Connor beyond all reason, I’m plenty familiar with the symptoms.

 Rochelle casts Connor a look of amusement. “Well, Mr. Hotshot here has a knack for pissing people off. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 Shooting Connor a glance, I see he isn’t insulted or even surprised. “Yeah, I’ve seen it in action.”

 Rochelle empties her wine glass and holds it up to Connor for a refill. “Yeah, he’s kind of a bull in a china shop when it comes to social graces. People only put up with him because he’s got more money than God.”

 I barely stifle a laugh. Connor refills both of our wine glasses and stands behind me, pressing his body against mine. “Glad you two are bonding,” he mutters.

 “Anyhow, sometimes people like to try and take him down a peg or two. And some of those very important people with unlimited resources and grudges galore also lack morals. They want to hit him where it hurts. Like by hurting someone close to him. Which is why he’s “estranged” from his family.”

 “Tell her how many attempts have been made on your life since we visibly hooked up.”

 “Six, but don’t credit yourself with all of them. I too have a knack for pissing people off.” Rochelle winks at me.

 Hearing her description of Connor’s life breaks my heart. Anytime he gets close to anyone he has to wonder if they’ll be used against him. I put my hand over his where it rests on my shoulder and squeeze his fingers in a silent show of support. That must be a terrible way to live, always afraid of losing those closest to you.

 His paranoia makes so much more sense now.

 “Don’t take this the wrong way because I’m grateful to you for helping him, but what do you get out of all this?”

 “Rochelle is gay,” Connor says.

 “And proud of it.” She toasts to that, then purses her lips. “Unfortunately, coming out would be the death knell of my career as a leading lady. As if who I shag has anything to do with my acting ability. But it’s the world we live in. Could be worse; at least no one is trying to stone me because I munch rug.”

 I blink, totally out of my depth.

 “Do you understand why I said you have no reason to be jealous?” His breath in my ear makes me shiver. “More likely she’ll hit on you than me.”

 “I don’t poach from my pals. Besides, it’s obvious she bats for the away team. She hasn’t checked out my rack once.” Rochelle hops up from her chair and stretches. “Well, if we aren’t going out to be seen, I’m gonna go get comfy. Same room as last time?”

 “Wherever you want.”

 She blows us both a kiss and sashays from the room.

 “I forgot she was coming today, or I would have warned you before.” Connor pushes some hair behind my ear. “Do you feel better about our arrangement now?”

 “I’m having a hard time processing everything,” I admit. “It’s all so overwhelming.” And me, the sad little country mouse who’s never left the state of New York.

 Connor drops a kiss on my forehead. “Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

 
I wouldn’t bet on it,
Snarkarella whispers.

Chapter Eight

 
T
he change overtakes Connor while the three of us are sitting around the formal dining room enjoying dinner.

 “This is incredible.” Rochelle, now dressed down in yoga pants and a tiny T-shirt pronouncing her a ‘Gold Digger,’ tucks into the Szechwan stir fry Connor whipped up.

 “Nothing to it. I just great in a little fresh ginger for extra kick.” He smiles in that wicked way of his, his focus on my face.

 Heat scalds my cheeks as I think about the earlier use of the ginger, and I reach for my water glass.

 Connor turns to Rochelle. “Actually—” He stops speaking and his eyes roll back in his head.

 “Shit.” Rochelle is up, out of her chair and moving to him. “Let’s get him flat on the ground.”

 “You know what this is? What’s happening to him?” I ask as I help her hoist his big body from the chair. It isn’t easy; he’s heavier than the two of us combined and pure deadweight.

 “I’ve seen it before.” Her tone is grim.

 His expression is almost slack, as though he’s in a catatonic state. I’ve spent enough time in nursing homes to know the signs, but seeing Connor’s normally vibrant face practically lifeless fills me with horror.

 We maneuver him until he’s lying flat on the Oriental rug. Rochelle tugs my hand, trying to urge me up from my position by his side. “Back up, in case he comes up swinging.”

 “He won’t,” I tell her, cupping his head in his hands. It’s Mr. Edge who’s coming back, and he’s more a cut the enemy with words sort. “You’re sure this isn’t some kind of seizure?” There are no tremors, but epileptics don’t always display the same symptoms.

 “I have no idea. He never told me what causes this. I just know he wakes up…altered.”

 Our eyes meet and I’m glad she’s here, that I’m not alone in my worry.

 She studies my face and her lips part. “You’re in love with him.”

 Now isn’t the time to discuss it, and I focus on his face, searching for any signs of change. This is the first time I’m able to see his expression as he undergoes his transformation. “How long does it usually take?”

 “I’ve only seen it once, but it was less than a minute and nowhere near this dramatic.”

 His eyes open and I see the haze of confusion there. I stroke his cheek and whisper, “Hey you, you had us worried.”

 He blinks, and his gaze snaps to Rochelle. “How long?” he rasps.

 I glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. I came to the house at five and it’s now after ten. “About five hours, maybe a little less.”

 He sits up smoothly and I study his every move. He’s as graceful as ever, his motions fluid.

 “What’s the last thing you remember?” Rochelle steps closer now that she sees Connor’s not in a violent mindset.

 “We were in the pool.” He runs a hand through his hair. I notice the slight tremor, but ascribe that to disorientation more than any physiological malady.

 “Well, when I got here a little over an hour ago you two were in the tub. Must have been a watersports kinda day.” Rochelle grins, trying to lighten the mood.

 Connor’s focus darts from her to me. I see the frustration there and can only imagine what’s going on in his head. The last thing he knew he was angry with me, and now he finds out we’ve kissed and made up. I can’t even imagine how he’ll react if he finds out about the figging. I’ve barely wrapped my mind around that. “Rochelle, I don’t mean to be rude but would give us some privacy?”

 “Not a problem.” She picks up her wineglass and heads for the stairs. “See you two crazy kids in the morning.”

 I don’t miss his wince at the word crazy and my heart breaks a little for him.

 Slowly, he lowers himself into the chair, rests his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. “I need a drink.”

 “Do you want me to open another bottle of wine?”

 “Something stronger.”

 “’Kay, I’ll be right back.” I go to the parlor where I know he keeps a stocked liquor cart. The crystal decanters are all full and I can’t tell what’s what. Picking one at random, I grab a highball glass and carry it back to the dining room.

 He actually smiles when he sees what I’ve brought. “That’s hundred year old Scotch.”

 I set it down in front of him. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

 “I remember that much at least.” His eyes meet mine. “Thank you.”

 I’m not sure if he’s thanking me for retrieving the booze or something else. “I actually have an ulterior motive for getting you liquored up.”

 He pours a drink and takes a sip. “What would that be?”

 He’s playing coy, but he knows what I’m after. “Don’t you think it’s time you tell me what’s going on with you?”

 “No, but someone else does.” He sets a scrap of paper down in front of me. “I found this in my pocket just now.

 The script is bold and commanding, exactly like the man I spent the evening loving. The message causes my heart to stumble mid-beat.

You can trust Baily. She’s on the pill.

 I look up and meet his gaze.

 “I’ve never left myself a message like this before. He…
I
must really believe in you.”

 “Because I went on the pill?” I’m sure I’ll never understand how his mind works.

 Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, because you invested in our relationship that way. You fought me on it at first, but decided to do it anyway. You put faith in our relationship—it’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

 “So, you’ll forgive me too?”

 He looks at the pristine white tablecloth and I get the feeling he’s afraid to meet my gaze. “Forgiveness isn’t mine to give, but to ask for. I’ve treated you abominably. I see that now. Bullying you, imposing my burdens, holding back information about myself while demanding your secrets. I didn’t trust you the way I should have. I’ve been an ass, but I can’t force myself to walk away, even if it’s in your best interest.”

 “It’s not.”

 Slowly he looks up, his celestial blue eyes full of hope. “Will you still have me?”

 Taking his hand in mine, I slowly twine our fingers together. “I love you, Connor Edge, every side of you.”

 His eyes go wide and he whispers, “Say it again.”

 “I love you.” It’s easier, now that the seal is broken, the words effervescing from me.

 He tugs me into his lap and his hands shape to cradle my head, to hold me in place above him. Firm, masculine lips meld with mine oh so sweetly. I expect the liquor on his breath to overwhelm me, but it enhances his own spicy flavor in an addictive way.

 Part of me is content to stay exactly like this, fusing together with him. But another part craves more, skin to skin contact, being filled by his hardness, engulfed in his heat.

 Connor’s hands rove my back restlessly and before I realize what he’s doing, my bra is unhooked.