Caught Up In You (Edgeplay Part 2) (2 page)

A wicked grin steals across his face. “How was I?”

My jaw drops. “
That’s
what you’re worried about?”

He sobers. “I’m concerned over many things. Why I’ve had two blackouts in the last forty eight hours and both of them involve you.”

It sounds as though he’s blaming me for something and my ire rises again. “Listen pal, I didn’t invite you into my bedroom, you helped yourself to the goodies.”

“You just said it was mutual.”

I huff out a breath. “Yes, but when I wake up to find you standing over me in the dark and you work your seductive magic, I can’t be held responsible for giving in.”

He steps even closer, until we are sharing the same heat signature. His height looms over me and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “You want me.” The words are spoken with the utmost confidence. With a face and body like that, how could I
not
want him? Add his on again, off again charm to the mix and I’m a goner.

Hell if I’ll admit it and boost his already gargantuan ego.

But my pique dissipates when he reaches out tentatively to stroke the side of my face. “I don’t know what it is about you, Ms. Sinclair, but I’m drawn to you too.”

I realize I’m still touching him, can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I hate that you can’t remember.” Up until I say the words, I didn’t know if I believed him. But the shadows under his eyes calls to the caretaker in me. This man is capable of so much passion; he’s made me feel more desired in two days than I have in my whole life. I need to swallow my pride and reach out to him, I owe him that much.

“As do I.” His hand trails down the side of my neck, over the curve of my shoulder. “Touching you feels so familiar to me.”

“Because you have.” Tipping my head back, I survey him through lowered lashes, relishing the sensual strokes.

He shakes his head even as he laces his fingers through mine. “No, it’s more than a buried memory. I know what those feel like, ghosts floating in my peripheral vision that vanish the second I turn my head. What I feel with you, it’s deeper, sharper, bolder.”

“If this is a line, it’s definitely working.”

His other hand comes up to stroke my cheek as those intense blue eyes focus on my face. “Will you walk me through it?”

I blink, unsure of what he means. “Through what?”

“The missing time. Will you reenact it with me?”

God, even the idea of that frightens the hell out of me. Our trysts occurred at night and were completely unplanned. Could I really go through every second with him, knowing how vulnerable I’d be? “I…”

Leaning forward he kisses my forehead. “Please, consider it. I know it’s asking a lot, but it might help me remember.”

“Why don’t you remember?” I ask. I’m dying to know.

He studies me for a long time, so long that I think he isn’t going to answer. “What do you know about me?”

“Only what I’ve read in the tabloids while waiting in the checkout line. Mostly who you were seen with, rumored to be dating.” I’d also done an internet search this morning and found out some interesting snippets, like that his family had disowned him after his grandfather had named him sole beneficiary of the Edge fortune, but I didn’t want to bring that up as it seemed more personal somehow.

He nods, accepting what I say. “Gossip can be planted, especially when I own the rags that print the dirt.”

I frown. “But why would you do that? Why would you want them reporting bogus information?”

Behind us a car horn blares out. Connor releases me and looks over my shoulder. “I’d forgotten I left the car blocking the drive.” He looks back to me. “I’m hosting a small soiree tonight. Come. Nine o’clock.” It isn’t a request and he strides out of the woods, back to where he left his car running to chase after me.

“Wait! Connor!” I shout, but he doesn’t turn.

It’s only when he pulls away that I answer my earlier question.
Why would he want them reporting bogus information?

“To keep them away from the truth.”

****

I spend the rest of the day overseeing the cleanup of the grounds so the place is spic and span for Connor’s soiree. I still haven’t decided if I should attend. After all, how will he introduce me? What will I wear? Did he intend for me to be his date, or just another guest in the throng? I’m sure my comfy jeans or yoga pants are unacceptable for any event hosted by the illustrious, Connor Edge.

Suddenly a drink with Greg at the Lady Liberty seems like a good idea. But when five o’clock rolls around and every hedge is trimmed and every rake is stowed, I run home for a quick shower before setting out for the hospital.

Pops has more color today, but despite his visible improvement, his mind is not there. He’s having what Dr. Fletcher termed a “sieve night”, with lots of memories leaking out.

“Rose,” he calls me when he first sees me. “Rose, I can’t find my damn glasses.”

Rose is my grandmother, who died before I was born. I know better than to correct him. “They’re on your nightstand.” I say instead, and hand the bifocals to him.

“Oh, thank you, love. What would I do without you?” he smiles and sets them on his nose before snapping open his newspaper.

I bite my lip and sink into the nearby chair. These moments, when he confuses me with my maternal grandmother are always painful. Not only because he doesn’t recognize me, but also because his love for her is still so strong, so sure and unwavering, even after twenty six years apart. Theirs had been a simple romance. She, the chef employed at The Rosemont to his head groundskeeper. They’d met the day she was hired and married a week later. They spent their entire adult lives, forty years, in the cottage where I now reside. And they were happy.

Deep down, I wish for something like that, someone to love me in a way that withstands the test of time. Modern women aren’t supposed to need a man, and I think I’ve proven myself to be self-sufficient. But damn it all, I get lonely.

I think that’s why, instead of going to the Lady Liberty, I return to my cottage to dig for something in my meager wardrobe that would be appropriate for a swanky soiree.

The box is waiting on my doorstep. Picking up the card, I smile as I read.

Come dazzle us, Cinderella.

Placing the box on my couch, I open the lid. Inside is a slinky black halter dress with a split up the thigh, high heel sandals and undergarments that look as though they might require a user’s guide to don.

The room spins. It must be my blood sugar, I haven’t eaten all day. Scrambling up a few eggs, I shred some cheese and butter an English muffin and eat while staring out the window. In the note he called me Cinderella, but who is Connor Edge in this fairytale? Prince Charming? If so, he only works part time.

Don’t kid yourself. If you go up there, you’re getting laid and your prince will definitely come.
Snarkarella points out. There are times when I love her for her unflinching honesty.

In the end, it’s really not much of a decision to slither into the satin bodysuit that props my cleavage up to epic proportions. Having never worn stockings and garters before, I am forced to contort myself until finally figuring how they are supposed to look.

The dress is next and I’m stunned by how perfectly it fits. The bodysuit smooths my belly while displaying my curves, making me look like some 1950’s cover model. I appear elegant and sexy all at once.

Say what you will about Conner Edge, but the man knows how to display a woman’s body to full advantage.

Though I’m sure it’s a major fashion faux pas, I slip my feet into sneakers because there is no way I’m schlepping across the lawn in those heels. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break my neck walking on flat surfaces, never mind the rolling countryside.

Headlights are coming up the drive, so I skirt around to the kitchen entrance, where I ditch my sneakers in the mudroom until the return trip back to my real life. Squaring my shoulders, I whisper, “Here goes nothing,” and enter the house.

Chapter Two

T
he kitchen is full of harried people in white aprons and delectable scents. Fresh herbs and savory sauces make my mouth water, even though I just had dinner. Bypassing the frenetic activity, I make my way to the outer hall and look around, trying to decide if I should join the throngs of people in the foyer or search for Connor to thank him for the outfit.

“Ms. Sinclair?” The resonant voice startles me and I let out an involuntary squeak. Whirling around, I find a small, dark-haired man with golden brown eyes wearing an Armani suit and an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

My heart pounds a mile a minute. “It’s fine, I’m just a little jumpy.” Probably because I feel like a fraud being here, all gussied up. I must get past this whole class barrier set up in my mind. Connor invited me; I’m not the hired help tonight.

He extends a hand. “I’m Noah Burkowitz, Mr. Edge’s attorney.”

That explains the suit. I shake his hand and say, “Pleased to meet you.”

“If you’d follow me, we have a little business to attend to before we join the party.” Without waiting for my reply, the lawyer strides down the hall toward the left wing of the house.

I follow him into the two story library. The scent of old leather and dust is pervasive, even though the shelves are immaculately kept. The cleaning service that tends the Rosemont was just here this afternoon. I know, I buzzed them through the gate.

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 the 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,” Burkowitz 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.”