Caught Up In You (Edgeplay Part 2) (4 page)

Neither man looks as though he believes me. Uncomfortable under their scrutiny, I make my way toward the nearest restroom and lock myself in.

Though I received many compliments on my dress, I’d had more than enough of this crowd. What kind of people talked nasty about their host to his date the moment his back is turned? No one I wanted to be associated with, that’s for sure. I can’t wait for them all to leave and have Connor to myself once more. Of course if we try to pursue any kind of real relationship, I’ll have to deal with these sorts of people on a regular basis.

A knock sounded on the door.

“I’ll be right out,” I call, turning on the water and washing my hands.

“Ms. Sinclair?”

Great, it’s his little harpy of an assistant. Unlocking the door I ask. “Yes?”

Her smile is gone and she says, “Mr. Edge asked me to inform you that he had to leave suddenly.”

I blink, stunned. “Leave?”

“Yes. He’s ordered a car to take him back to Manhattan tonight.”

Chapter Three

A
fter being ditched by one very large, very confusing billionaire, I decide there is no reason to hang around the soiree any longer. The caterers bustle about as I weave through the kitchen, but my mind is heading south, toward Manhattan. The next thing I know, I’m sprawled flat on my ass and so is the guy I’d smacked into.

“Sorry,” I grumble, irritated that Connor Edge has such a ridiculous hold on my every thought.

“Baily?” He asks and I take my first good look at him.

“Eric?” I haven’t seen Eric Falkner since the summer after high school graduation. He’s as handsome as ever, shaggy blond hair and warm brown eyes that remind me of melting chocolate. We’d gone to a few movies together before he’d left to attend Cornell. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.” He gestures to the black smock worn by the catering staff. His eyes rove down my body. “You look fantastic.”

 I smile. “Amazing what a decent dress will do.”

His eyes are glued to my cleavage. “We’re wrapping up here. You wanna go grab a drink with me afterwards?”

My mouth opens and I’m about to automatically decline when I consider my other option is to sit at home and brood about Connor. The mental image makes me cringe. No thank you. “Sure. You can tell me how you ended up working in the food service industry.”

True to his word, in less than ten minutes Eric and his coworkers load up the van and we are buckled into his Ford Fiesta on our way into town. The silence is awkward and I look down at my dress, wishing I changed into jeans. There’s something a little bit scuzzy about wearing an expensive dress that one man bought me to a bar with another man.

“So, catering, huh?” I ask and then roll my eyes at my own lameness.

“It’s my sister’s business. I help out on the weekends.”

“That makes much more sense. You wanted to be a history teacher, right?”

“I am actually, though it’s only been as a sub for the last year. I start full time at Pawling High School this fall.”

The drive into town is quick and Eric pulls up in front of Lady Liberty. The bar is packed to the gills, but Eric snags us a table in the corner. “What are you drinking?”

I’ve already downed a few glasses of champagne and that was well beyond my normal tolerance. “Shirley Temple, please, extra cherries.”

 “You’re cute,” Eric smirks and goes off to get the drinks.

I look around the room, feeling vaguely uncomfortable in my designer dress and satin shoes. This is much more my scene than a soiree in Connor’s mansion, so why do I feel like an outsider here too?

“Baily! You made it!” Greg, sans his UPS uniform, weaves his way over to me. His teeth flash brilliantly against his mocha skin and his pupils are dilated. I guess the drink in his hand isn’t his first. “Wow, you look fantastic.”

“Thanks,” I shift as he takes Eric’s chair. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”

As soon as the words are out, I realize how rude they sound. “That is, I didn’t want to just sit at home alone, you know?”

“I hear ya.” He either doesn’t pick up on my rudeness or is too drunk to care.

Eric returns with our drinks and raises an eyebrow at Greg. “Here you go, Baily.”

“Greg, this is Eric Falkner. We went to high school together. Eric, Greg Simms, our local UPS driver.”

 The men stare each other down. Eric says “You’re in my seat.”

 Greg rises and looks at the chair then smirks at Eric. “Don’t see your name on it, pal.”

“Guys, there are more chairs.” I say, but am ignored by them both.

“Come on man, you don’t want to do this.” Eric’s words are reasonable even if the tone is belligerent. “She’s here with me.”

Greg gives me a cool once over. “I don’t see your name on her, either.”

I stand up. “You know what? You can have my chair.” Drink in hand, I move off to the bar, hoping my absence will defuse the situation.

Coming here was a mistake. I see that now and scan the room for a familiar face that’s sober enough to drive me home, I spy a tall form lurking in the doorway.

“No frigging way,” I breathe but it’s him. Connor is here and from the look on his face he isn’t happy about it.

Our eyes meet and the crowd seems to part before him as he moves toward me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I came to get you. Don’t push me, Baily.” His rough voice sounds deadly and fraught with warning.

“Push you? You left me alone with all those horrible people.”

His hand circles the back of my neck, feeling very much like a collar. “To answer the phone. And while I did, you ran off with another man.”

I open my mouth to deny it but the sound of breaking glass cuts across the room, followed by the heavy thud of male bodies hitting the floor. The crowd surges back from the fight like a retreating tide.

“Oh shit.” From my perch on the barstool, I see Greg and Eric rolling around on the floor together, pounding the hell out of each other.

“We’re leaving. Now,” Connor says. It’s not a request.

Securing me against his side, he makes his way through the crowd.

“Stop,” I say but he ignores me. “They’ll kill each other!”

“Saves me the trouble of doing it.” Connor growls and then we’re through the doors and out in the night.

Connor’s convertible is parked on the street. He secures me inside, even reaches across my body to buckle my seatbelt. His angry movements are incredibly efficient, not an iota of wasted effort as he circles the car and climbs in, roaring away from town.

If I thought the drive to the bar with Eric was disconcerting, it’s nothing compared to being trapped beside a livid Connor Edge. “Connor—”

“Quiet.” The word is issued like a whip crack and I actually flinch away. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

But I’m no wilting daisy to be intimidated. “Your assistant told me you were on the way to Manhattan. I thought you’d left without saying goodbye.”

He inhales audibly. “So, instead of looking for me to confirm that, you run off to a bar and start a fight?”

He’s twisting the facts to feed his anger. “It’s not like that!”

Ahead of us the traffic light switches to red. Connor turns to me slowly, his voice is deadly quiet. “Baily, shut up or I swear to God, I’ll stuff you in the trunk.” The icy look in his eyes says he is absolutely serious. Biting my tongue, I slump back into my seat.

Simmering with rage, it takes me awhile to realize we aren’t headed back to the Rosemont. “Where are we going?”

Connor ignores me and turns off the main road and up a steep, winding hill.

“Connor?”

Silence. The top is down and my hair is whipping in my face. I do my best to secure it back with one hand. Connor’s an excellent driver, handling the car deftly, not speeding, hugging every curve in the road. Despite our current misunderstanding, driving with him and experiencing such fiery passion harnessed by an inescapable yoke of control turns me on. My nipples are rock hard against the soft cups of my corset top and my clit throbs in time with my increased heartbeats. One quick rub would send me over the edge. Or maybe not even a touch, just another of those blazing looks from Connor.

He pulls into a small private airport, directly in front of an open hanger. I wait as he exits the car and talks to the man, presumably the pilot, in a few, brief words and then strides back to me.

“Out,” he commands.

Though I scramble from the convertible, I protest the entire time. “Connor, I can’t go anywhere. I have obligations.”

“I’ll have you back to work by Monday morning.”

What if something happened to Pops and I couldn’t get to him? I’m not free to just take off whenever the mood strikes me. I’m confined to my tiny world by more than finances. “You don’t understand—”
He whirls on me, gets in my face. “You don’t like this? Use your safeword right now, and it ends. All of it.”

I open my mouth but can’t form the word. I feel like Dorothy, imagining Kansas from the magical land of Oz. But clicking my heels together wouldn’t fix what was wrong with my grandfather, wouldn’t send me back to school and make my life what I wanted. It would only keep me from following the yellow brick road, leave me in monochromatic misery in a world without color.

My lips compress together in a tight line and I shake my head.

“Then get on the damn plane.”

I get on the damn plane.

****

The jet is small, but luxurious with six oversized leather seats on each side in rows of two. I sink into the window seat and buckle myself in. After checking to make sure I’m properly secured, Connor sits on the other side of the aisle and stares out the window. His fists clench and unclench, clench and unclench. It seems wiser lo leave him alone.

Whaddya know? You do possess a sense of self-preservation.
Snarkarella pipes up.
I was wondering about that.

“Shut up.” I mutter at her under my breath. She’s one to talk, never around when I need her.

The engines roar to life and I close my eyes, reliving what happened back at the bar. I owe both Greg and Eric an apology. I hope the police weren’t needed to break it up. Why didn’t I just go home?

The question follows me into a fitful sleep. I wake when Connor leans over me, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. He murmurs something too low for me to hear.

“Don’t be mad,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.” He pulls away, returns to his seat.

Snuggled under the chenille throw. I drift off again, too physically and mentally exhausted to argue with him anymore.