Caught Up In You 4: The Point of No Return (Edgeplay) (3 page)

 So do I. Which confuses the hell out of me. Instead of admitting how truly pathetic I am, I ask, “How’d your meeting go?”

 “I haven’t gone in yet. Call me when you open your gift.”

 “It’s not chainmail is it?”

 He laughs, a genuine sound of pleasure. The soft murmur of conversation in the background ceases. I wonder if he’s gone into a more private room. “Why would I give you chainmail?”

 Not wanting to give him any ideas I say, “No reason. Come over for dinner tonight?” The invitation is out before I think it through. Really need more coffee.

 
Dumbass.
This from Snarkarella, my caustic inner voice.
You can’t cook worth shit.

 “You want to cook for me?” His tone is filled with surprise and pleasure.

 “Nothing fancy,” I warn. Snarkarella’s right, this was a bad idea. But I want to broach the whole college thing again with this version of Connor before I register.

 “As long as I get to vote on desert.” His voice is a smooth purr.

 I shiver at the sexy tone, the sensual promised laced within. “Talk to you soon.”

 After hanging up I head to the tub. The water soothes stiff muscles, body parts I’d never heard from before I started the Connor Edge cardio sex program. Part Pilates, part yoga, all arousing. Though I’ve always been a plus size girl, years of working outdoors and landscaping kept me in pretty good shape but the things that man does to me…

 Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the lip of the cast iron tub but now the seed of curiosity he planted is growing. I want to know what the heck is in that box. He seems so pleased with himself, so insistent that I call him the second I open it. He wants my genuine reaction.

 Since he said he’d be in a meeting I have a little time to ground myself. Last night short circuited my brain. Sex, meeting Rochelle dinner, more sex, Connor’s revelation and proposal and more sex. Manual labor isn’t this exhausting.

 And he’s off ruling the world, leaving me to my own devices. After talking with Rochelle, my mind is made up to go back to school in January but I’m going to try talking to him about it once more at dinner tonight. I’d almost had Dom Connor convinced, but business tycoon Connor still didn’t know about it.

 My mind drifts to possible meals I can prepare. The stuff I’ve experimented with before has been of the country home style variety staring meatloaf and mashed potatoes, pot roast, fried chicken and sausage sage stuffing. Will Connor even like that kind of food or is it too simple for his refined palette?

 The questions regarding our relationship and its direction overwhelm me. We barely know each other. Yesterday I’d was convinced he didn’t want me anymore, that our sexual fling was a phase he’d gotten over. But the preparation he showed, buying us matching bathrobes, and whatever the heck was in that box, that had to happen while we were apart. He was trying so hard, something that Rochelle who knows him better than I do, thought was miraculous. Considering what I’ve learned about his past and the C-PTSD, I agree.

 Climbing from the tub, I dry myself off and go hunting for a pen and paper. I’m a list maker at heart and seeing my jumble of thoughts organized on paper might give me a little relief.

 Notepad in hand, I pour a second mug of coffee and curl up in my leather chair and a half, wrapping a blanket around me for extra warmth. In some ways it’s nice not to have to go rushing out the door to work.

 First the dinner menu. Autumn soup with Southern spoon bread, a nod to his Dixie heritage. Pumpkin pie for desert, in addition to whatever he has planned. My teeth sink into my lower lip when I think about desert. Need to stay focused.

 Flipping the page, I start with questions.
Does Connor know who kidnapped him or why?
How long was he held? Was the criminal ever brought to justice?

 Tapping my pen against the paper I stare at the last question. Somehow I have a feeling that is a big fat no. He’s so tormented, so driven and I get the feeling that might be another symptom.

 On the third page I start a to-do list for myself. Number one is do some research into C-PTSD. I need to know what I’m getting myself into with Connor. His personalities switching back and forth is difficult enough to keep up with. Are there any other surprises I should prepare for? As much as my heart and other various parts of my anatomy want to jump right in, I know what kind of heartache is in store if I’m not careful.

 Flipping back to the questions I write,
what kind of life does Connor envision us having together?
I already know what I don’t want, to be his browbeaten doormat wife waiting for whatever time he is willing to give me. But figuring out what I do want is trickier. Does he want me to travel with him? It would be tough for me to do on a nurse’s twelve hour a day four days a week schedule. So where’s the middle ground?

 Looking around my cozy little cottage, I sink my teeth into my lower lip. If we get married I won’t live here anymore. The thought alone makes my lungs seize until I struggle for breath. No way can I ask a multibillionaire use to all the luxuries available to move into my damp little stone abode with me.

 And what about Pops? Connor was so cold to him, almost brutally distant. Could I really marry a man so dismissive of my only living relative, the man who raised me? Connor isn’t close with his family, is actually estranged. Is that how he expects me to be, just someone to warm his bed? Will we ever have a family of our own?

 The idea of children brings me up short. I’ve always imagined having a couple of kids but did Connor want that too? A ball of ice forms in my belly as I recall his panic and extreme measures to ensure I didn’t become pregnant. His relief when I went on birth control. Those were not actions of a man who would welcome fatherhood anytime soon.

 The ringing of my phone jerked me out of my ruminations. I look at the display and sigh. Patience might be a virtue but it is one Connor clearly doesn’t bother with.

 “Meeting over already?”

 “We’re on a break. Did you open it yet?” His voice is anxious.

 “No, I was just making some lists.”

 “You’re killing me, love.”

 The smile spreads across my face. He has yet to say the phrase I love you, but he did call me love. I’m his first real girlfriend and he wants to marry me. Surly love is implied. “Okay, I’ll open it right now if it’ll make you happy.”

 Getting up, I stretch and then move to the box. His impatience radiates across the phone line. The package is wrapped in silver paper with a green bow. “Is there any special occasion for this?” I ask, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can pick it up.

 He draws in a deep breath. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you while we were apart. Every time I went to the city, I bought something for you. It made me feel like I was still connected to you even though we weren’t talking. Like there was still a chance for us.”

 I bite my lip, glad he isn’t there to see it. His words cause my lungs to constrict. Knowing how painful being apart from him was for me and discovering that he felt the same way touched me deeply. “I missed you too.”

 “Open it,” he growls.

 I’m not one of those people who saviors the unveiling of a gift, trying to heighten my anticipation. I tear the wrapping off and toss it over my shoulder. Inside is a large white box. Removing the lid, I blink in surprise.

 “Baily?”

 “You got me a tablet?” Picking it up, I stare in complete shock at the device. I’d never even owned a computer before, having to go to the library to do any internet research. Running my fingertips over it I marvel at having state of the art technology at my fingertips.

 “I thought it would be useful when you start school again.”

 I sit down hard, my butt barely hitting the chair. “School?”

 “The nursing program.” His voice is hesitant. “Don’t you still want that?”

 “Yeah.” I’m in total shock.

 Connor mutters a curse. “I wish I could see your face. I should have waited til I was there with you. Do you hate it? I can return it or—”

 “I love it.” I interrupt him. He’s so anxious and I can’t let him go on fretting another second. “You’re okay with this, with me returning to school? Did you catch whoever set the car bomb?”

 “No, I haven’t found him yet and yes, I am fine with you going back to school if that’s what will make you happy. We’ll make it work somehow, even if I have to pay for a security team to go through it with you.”

 The device on my lap is more than just an expensive toy. It’s a symbol of his faith in me, an investment in our relationship. Connor the Dom might fight me on it, but this Connor, he could bend, knows the art of negotiation, understands risk and reward. My happiness is his reward. “I love you, so so much.”

 “Good.” I can hear his satisfaction radiating over the phone. “Are you wearing my ring yet?”

 I left in on the nightstand. “We still need to talk about—”

 A murmur in the background and then Connor says a brisk “I’ll see you tonight.”

 He hangs up and I’m left alone again.

 Though I want nothing more than to play with my new tablet, it’s almost time for the security team to escort me to Golden Oaks for my daily visit with Pops. I dress in a hurry, pulling on a pair of jeans and a baggy brown sweater and braid my hair. Grabbing my list off the counter and my purse from the table, I hustle out into the autumn afternoon.

 “I want to go in the grocery store after.” I say as soon as my seatbelt is secured. There are four men in the SUV, two in the seat behind me, the driver and one in the passenger seat in front. Even though we’ve been doing this for a month, I still feel ridiculous.

 The driver shakes his head. “Mr. Edge specifically said you are to wait in the car. We’ll get whatever you need, Ma’am.” The ma’am is tagged on almost grudgingly.

 “Look, I know I’m a pain in your ass. I’m not trying to make your life any more difficulty but I want to shop for my own freaking dinner.”

 “I’ll go with her, Dave.” The man beside him says. He casts me a quick smile over the seat.

 Dave rolls his eyes but nods once. “It’s your ass when he finds out.”

 The two in the back stay silent. Smart of them, since I’m seething.

 I stew as we drive the short distance to the nursing home. The good mood from Connor’s gift is almost gone at having to beg to be allowed out like some incompetent idiot. I cringe inwardly, hoping that’s not how Pops feels at being shut up in the nursing home. Maybe that’s why he keeps escaping, making a bid for freedom.

 Squaring my shoulders I march from the parking lot, surrounded by big, burly men. There’s no pretending they aren’t there, they block out most of the light. It’s so much different when Connor’s the one guarding me, but someone needs to work around here.

 Pops is in his room, staring out the window, his gaze foggy and distant. I plant a kiss on his withered cheek. His body may be in the room with me but his mind is elsewhere. I hope wherever it is, it’s happy. “How’s it going, old timer?”

 Not so much as a hair on his head moves.

 The security team, after assuring themselves that the room is danger free, wait for me outside the open door. Even though I was pretty sure they can’t hear me, I lower my voice. The things I tell my grandfather are none of their business.

 “So Connor and I sort of made up. He told me about what happened to him to make him the way he is. I want to help him, Pops. Just like I want to help you.”

 The difference is Connor might benefit from my help. There was little I could do for my grandfather, the man who raised me, who cared for me when no one else could or would. . The thought brought a flood of tears to my eyes. Not just for him but selfishly for me, at what I’ve lost since his mind went away. My confidante, my parent and teacher, the man who’d give his life for mine, who taught me how to love.