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

 

Caught Up In You

 

Edgeplay: Part 3

 

Jenna McCormick

 

 

 

 

 

Published by Captiva Heart

A Sanibel Moon Imprint

Copyright 2012 Jenna McCormick

Cover image purchased from romancenovelcovers.com

All rights reserved.

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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

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Caught Up In You 3

Edgeplay: Part 3

Jenna McCormick

Designer Love and Empty Things

Chapter One

 
I
t’s moments like these that define a person. Or so I tell myself when I hear Connor Edge’s no-nonsense bass coming from the hallway outside my curtained-off section of the E.R. The scrapes and bruises I’ve received from a car bombing suddenly cease aching, and my heart beats as if I’m running a 10K. Every little thing about the billionaire playboy attracts women like ants to a picnic. It took every ounce of willpower for me to leave him once, and call me weak willed, but I can’t go through it again.

 “Baily Sinclair, where is she?” Connor demands. Only someone who has spent time studying his every move, focusing on the subtle changes in his tone and inflection, would be able to pick up on the layer of rage he’s barely containing.

 
You know what you’re in for if he finds you, m
y inner critic—whom I’ve dubbed Snarkarella—cautions.
He’ll call all the shots, from the color of your underwear to the number of calories you consume. Doesn’t matter how tight his butt is, he’s unbalanced!

 
She’s right. Connor is the epitome of a control freak.
We had a big blow-up over his insistence that I go on birth control and I’d left when he’d had one of his legions of minions enter my home without my permission. Being involved with a man who disregards my wishes and bullies me until he gets his way holds no appeal to me.

 “Where is she?” he repeats louder. Ice coats every word, but I hear panic as well. He’s worried about me, nearly frantic with it. It’s cruel to sit here silently and not reassure him. And I could use a little reassurance myself after almost dying.

 I shiver as that reality sets in. I almost died. Suddenly, his domineering nature doesn’t seem as reprehensible as it did a few hours ago. I want to see him, to feel his arms around me and hear him say everything is going to be all right.

 
“Connor,” I call out.

 
Don’t say I didn’t warn you,
Snarkarella hisses.

 I let out a huge breath. It’s done, he’s coming for me.

 “Sir, you can’t go back there!” A woman’s panicked voice and then the curtain is drawn aside. Those neon blue eyes devour me where I am huddled on the hospital bed. He assesses me quickly, then moves to my side, lifts a hand to the side of my face but drops it before he makes contact. “Are you hurt?”

 I shake my head and then turn to the nurse who had tried to stop him. “It’s all right, he’s with me.”

 The woman is in her late sixties with steel gray hair and even she doesn’t seem immune to the magic of Connor Edge. I see her lips part and her gaze glaze over when she looks at his perfect face. Connor could have easily been a Hollywood heartthrob, but he’d devoted himself to business instead of acting and turned his grandfather’s eighty million dollar inheritance into some serious money.

 “Leave us,” Connor orders. I see her jump and shoot him a squinty-eyed glare. I want to tell him to apologize; the woman is just doing her job after all. But the tightness of his jaw clues me in to the fact he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

 The curtain scrapes as she pulls it back into place, giving us nothing more than the illusion of privacy. Cries and shouts and the general bustle from the ER still surround us, but with him so near, so focused on me, all the background hubbub fades away.

 His eyebrows draw together and he looks as though he’s in pain. “I never should have let you go.”

 “You had no way of knowing what would happen.” Yes, it was his car, driven by one of his security professionals, but Connor has a bad habit of taking responsibility for everything. “Is Justin all right?” I inquire about the driver.

 “He’s in ICU with second degree burns.” Connor runs a hand through his hair and I’m surprised to see it shaking. “I thought that you’d—”

 I reach out one hand toward him, craving skin to skin contact. He looks from my proffered limb to my face and I feel a moment’s panic at his hesitation. Maybe I’m just another obligation to him now. Perhaps he doesn’t want to hold me since I left him.

 Then I’m in his arms and his lips are on mine, his hands cupping my face, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones. He’s so careful with me, as though I’m delicate, not the plus-sized sturdy Irish stock that I actually am. The gentle pressure of his mouth on mine is hungry and welcoming and I lose myself in his addictive heat. The temptation of Connor Edge is too much for me in this moment.

 He pulls back slowly, resting his forehead on mine. “Tell me what happened.”

 “I’m not really sure. One second we were just driving. Justin asked if I minded if he turned on the radio and I said no.”

 “Did he turn on the radio?”

 What did it matter? “I’m not sure. I saw him reach for it, and then there were flames and he yelled at me to get out. We were in the far right lane, so I dove out into traffic, right over the hood of a taxi. If we hadn’t been at a light…” Emotion causes my throat to close up.

 Connor pulls me into his chest, rubbing my back in a soothing caress while I listen to the steady lub-dubbing of his heart. “I just wanted to go home,” I whisper miserably.

 “I know, sweetheart. I promise, as soon as they let you go, I’ll take you home myself.”

 Relief and apprehension war inside me. I want to stay close to Connor because he makes me feel safe, but the longer I’m with him, the more difficult it is to let go. I haven’t changed my mind about that. Is it selfish to cling to him this way, knowing I’m only going to leave him in a few hours?

 Connor pulls back. “I need to make a few calls but I have a security team in the ER. Will you be all right until I get back?

 “Yeah. The doctor should be in soon.” Is it strange that he’s brought his security people to the hospital?

 “I’ll make sure that he is.” Placing one last kiss on my forehead, Connor leaves me alone.

 I’m right, he’s not gone for five minutes before the ER doctor strides in and studies my chart. He’s young, probably a resident, from the looks of his pasty pallor. He asks some questions, examines the various bumps and bruises, then uses a flashlight to dilate my pupils. “Did you hit your head?” His fingers explore my scalp in that curt, clinically detached way and I wince when he connects with a lump I didn’t even realize was there.

 “I guess so.”

 “Did you lose consciousness at the scene?”  

 “I’m not sure. I might have. It’s all a big blur.” Crap, I know where he’s going with this. “You think I have a concussion?”

 He looks mildly surprised. “That’s right. Have you had one before?”

 “I was studying to be a nurse until my circumstances changed.”

 He nods. “Well then, you know the drill. Have someone wake you every few hours, take
acetaminophen for any pain, and call your doctor or come to the hospital right away if you experience any dizziness, blurred vision or nausea. Otherwise, take it easy for a few days and you’ll be fine.”

  “Shouldn’t you do some tests, make sure your prognosis is accurate?” This from Connor, who’s lurking in the doorway. I didn’t have a clue how long he’d been standing there.

 The doctor frowns at him. “I don’t believe that’s necessary. She’s alert, able to answer questions clearly, pupils dilating normally. Sometimes mild concussions don’t show on a head CT.”

 Connor moves in closer, until he’s looming over the doctor. “I want to speak to the hospital administrator.”

 “Connor,” I hiss, mortified that he’d challenge the doctor’s diagnosis. “It’s not necessary.”