Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) (6 page)

 With that in mind, I head up the hill to the main house. As far as I know, Connor hasn’t hired a new head groundskeeper. Maybe there is still some hope that I can get my old job back.

 Although, with the threat of eviction no longer looming large on my horizon, I’m not sure I still want it. Knowing I can stay here and enjoy the change of seasons without bearing the massive weight of the caretaking responsibility is kind of nice. Freedom after so much confinement.

 The tips of the oak leaves are turning golden on the northern side of the property, the maples outlined in burgundy and orange. The nights are growing colder; we’ve already had a few that came close to the freezing point. I love fall here, and seeing the first stages of my favorite season must be a sign heralding good things to come.

 A new minion answers my knock. She’s a mousy little thing, so unlike the polished sex kitten she replaced. I offer her my hand immediately. “Baily Sinclair, here to see Mr. Edge.”

 She shakes it tentatively, as though she’s afraid to touch me. “He’s down in workout room. I could call him if you’d like.” I get the impression that the idea of interrupting him terrifies her.

 “That’s okay. I’ll go to him. Where’s the workout room?”

 “Basement,” she squeaks. Poor thing, Connor’s obviously been running roughshod over her.

 The access to the basement is through the kitchen. I pause for a moment when I hear men’s voices coming from that direction. Another security team. From what I can tell, there are four men to a team and Connor has at least three in his personal employ, two on duty at any given time. I wonder how much money he’s spent keeping me guarded around the clock.

 Three of the men sitting around the kitchen table are wearing black suits and holding fists full of cards. The fourth is in well-worn jeans, his arm and the side of his face covered by massive bandages. When those eyes turn toward me I smile for what feels like the first time in ages.

 “Justin. It’s so good to see you.” I want to hug him, my relief at seeing him out of the hospital and on the mend is so strong.

 “Liar,” he says with a grin. “But it will be once my skin grafts heal.”

 “You doing okay?”

 He nods. “Yeah. Be back to work full time in another week.”

 It says something about Connor that a man who almost died protecting his girlfriend is so eager to return to work. Something about Connor Edge inspires loyalty. It’s more than a fat paycheck. People want to work for him, be around him.

 I sure do.

 With no idea how much the security staff knows about my relationship with Connor, I keep it simple. “I’m just going to go see the boss for a minute.”

  “Good to see you, Baily. We’ve been missing you around here.” Justin’s eyes cut to the basement door.

 Until that moment, I didn’t know if Connor would refuse to see me. “’Kay, I’ll see you all later.”

 The basement at the Rosemont main house is huge, spanning the entire sprawling foundation. I’ve been in smaller malls. Directly beneath the kitchen is a wine cellar, with rows and rows of vintage labels. I suspect some of the bottles are worth more than my truck, but that really isn’t saying much.

 To the left is what the previous owners used as storage and I’m guessing the most likely spot for Connor’s workout room. I see light under the door and hear the sounds of flesh connecting with something heavy in massive thuds.

 I pause with my hand on the doorknob and take a deep breath. I’ve rehearsed my speech more times than I can count and I only hope my sincerity shines through. He needs to know how grateful I am, and how sorry for not trusting him with my secret. I try not to hope for a renewal of our sexual relationship, but it’s been a lonely month and my body craves his.

 
I guess hope really does spring eternal,
Snarkarella whispers without her usual rancor. She’s been quiet these last few weeks. Someone else who has abandoned me.

  The door swings open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges. Connor’s naked back is to me, muscles flexing as he pounds what looks like a robot. The thing has sensors in several spots throughout its mannequin like body that light up when a blow lands precisely. It must be weighed down because it barely moves under his vicious onslaught. He is raw masculine power in motion and my sex creams with want as I study him.

 He’s wearing loose basketball shorts that ride low on his hips. His hair is damp from perspiration, slicked away from his face. The muscles in his shoulders are bunched as he crouches low against the robot, protecting himself from an imaginary counter attack. I watch the sweat trickle over his back down to the elastic band and lick my lips. I’d bet anything he’s not wearing anything under them.

 His movements are fluid, he doesn’t strike the same place twice, but I get the impression any one of those hits is enough to fell a full grown man, if any were dumb enough to cross him.

 “Switch to combat mode,” Connor calls out and his artificial opponent lights up like a Christmas tree before taking a clunking step forward.

 Connor hops back to avoid a left cross and kicks out with his feet. A beep and a flash registers a direct hit to the robot’s sternum. He keeps on and on, weaving away from the advancing mechanical man, his body pure poetry in motion.

 I realize I’m holding my breath as I watch him. This man doesn’t need security protection at all. He’s a fierce warrior, a demigod so far above mortals that he has to do battle with machines.

 Connor lets out a fierce yell and charges the android. He hits it center mass and the thing crashes to the mat with astounding force. I’d hate to be pinned beneath it.

 “End simulation, report statistics.” Connor barks.

 A whirring sound and then a flat male voice answers. “Simulation complete. Opponent survives with seven percent injury rating. Fatality for bot, unlikely.”

 Connor nods and turns in my direction. I see the moment he becomes aware of my presence, because he goes still.

 “Hi.” I offer a wan smile.

 “Ms. Sinclair.” He doesn’t smile back.

 “I thought we could talk.”

 “I’m busy today.”

 “Beating up machines? Brings new meaning to the phrase pick on someone your own size.”

 “Bot, repair mode.”

 The metal man rolls over and gets up, before lumbering off to what looks like an upright metal coffin. It steps back and some whirring noise fills the space. It looks like the bot is plugging itself into a giant battery.

 “That is just too cool,” I murmur.

 “I think so.” Connor heads for a bench along the wall and picks up a towel to mop his brow. His hair is longer, looking more unkempt than the last time I saw it. I want to run my fingers through it, but I fear he will reject me.

 “Where did you get him?”

 “We built him. He’s a prototype for a defense contract my company is trying to land. Hand to hand combat training is all well and good, but it’s hard to practice kill moves when you don’t want your sparring partner to die. The bot is hard to take down, but can withstand anything short of a nuclear attack.”

 “So he’s your crash test dummy.”

 Connor tosses the towel down and reaches a bottle of water. “What are you doing here, Baily?”

 I want to tell him I’ve missed him, that I’m sorry for the things I said and the way I didn’t trust him. But he’s so cold, so ready to dismiss me.

 Luckily I have a plan B.

 “I owe you,” I say.

 “I don’t want your money,” he practically snarls.

 “No, not money. I promised I would help you try and retrieve your memories.”

 He stops, blinks as though he’s not sure he heard right. “You’re still willing to do that?”

 “A promise is a promise. That is, if you still want me.” The words sound suggestive to me and I hastily tag on, “For that, I mean.”

 He surveys me from head to toe. “Come with me.”

 
That’s the plan,
Snarkarella purrs.

Chapter Five

 
C
onnor dismisses the security team in the kitchen with a wave of his hand. Justin shoots me a quizzical look and I smile to reassure him. Connor’s glower grows darker and the men hurry from the room.

 “Where are they going?” I ask.

 “The property to the north. That’s my security headquarters.”

 “The horse farm? You bought it? I didn’t even know it was for sale.”

 “I convinced the owners to sell several of the neighboring properties.” When my mouth falls open he adds, “I like my privacy.”

 There’s a big, fat understatement. I try to imagine purchasing a huge estate and the ones around it just for privacy. Rosemont already feels like the middle of nowhere sometimes, and knowing that everyone for miles works for Connor seems ludicrous.

 “Ms. Harrison?” Connor calls out and the mousy new hire peeks around the corner. “Take off early today.”

 “But I haven’t finished—”

 “Go home.” Connor repeats with steel in his voice.

 She nods and retrieves her coat and purse from the nearby closet. “Yes, Sir. Goodnight Sir, Ma’am.”

 I start when I realize I’m the Ma’am she’s addressing. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Harrison. Have a good night.”

 She smiles at me and then bolts for the front door.

 “She is absolutely terrified of you,” I remark.

 He doesn’t say anything, just hauls me out through the kitchen to the pool.

 I stare down at the clear water and shiver. It’s only about seventy degrees out and with the sun going down, the water will feel like ice.

 “It’s heated.” Connor says as though reading my thoughts.

 I whip my head toward him. “Since when?”

 “A few weeks ago.” He gestures toward the water. “Test it.”

 Crouching by the side, I dip my index finger in. Sure enough, warmth coats the digit. I close my eyes, exhilarated. The last time I went in this pool amazing things happened.

 “Tell me what you did first.” Connor’s impatience is clear.

 I stand up and think back. “It was about midnight and I was alone.”

 “You shouldn’t swim alone. It’s not safe.”

 I just look at him. “Are we doing this or are you going to lecture me?”

 He scowls, but gestures for me to continue.

 I move to the gate where I’d entered last time. “I had a towel and my cell phone and I was wearing a robe. I took the robe off and set it on this chaise.” I point to the chair and then reach for the buttons of my shirt and shrug out of the fabric.

 “What are you doing?” he rasps as I reach for the button on my jeans.

 “Getting naked. It’s an essential step in skinny dipping.” I shimmy out of my pants and fold them neatly on top of my shirt. My hands find the clasp on my bra and I hold his gaze. “You did want this to be a real reenactment, right?”
 A muscle jumps in his jaw. He knows I’m up to something and I doubt he likes the notion. Everything in our relationship so far has been on his terms, whether he remembers it or not. I want to fix what’s broken between us, but I also need him to know I’m a force to be reckoned with.