Caught Up In You (Edgeplay Part 2) (7 page)

I put on the bathing suit, afraid to look in the mirror. My belly is not something that should ever be put on display, but with no real underwear, I’m left with little choice. The dress is incredibly comfortable and falls to mid-thigh in a flattering style.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me when I step out into the main room. True to my prediction, the view out the glass wall is magnificent. I step closer to get a better look.

“Do you like it?” He’s leaning against the counter, sipping from his own mug. I realize his hair is damp and he is also fresh from the shower. He’s wearing beige cargo shorts and a black polo shirt and his feet are bare. Seeing his toes is so intimate. Weird because I’ve started to think of this version— the amnesiac version— as Mr. Edge. He’s stuffier, a little more proper and goes to great lengths to maintain distance between us.

“Yes, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen the ocean before.”

He doesn’t comment at my lack of sophistication, but simply says. “Then I’m glad I brought you here.”

“Are you?”

Setting down his mug, he moves closer to me, though doesn’t touch. “Baily, from what I know about these episodes, I’m still me. The decisions I make during the blackout periods have always been sound. So whenever you’re with me, you can believe I’ll always mean what I say, even if I don’t remember saying it, okay?”

“Then why are you so afraid you’re going to hurt me? You aren’t a rapist, Connor.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. Come on; let’s get you down to the water. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

Gripping a travel mug of coffee in one hand, he takes mine in his other and leads me down the back steps to the shore.

The sea breeze lifts my hair away from my face and I kick off my shoes as we head down to the water’s edge. Connor sips from the mug as I burrow my toes in the sand and then yelp as cool saltwater washes over them. Too cold to immerse myself in yet, but in a couple of hours when the sun is high in the sky, I’ll love it.

It’s an incredible sensation, the briny air, the roar of the waves, the pull of the tide going out. So different from the small beaches at lakes I’m used to, so much grander. Under other circumstances, I would have parked myself in a chair and stared out at the horizon all day long. Connor doesn’t try to hurry me, he seems just as caught up in the moment as I am.

“Do you come here a lot?” I ask.

“No. This is the first time this summer.” He frowns slightly and I know he’s thinking, that he remembers. I hate seeing him so bogged down with guilt and worry.

Looking out at the shimmering sea I say, “I’d live here if I could.”

He smiles at me then, a genuine gesture of happiness. “Reason enough to make the trip.”

We walk down the beach, hand in hand. He passes me the coffee mug and I take a big swig, drinking it down, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

“Hungry?” he asks me when the coffee is gone.

“Ravenous,” I reply.

We head back to the house, the wind out our backs and the unknown spread out before us as far as the eye can see.

****

Connor refuses my offer to help make breakfast. Instead, I sit out on the deck while he prepares a feast of brie and dill omelets, bacon, English muffins and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

“This is incredible.” I remark as he sets the plate in front of me.

“Cooking is a hobby of mine.”

“That’s convenient, because eating is a hobby of mine.” I say between mouthfuls of the scrumptious breakfast.

Connor grins. “You are the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever met.”

I blink, completely shocked by his words. “Seriously?’

He nods. “Most women, it’s easy for me to pin down exactly what they’re looking for but you…you’re different, Baily.”

I set down my fork. “What are most women looking for?”

“Money, fame, marriage.” he ticks each item off on his fingers. “Connections, sex.”

I blush furiously when he licks his lips on that last item. “Don’t you think I’m after all those things?”

His gaze turns assessing. “To some extent, perhaps. Money, in that you want me to pay you for someone else’s job. You aren’t greedy or conniving about it though, it’s an even exchange. Fame and connections, I don’t think at all.”

“Oh?”

“There were several celebrities at my house, but you didn’t once ask me to introduce you to anyone in particular. You’re aware of my notoriety, yet haven’t probed for information.”

“That leaves marriage and sex.” I say, feeling a little hot under the collar, just bringing those topics up.

 Those blue eyes rove my face and he leans back, steepling his fingers. “Again, it’s different. I don’t think you’re compelled by either of those things.”

“You sound almost irritated that I’m not.”

He shakes his head. “Not irritated. Mystified. How can I give you what you want when I don’t know what it is?”

“That’s easy Connor.” I say. “Because all I want is you.”

He stares at me for an endless moment, clearly stunned by my admission. His lips part and he visibly swallows before croaking, “Why?”

I can tell he’s completely serious. He’s not looking for an ego boost or vague platitudes; he genuinely wants to know what I see in him. Instead of blurting out some generic answer I mull the question over. “I like how I feel when I’m with you.”

Those navy irises reflect his skepticism. “And it’s worth all of the trouble, for a feeling?”

Instead on answering him, I ask my own question. “How often do these blackout periods happen?”

Wiping his mouth on his linen napkin, Connor stares out at the ocean. “I’ve had more instances since I met you than in the whole of the last five years.”

Is he saying I help trigger them. I want to reach for his hand again, but don’t think he’ll accept my touch. “Okay. Do you know why you have them?”

“Yes,” he says, still not looking at me.

The phrase, like pulling teeth, runs through my mind and irritation builds. “I think I deserve to know why the man I’m sleeping with has trouble remembering that he’s slept with me.”

He whips around to face me. “Where’s your grandfather, Baily?”

I scowl at his abrupt topic shift. “What has he got to do with any of this?”

Connor just stares at me, waiting. My heart is pounding, as though I just finished a race. Problem is I don’t know whether I’m about to win a trophy or have a heart attack.

Pushing back his chair, he mutters, “I’ll be right back.”

I wish I hadn’t indulged in the heavy breakfast because my stomach is lurching as though I was bobbing around on a boat out on the sea.

Staring out at the waves I feel something slipping away. I don’t know what it is or why I can’t hang on to it, but deep down I know that it’s precious.

Connor returns carrying a red and blue file folder. He places them down on the table in front of me. The blue one is labeled Thomas Sinclair, the red one has my name on it.

“What are these?” I stare at them but don’t pick them up.

“Employee files. Background check, previous employment history, and a few other tidbits.”

Our eyes meet. “Tidbits?”

“I employ a private investigator. His job is to let me know if any of my new hires have anything….unsavory…. in their backgrounds.”

My mouth goes dry and I shiver. “And?”

“I’ve read your grandfather’s. That was compiled shortly before I purchased the Rosemont.”

Drawing a deep breath is a struggle. “And mine?”

“That’s what was in the package that arrived yesterday morning.”

With a shaking hand, I reach for the red file, pick it up open it. The first page does indeed look like a standard employee file, name, date of birth, social security number, a copy of my driver’s license. The next page is my collage transcript, including the incomplete courses. It’s the third page that’s a knife to my gut.

Mother: Debra Ann Sinclair

Whereabouts: Currently unknown

Father: Unknown

Subject is believed to be the byproduct of rape. See attached police report.

I’ve seen more than enough and close the file. The wording makes me gag. Byproduct of rape. Doesn’t that just say it all?

“You’ve read this.” I whisper. It isn’t a question. I hate him in that moment, for exposing my greatest shame, for sitting there smugly while all the time knowing…

“No,” he startles me out of my downward spiral and I look up, meeting his gaze. “No, I didn’t read it.”

“Why not?” I don’t know if I believe him, but I want to, so badly.

“Because,” Connor says, but doesn’t finish his statement.

“Because why?” I need to know. With his resources and paranoia, I’d think he would gobble up every last morsel of information he could acquire.

He gets up, moves to the railing and stares out at the seemingly endless expanse of ocean.

I follow, even though Snarkarella hisses that I should leave well enough alone. “Connor, why wouldn’t you read it?”

He turns to me, gripping my arms tightly. “I can’t guarantee that I didn’t, not one hundred percent. You need to understand that.”

Oh, he’s talking about his other self. “Okay. But you just told me earlier that you make the same choices when you’re in blackout mode. And I’ve been with you then, I think you would have said something about what’s in there. So I’m asking you again, why didn’t you just read it?”

“Because I want you to trust me.”

If not for the grip he has on my upper arms, I might have collapsed onto the deck. Did I hear that right? “Come again?”

He sucks in a breath. “You don’t know how difficult it’s been for me, wanting to know every last little thing about you and having that in my possession. I told myself it was only fair, since you’d been reading about me in the tabloids.”

“But that stuff’s not real.” It scares me a little that I’m starting to understand how his mind works.

He nods. “Exactly. I want to know Baily. I want to know everything about you, but I want you to tell me because you trust me with the information. I want to earn that right.”

“Why?”

His laugh is devoid of humor. “Beats the hell out of me. I’ve never been so conflicted over a decision before. I make a call and I stick with it until new intel emerges, which could lead to a new decision. There isn’t room for second guessing and self-doubt when running a company, and shouldn’t be any in personal relationships either.”

He sounds absolutely disgusted with himself for not following his standard protocol, for protecting my right to privacy.

How can I not kiss him after that?

He’s startled at first, when my lips feather over his. I realize as far as he’s concerned this is our first kiss. With that in mind, I tunnel my fingers into his hair and open my mouth, touching my tongue to his, giving it my all.