Free Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) by Jenna McCormick Page A

comfy. Same room as last time?”
     “Wherever you want.”
     She blows us both a kiss and sashays from the room.
     “I forgot she was coming today, or I would have warned you before.” Connor pushes some hair behind my ear. “Do you feel better about our arrangement now?”
     “I’m having a hard time processing everything,” I admit. “It’s all so overwhelming.” And me, the sad little country mouse who’s never left the state of New York.
     Connor drops a kiss on my forehead. “Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere.”
      I wouldn’t bet on it, Snarkarella whispers.
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
      T he change overtakes Connor while the three of us are sitting around the formal dining room enjoying dinner.
     “This is incredible.” Rochelle, now dressed down in yoga pants and a tiny T-shirt pronouncing her a ‘Gold Digger,’ tucks into the Szechwan stir fry Connor whipped up.
     “Nothing to it. I just great in a little fresh ginger for extra kick.” He smiles in that wicked way of his, his focus on my face.
     Heat scalds my cheeks as I think about the earlier use of the ginger, and I reach for my water glass.
     Connor turns to Rochelle. “Actually—” He stops speaking and his eyes roll back in his head.
     “Shit.” Rochelle is up, out of her chair and moving to him. “Let’s get him flat on the ground.”
     “You know what this is? What’s happening to him?” I ask as I help her hoist his big body from the chair. It isn’t easy; he’s heavier than the two of us combined and pure deadweight.
     “I’ve seen it before.” Her tone is grim.
     His expression is almost slack, as though he’s in a catatonic state. I’ve spent enough time in nursing homes to know the signs, but seeing Connor’s normally vibrant face practically lifeless fills me with horror.
     We maneuver him until he’s lying flat on the Oriental rug. Rochelle tugs my hand, trying to urge me up from my position by his side. “Back up, in case he comes up swinging.”
     “He won’t,” I tell her, cupping his head in his hands. It’s Mr. Edge who’s coming back, and he’s more a cut the enemy with words sort. “You’re sure this isn’t some kind of seizure?” There are no tremors, but epileptics don’t always display the same symptoms.
     “I have no idea. He never told me what causes this. I just know he wakes up…altered.”
     Our eyes meet and I’m glad she’s here, that I’m not alone in my worry.
     She studies my face and her lips part. “You’re in love with him.”
     Now isn’t the time to discuss it, and I focus on his face, searching for any signs of change. This is the first time I’m able to see his expression as he undergoes his transformation. “How long does it usually take?”
     “I’ve only seen it once, but it was less than a minute and nowhere near this dramatic.”
     His eyes open and I see the haze of confusion there. I stroke his cheek and whisper, “Hey you, you had us worried.”
     He blinks, and his gaze snaps to Rochelle. “How long?” he rasps.
     I glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. I came to the house at five and it’s now after ten. “About five hours, maybe a little less.”
     He sits up smoothly and I study his every move. He’s as graceful as ever, his motions fluid.
     “What’s the last thing you remember?” Rochelle steps closer now that she sees Connor’s not in a violent mindset.
     “We were in the pool.” He runs a hand through his hair. I notice the slight tremor, but ascribe that to disorientation more than any physiological malady.
     “Well, when I got here a little over an hour ago you two were in the tub. Must have been a watersports kinda day.” Rochelle grins, trying to lighten the mood.
     Connor’s focus darts from her to me. I see the frustration there and can only imagine what’s going on in his head. The last thing he knew he was angry with me, and now he finds out we’ve