Authors: Jenna McCormick
Caught Up In You
Edgeplay: Part 1
Published by Captiva Heart
A Sanibel Moon Imprint
Copyright 2012 Jenna McCormick
Cover image purchased from romancenovelcovers.com
All rights reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected]
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Caught Up In You
Edgeplay: Part 1
Once in a Blue Moon
really must stop doing this.
Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure the grounds are completely deserted. Though I expect nothing less on a midsummer midnight on the otherwise unoccupied Rosemont Estate, the feeling of being watched sticks with me. It’s not like I’m stealing the silverware. I just want a soothing dip in the pool.
So why don’t you ask then?
My snarky inner self crosses her arms and taps her foot.
Afraid he’ll say no?
She knows me too well. Of course I’m afraid, not just that I will be forbidden from using the Olympic-sized swimming pool, but that I’ll lose my job for asking.
Or more accurately, lose my grandfather’s job as head groundskeeper. The one he can’t do anymore and I’m secretly performing to pay for his placement in the assisted living facility.
If the Andersons were still the owners I might have broached the subject, but six weeks ago the private compound in upstate New York was sold. I haven’t met my new boss yet, don’t even know his name. Which doesn’t stop me from helping myself to his pool.
My cell phone rings just as I reach for the latch on the wrought iron gate. I scream, disconcert at the interruption, my heart banging around in my chest like a pinball. Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, I glance at the display, wondering who is calling so late.
Please don’t be the nursing home saying something happened to Pops.
Hmm, not an 845 area code, or a number I recognize.
“Mr. Sinclair?” The voice is deep, masculine with a jagged edge, and totally unfamiliar.
A garbled reply, totally incomprehensible through the static. Cell phone service sucks out here sometimes; all the rolling hills of the Hudson Valley make reception spotty if there isn’t a tower nearby. The closest one is about ten miles, on the other side of the village.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I say, but the line’s gone dead. After checking for the signal on my phone, satisfied that the trouble wasn’t on my end, I dismiss the call from my thoughts. Probably a telemarketer on the west coast who didn’t realize he was calling at midnight my time. He can always call back and leave a voicemail.
The well-oiled gate swings open silently and I lay my towel, keys, and phone on a chaise lounge before shucking my robe.
Maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous about these moonlight swims if I wore a bathing suit. But then I’d be denying myself the illicit thrill of skinny dipping. Since my life seriously lacks in illicit thrills these days, I take whatever I can get.
After executing a clean dive into the water, I start a leisurely backstroke, staring up at the fat orb of the moon. The temperature is perfect, still warm after the sweltering heat of the day. Clouds scud across the moon, casting shadows over my naked body as the light ebbs and flows. It looks to be almost full, for the second time this month. A blue moon. I remember Pops spinning tales about nocturnal creatures that only come out to play in the light of the blue moon. Fairies, werewolves, sylvans, and water sprites wreaked havoc and then disappeared. Looking at the dark, dense lines of evergreens surrounding the property, it’s easy to imagine that all sorts of things inhabit the night when no one’s looking.
Of course, as acting groundskeeper, I know for a fact that nothing lives in that copse of trees but a few cardinals and gray squirrels. But pretending I belong with them, an enchanted creature cursed to a mortal life, makes things easier somehow. It’s a game I’ve been playing since I was a child and am not ready to give up.
A splash directly behind me makes me jump, and I right my body as two strong arms pluck me from the water and hold me against a wall.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” a deep voice growls in my ear.
The wall is actually a chest, his still clothed chest. The buttons on his waterlogged shirt dig into my spine. The cool night air on my wet skin and his vise-like hold make me shiver and I tremble “I-I’m Baily. I work for the owner.”
“Bullshit,” he replies. “The only person employed here is Thomas Sinclair, head groundskeeper.”
How does he know that? Fear tightens my throat but I force the words out. “I’m his granddaughter.”
“Really?” My captor doesn’t sound as though he believes me. “Convenient. The granddaughter who roams the estate at night buck naked?” The arm around my midsection shifts until his hand strokes over the sensitive swell of my breast. “More likely you’re here to seduce Mr. Edge.”
“Who?” I can’t think with his hands touching me this way, so sensuously, creating heat against my cool flesh. I should be afraid of some strange man touching me this intimately, but I’m not. Self-preservation doesn’t seem half as important as the strong arms holding me close. God, I’m pathetic. “I swear to you, I don’t even know who Mr. Edge is. Or who you are. For all I know, you’re the trespasser.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation. I have every right to be here.”
“Then we’re in the same boat!” Sounding indignant is almost impossible with his thumb stroking ever closer to my pebbled nipple. The rasp of his calloused fingers makes me bite back a moan. “Let go of me.”
Ignoring my command, he dips his head down to the curve of my neck, sinking his teeth into the tendon until I gasp. “Let’s just go wake Mr. Sinclair up, get him to verify your story.”
“He’s not here,” I tell him quickly. Now what? If I reveal my grandfather’s true location, he’ll be fired, and I need this job, the place to stay along with the money to keep Pops in assisted living. If I tell the security guy as much, my grandfather and I could both wind up homeless before dawn. “He’s visiting a sick relative.”
“How convenient.” The rasp in the man’s voice makes every cell in my body sit up and take notice. “Any other lies you plan on telling?”
“It’s the truth,” I blurt out, and his hold tightens.
“Who are you?” His tenor is lower, sounding even more dangerous. “Who do you work for? Tabloids? Local news? Did you pay Sinclair to let you in to seduce Edge?”
This man is beyond paranoid. He must be part of Mr. Edge’s security detail. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone, I swear. Look at me. I’m not exactly rocking the Mata Hari bod over here.”
He stills completely, his demeanor changing, his touch turning more exploratory. “You underestimate yourself.”
“I know what I look like.” Why does he argue? Isn’t being caught in the buff in a strange man’s pool humiliating enough? Does he really need to make me call attention to my cellulite to prove a point?
Pushing me against the side of the pool, he bends me over until my breasts and belly flatten against the concrete. The abrasive stone scrapes against my breasts, and the cold tightens my nipples, making them ache.
He pulls my arms behind me, secures them with one hand, and leans over to whisper in my ear. “Lucky for Edge, I’m willing to fall on a grenade for him. And darlin’, you’re the sexiest grenade I’ve ever seen.” A southern drawl slips out.
His strength, my nakedness and the position I’m in make it impossible for me to misunderstand his intentions. “Please, don’t do this.”
“Isn’t this what you want, baby? To be fucked good and hard, made to come by a powerful man?”
His words make me wet. I don’t want them to. Don’t want to be turned on by this borderline violent display. But I can’t deny I am. How many times have I wished for something—anything—to happen to ease my loneliness? This man wasn’t offering me the tender touches or gentle caresses I long for. Whatever is between us is darker, dirtier, and I want to grab it with both hands and cover myself with it.
I think he’ll let me go if I say no.
Why don’t I say no?
Too stupid to live.
Snarkarella shakes her head in disgust.
Through his wet pants, I feel the hard length of his penis. Cock, as my romance novels call it. My face heats thinking the rude word. My sex clenches, not caring what it’s called, just wanting to engulf it and milk it dry.