Captive Lies

by Victoria Paige

  “What I want to know is whom we should be thanking for helping you,” his mom was ever gracious and skilled at changing the subject when it was called for.

  Grant smiled, remembering Blaire, but he shook his head. “They’re private people and don’t want the publicity.”

  “They don’t want the ten-thousand-dollar reward?” The speaker was August “Gus” Lynch, his father’s political advisor. He stood at the doorway like a hawk assessing his prey. The tone in the man’s voice raised Grant’s hackles.

  “Doesn’t anyone find this suspicious?” Gus continued asking. “Or do they have a problem with politicians.”

  “Gus, now is not the time or the place,” his father reprimanded.

  Planting a kiss on Val’s forehead, Grant gently eased her away so he could sit up on the bed. He and his father’s right-hand man didn’t see eye-to-eye on many issues, which was why Grant stayed away from the senator’s politics when he could.

  “I believe the doctor said family only,” Grant said coolly. “Why are you here, Gus?”

  Valerie tittered while his mother looked disconcerted.

  “Your father’s communications director needs a statement from the family,” Gus replied even as redness crept up his neck.

  “Tell them I’m alive and well.”

  “They’ll want details of the past two and a half days. We need to know the name of your rescuers.”

  Blaire Callahan and Liam Watts, he thought, but the world and Gus weren’t getting their names.

  “No,” Grant growled, turning to the senator. “The people who helped me want to remain anonymous. That’s the least I could do—”

  “We’re missing an opportunity here, Senator,” Gus appealed to his father and, if his mother hadn’t been sitting on his right, he would have gotten off the bed and punched his dad’s advisor straight across the jaw.

  “Opportunity? Fuck you, Lynch,” he snapped. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

  “Grant, language!” his mother admonished, but she glared at Gus.

  As for Grant, he was too pissed to care. He nearly died out there. The only reason he didn’t reiterate that point was because he didn’t want his sister to feel guilty all over again.

  “I mean it,” Grant said, looking at his father. “We’re not turning this into a media circus. This ends here. At the hospital. I walked through those doors and I’m alive. End of story.”

  His father nodded and turned to his advisor. “You heard my son, Gus. You can communicate to the public that Grant is a bit battered but, otherwise, healthy. He’s recovering among family and friends.”

  Gus’ lips flattened, but he acknowledged the orders from his boss and left the room.

  Exhaling a sigh of relief, his mother began making plans for his homecoming.

  “We never had that Thanksgiving party. Some friends are staying past the holiday weekend,” his mother covered his hand. “There’s so much to be thankful for.”

  Grant soaked in his family’s presence, and yet his thoughts kept drifting to the cabin. It seemed surreal … like a dream, a different world. All he knew was he needed to see Blaire again.

  4

  Blaire

  I heard tires crunch on gravel and my heart skipped a beat. My eyes swept around the cabin and took in the assortment of flower arrangements covering every available surface. They started showing up a week after Grant left my care. The loss I felt as I watched those red taillights disappear, taking my injured guest away, was different from the times I had to let my healed creatures go. Grant hadn’t been with me for even three days, and yet I wanted to keep him. Liam blamed my Florence Nightingale syndrome, but the speed with which he wanted Grant out of our lives revealed that he sensed how my houseguest had affected me.

  The week before Christmas, Grant began sending food items. An Iberico ham, complete with a deluxe wooden ham holder, arrived on my doorstep one morning. I read the literature on the gift. It was made from those Spanish, acorn-fed black pigs. A leg of ham this size cost over a thousand dollars!

  Footsteps echoed from the porch before three strong raps sounded on my door. This was Grant’s third attempt this week. I had ignored his previous visits, not wanting to open the door and get sucked into those slate blue pools of his eyes again.

  I laid a palm against the wooden barrier and inhaled deeply, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered madly, causing my heart to pound painfully behind my ribs. “Go away, Grant.”

  “I’m not leaving this time, Angel.” His voice filtered from behind the door with determination.

  My fingers couldn’t unlock the deadbolt fast enough. Irritation mixed with desire to see him driving my actions. I was still conflicted when I dragged the door open, convincing myself that I wanted to tell him face-to-face to go away.

  I wasn’t prepared for how his smile transformed the attractive man I remembered into the devastatingly handsome version before me. Full of health, vigor, and virility, my mouth fell open and my words, meant to banish him, clogged up my throat.

  “Hey,” he murmured and his gaze, imbued with wonder, warmed my skin. “Your eyes are as mesmerizing as I remember them.”

  “Uh …”

  Caught unaware by his frank appraisal, I wasn’t prepared for when he shouldered the door wider and walked right in. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I didn’t.” My irritation turned to outrage. Although, if I were honest, I was secretly thrilled that he overpowered my resistance. At least I tried, right?

  His grin grew wider. There was almost a smirk lurking there, and, heaven help me, my hormones were running a charged circuit in my body with a direct line to my vagina. Gorgeous men were not in short supply in Colorado, but Grant Thorne was almost a unique sub-species. I tried very hard not to stare past his face even as I was tempted to look lower. God, I remembered the outline of his cock behind his boxer briefs. It was huge even in its relaxed state and I wondered how a fully erect …

  Stop!

  “You’re blushing.” He wore a full-on smirk, eyes gleaming knowingly. “I wonder why that is?”

  I chose to ignore his innuendo even if I was guilty as hell. “You’re a bullheaded man, Grant Thorne,” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’ve thanked me enough. We saved your life. I know you think you owe us unending gratitude, but have mercy on the delivery guy. You’ve sent enough flowers, chocolate, and fancy food to last through winter. I don’t know where to put them anymore.”

  Thankfully his gaze left me briefly to survey the contents of the cabin, and a corner of his mouth kicked up sheepishly. “I guess I went overboard.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  He took a step forward and I was tempted to retreat but held my ground.

  “Let me make one thing clear, Blaire,” he said. “I’m indebted to you and Liam forever, that’s true. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Grant, don’t …”

  “All Liam got was an expensive bottle of Scotch.” The distance between us diminished and I could feel the heat of his body. And his eyes, good Lord, his eyes were burning so hot, it was as if he’d incinerated every piece of clothing between us. His nostrils flared as if he were scenting me. He had turned very still.

  “Grant?” My eyes turned wary. “Are you okay?”

  “I want to know you better, Blaire.” His husky voice was like fingers caressing all the sensitive places of my body, but I couldn’t give in. I lived in this secluded cabin for a reason and Grant represented everything I should stay away from.

  His brows drew together as if sensing my regret.

  “Won’t you give me a chance?” he pressed.

  “What’s the point?” I answered. “You’re not from here. You’re a senator’s son. You live in Boston. You’re a billionaire.”

  “Is this some kind of reverse prejudice you and Liam have against rich people?” Grant demanded.

  “You’re missing the point!” I snapped. “Has it even occurred to you that I don’t
like to be around people? I’m up here living a life of solitude in a log cabin and don’t want to change a thing. Your life is an endless string of galas, fundraisers, and dinner reservations at the poshest restaurants. I’m a recluse, Grant. We don’t fit.”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me,” he responded softly. “I just want to get to know you. Give me a chance, Blaire. Spend time with me.”

  “I don’t know why you’re pushing this so hard.”

  “Can’t get you out of my mind,” he said gruffly. His eyes looked at me in earnest, pleading, and yet his jaw was set in determination.

  As for me, I was drowning with wanting him, to give myself over and experience this man even for just one night, but I was afraid one night with him wouldn’t be enough.

  “Is it because I slept with you?” I asked, injecting scorn in my voice even if my heart rebelled against doing so. “You were shivering, delirious with a fever and, on top of that, you were having a nightmare. Maybe I should have asked Liam to cuddle you instead.”

  “That’s a joke, right?”

  I had to grin at his mortified expression. “I’m trying to prove a point. You’re making it sound like we have a special bond, when it could have been with anyone who took care of you.” I was such a liar.

  Grant didn’t like what I said at all as he moved into my space, his presence so overwhelming, I had to retreat. I hit a corner table just as his body hit mine and pinned me with his hips.

  “Back off,” I growled. I held on to my annoyance because his erection pressing against my belly made me want to spread my legs and have his hardness move against the ache between my thighs.

  “Make me,” he taunted.

  I pushed against his chest, but he grabbed my wrists and held them on either side of me.

  His eyes traveled from my parted lips to my heaving chest where it lingered. I was wearing a thermal, but I knew, with as hard as my nipples had gotten, he could see their outlines. This madness needed to stop. I squirmed and tried to twist out of his grasp, but he was stronger, and he trapped my legs, so I couldn’t knee him in the groin.

  “I’m tempted to kiss the fuck out of you, but I won’t,” he said conversationally as if he didn’t have me pinned against a table. “We’ll try to take this slow. It appears you need some convincing so this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to make us lunch from the bread, ham, and cheese I had delivered to you this morning.” He paused. “You received the bottle of Tuscan olive oil and sun-dried tomatoes earlier this week?”

  I nodded, simply whiplashed by the way he changed tactics when my libido was at full smolder.

  “Excellent. I’m going to make you one of my favorite sandwiches,” Grant continued to inform me. “We’re going to have lunch and talk. I’m going to tell you about my life; you’re going to tell me about yours.”

  He released my wrists and backed away from me. “Deal?”

  “You’re crazy.” And I was breathless.

  “Never said I was sane.”

  “And overbearing.”

  “I’m the head of a multinational corporation, baby. I have to be.”

  “And very cocky.”

  Grant raised a brow. “I can show you just how cocky I can be, Angel, but I think you need sustenance first.”

  My already heated skin burned hotter.

  “Lead the way.” Innuendo dripped from those words. He meant the bedroom or the kitchen.

  I scooted past him and fled into the kitchen before I gave in to the desire to jump his bones.

  5

  Grant

  Grant pulled his SUV beside the beat-up pickup truck parked in front of the log cabin. He was half an hour early for dinner, but couldn’t cool his heels at the Vail family residence any longer. Not even his company’s pending multimillion-dollar deal worked to take his mind off Blaire. Three weeks of nothing but quick lunches or dinners—often with Liam, the cock-blocker, in attendance—resulted in no more than chaste kisses and perpetual blue balls.

  Grant couldn’t figure out who the older man was to Blaire. There was nothing possessive in the way Liam looked at her, but there was no doubt he was fiercely protective. His first impression of Liam was that of a Colorado mountain man sporting a flannel shirt complete with a rough beard. The times Grant had been around him, he usually smelled of pine, gasoline, and bar oil as if he’d been walking around all day wielding a chainsaw. There was something in the way he held his back straight, how he moved nimbly around the room despite his bulk and size, and how his ever-watchful gaze seemed to catalogue every one of Grant’s movements as if storing information for later use. There was more to Liam than a man who gained his muscles by lifting logs or cutting down trees.

  That morning, Blaire invited Grant to dinner. He’d forgotten the reason for the invitation because all he heard was that Liam was out of town.

  Liam was out of town and that meant Blaire was alone.

  Blaire was alone. Therefore there was no Liam to give him the evil eye every time any part of Grant’s anatomy brushed by her.

  Erotic images swam in his head.

  How many times when they’d be having dinner had he imagined Blaire splayed on that table ready for him to have his way with her? He’d kiss up her shapely legs before diving into the sweetness between her thighs. Grant gritted his teeth and willed the discomfort behind his jeans to go away. He could hardly walk in there with a massive hard on. Although sex with Blaire was at the forefront of his mind, he was going to prove to her that he could wait. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Liam’s absence.

  His dick just called him a liar.

  Growling at the war between his brain and his cock, he slammed out of the vehicle and marched up the steps. The door opened and he nearly swallowed his tongue. All thoughts of abstaining from sex evaporated. Blaire stood before him in a long-sleeved flannel shirt that hit mid-thigh. Her legs were bare and she had a towel wrapped around her head.

  “You’re early,” she said breathlessly.

  Grant took in the flushed look of her skin and the damp curls framing her face before tracking down the haphazardly buttoned shirt to her legs and feet.

  “You’re going to freeze,” he said gruffly, stepping inside and backing her into the foyer. He took his time turning to close the door, his knuckles turning white around the doorknob as he sought to tame the raging desire to scoop her up like a caveman and fuck her.

  Fuck her deep.

  His painfully erect cock wanted nothing more than to rip through her, he thought savagely.

  “Grant?” her tentative whisper brought him out of his haze and he realized he had shut the door but was still facing away from her.

  “Sorry if I am too early,” he cleared his throat and turned around, careful to keep his eyes on her face.

  She cocked her head then shrugged. “I was running late. Had to do some maintenance on the pickup and the time got away from me.”

  “You need to get rid of that pile of junk,” Grant muttered. “It’s a death trap and unsafe.” If it didn’t make him sound desperate and psycho, he’d offer to buy her a new car.

  She shrugged again. “It suits my needs, but I do understand your point.” She pivoted and headed toward the kitchen. He probably shouldn’t torture himself but he let his gaze eat up her retreating figure, zeroing in on her swaying hips.

  “The good news is,” she continued as Grant unfroze and followed her. “The stew has been simmering for hours, so if you can hang around a bit while I dry my hair and put on more appropriate clothes for company…”

  She stopped suddenly and Grant plowed into her. He grabbed her hips and she turned. Her lower belly pressed against his erection and his brain short-circuited. A growl rumbled up his throat just as his lips came down on hers in a crushing kiss. Weeks of pent-up sexual hunger were unleashed. Days of trying to act like a worthy suitor. Hours of living in the skin of a man that was not him. Grant was a man who took what he wanted. And he was taking it now.

  Blaire b
roke off from his kiss. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered against his lips.

  “I like bad ideas,” he growled. His prick was so hard, he was afraid he’d stroke if he didn’t get inside her.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I like them too,” she breathed against him. “Fuck me, Grant.”

  “You got it.” Their mouths clashed and tongues tangled. His hands moved from her hips to her ass and squeezed so hard she yelped. He might have murmured an apology but he never let go of her lips for long. His fingers stroked up her side and his thumb brushed over her tit and felt a hard nipple.

  No bra.

  “You’re killing me,” he groaned as he continued to flick the tip, her little mewls at the back of her throat sent him into possessive overdrive. Lifting her onto the table, he hooked her legs around him and ground his erection against her pussy. He reached down between them and grazed her panties with the back of his fingers.

  “Drenched,” he rasped. “Christ.”

  “Grant …” she panted against his mouth.

  “What do you want, Angel?” He sunk his fingers in her pussy, her muscles clamping at the assault, soaking them with her arousal.

  They groaned together. The sheer rapture of finding her hot and wet, coupled with the breathless moans his fingers wrenched with each stroke, fueled the feral beast inside him. She writhed against him, rubbing the top of her pubis against his hand as she eagerly sought her own release. But Grant didn’t allow this. He withdrew even as her eyes flashed with unfulfilled hunger. “I’m not finished,” she protested.

  “First time. You come with me inside you,” he muttered as he took a condom from his wallet. “Keep your legs open, baby. Keep your eyes on me. Watch as I fuck you.”