Captive Lies

by Victoria Paige

  The sound of his zipper echoed in the room. His cock was painfully erect, jutting right between them and aching to plunge into her. She looked down between her spread legs, her eyes widening at the sight of his arousal.

  He needed her naked.

  Grant unbuttoned her flannel shirt, controlling the desire to simply shred it to pieces. He inhaled sharply as her tits, crowned with dusky pink nipples, spilled out. The urge to bend forward to suck, lick, and worship them was almost too strong to resist. But Grant was compelled with the single-minded purpose to claim his woman. He eyed her with a hunger unlike anything he’d felt before. Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it on the floor. Those tits were going to rub against his skin as he fucked her.

  Deeply aroused, he hiked her legs high around him for deep penetration.

  “You’re mine now, Angel,” he growled as he drove hard inside her. Her back arched from the table and he yanked Blaire toward him as he swallowed her cry, digging his fingers into her damp hair which had since escaped the towel. He devoured her mouth, keeping her busy as her body stretched to accommodate him. Grant acknowledged he was a big guy and had to give her time to adjust. Seconds passed, and she circled her hips, eliciting a soft growl deep inside his chest. He released her lips and showered her face with kisses. “Okay?” he asked, his voice was gentle despite the ferocity thrumming through his veins.

  She nodded and he withdrew slowly. He set a steady pace at first, watching for signs of discomfort or pleasure, but it wasn’t long before she was rocking impatiently against him.

  “Faster, Grant,” she moaned. “Harder.”

  That one word unleashed a torrent of carnal greed. He folded over her and clutched her, flexing his hips back only to slam back into her. Over and over, each pounding thrust sought to fulfill their frenzied lust. Wet heat clenched around him and threatened his control. He lifted his head in time to watch her gorgeous eyes slide shut, her forehead crease, and her lips form an “oh” as she cried out her release.

  He followed her directly into climax, his need for her overwhelming any desire to prolong the pleasure. It simply wasn’t possible. And as he drove into her one last time, shudders ripped up his spine and his mind blanked except for one word.

  Mine.

  Grant jolted awake to unfamiliar surroundings until the memories of the night before crashed through him.

  He’d had sex with Blaire.

  On the kitchen table, against the wall, and finally on this bed.

  His chest constricted as he reached beside him, his hand encountering cold, satin sheets.

  Even without searching the house, he knew Blaire was gone.

  In all of Grant’s thirty-five years, he could count only a few times when he’d become single-minded in his pursuit of a female. The most obsessed he’d ever been, was when he’d been in eighth grade and he’d stalked the student lockers for a glimpse of Lucy Quinn and her crown of golden curls. He’d been a gangly teen with a mouthful of braces and his fair share of acne. She broke his heart by publicly rejecting him when he’d gathered the courage to bring her flowers on Valentine’s Day. She had accepted them. She did so with such sickening sweetness, Grant knew a train wreck was about to happen and he was going to be its unfortunate casualty. Lucy promptly handed the bouquet to her friend. He’d scrimped two weeks of allowance on those expensive roses.

  Then she laughed.

  At him.

  In the most insulting way.

  He learned his lesson early in life that beauty was ephemeral and was a diminishing asset when balanced against the entire package. The next year, he grew almost six inches and started to bulk up, his hormones calmed down and his acne went away. Lucy tried to get with him then, but it was too late because he’d lost interest. There was no desire for revenge either; he simply didn’t care. Grant didn’t have a type—physically beautiful or average, warm or reserved, CEOs or supermodels. He’d even dated a detective. He’d experienced stimulating company, interesting conversation and, for the most part, great sex. But all of them paled to the euphoria of his pursuit of his next business venture or takeover bid. He’d been accused by his partners of being distracted and that frequently triggered the end a relationship. Admittedly, Grant had never given any of his girlfriends a hundred percent of himself. He’d never had a woman live with him. Stayed for a few days, yes, but not one shared closet space. Valerie used to tease him that he’d been ruined by Lucy Quinn. The story of her rejection of Marcus Thorne’s son was like an urban legend given that Grant was now a billionaire and not lacking in looks either.

  With Blaire, the rope around his strangled heart unraveled. It unfurled into this connection that nagged him to explore. He wasn’t giving up on her. She was his game changer. His gut told him he’d never find another woman who would fire his blood the way she did.

  Grant would admit that he might have moved too quickly, but he wasn’t known for his patience. Her hesitancy before they fucked, and her statement that they were a bad idea bothered him. He responded in the heat of the moment, thinking it was foreplay, but he was wondering if there’d been real conflict behind her words.

  He’d never been in love before, but he felt he was on the cusp of something life-altering. The challenge was convincing Blaire that what they’d shared was special, worth pursuing, and not something to run away from.

  The ringing sound of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He slid the device from his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was his PA. His company almost lost a costly business deal because Grant’s focus had been on Blaire. He sighed in frustration and let the call go to voicemail. He couldn’t manage the corporation long-term from Vail, but he sure as hell wasn’t leaving Blaire behind. A radical idea formed in his head; he was surprised how quickly he wanted to move on it even as he was prepared for her resistance.

  Blaire was his woman. He had no qualms of using everything in his arsenal to make sure she was on the same page as he was. As if in sync with his thoughts, his phone rang again.

  It was his investigator.

  This time, he picked up.

  6

  Blaire

  It was dark when I returned to the cabin—fourteen hours after I left the man who had given me the best sex of my life. I’d told Liam to make himself scarce, that I was going to give in to my one night with Grant, but I would make him hate me in the morning. The plan was to kick him out of bed, but I couldn’t do it and, instead, I was the one who left.

  If I’d been just another notch on his post, the second he had sex with me, he’d be gone. Apparently, I was right. His Suburban was nowhere in sight later that night.

  I felt relief for having avoided a confrontation, but an aching disappointment squeezed my heart. There was that glimmer of hope though, stemming from my understanding of the man I had gotten to know. Grant had been relentless in his pursuit. A man of his stature led a busy life and he still found time to spend with me. We had yet to go on a date, but it was not from his lack of trying. However, he had no problem worming his way into my life and my dinner table.

  Sleeping with Grant served another purpose other than physical gratification. Liam was pinged by a friend that some agency was digging into our background. Not surprisingly, it was Grant. That was a disaster on so many levels.

  We thought of ways to turn him off. It was too late to use Liam as a lover. After spending time with us, Grant was familiar with our dynamics and a sudden romance with Liam—I shuddered at the thought because it seemed incestuous—wasn’t going to be believable at this point. But even Liam thought that wasn’t going to stop Grant. Not someone like him who’d survived that cut-throat world of international business.

  I realized I’d been sitting in my battered pick-up for almost ten minutes. The truth was, I was too sentimental to go into my bedroom. My sheets would have his smell—that masculine spice and woodsy scent that I loved so much. As my heart dueled with my mind, I fought against the melancholia squeezing my entire being as the consequence
s of what I’d done that morning crashed around me. I’d alienated the one person who’d painted my gray and mundane existence with the color of a life worth living. When we finally had sex, that elusive bond snapped into place, but I responded with cowardice and ran. Exhaling in self-deprecation, I got out of the vehicle and walked up the cabin. I put the key in and turned, but it was unlocked. Annoyance swept through me. He was too pissed, apparently, to even lock up.

  Still fuming, I felt my way through the darkened foyer, dropped my cross-body bag on the side table and switched on a lamp.

  I turned.

  And then I screamed.

  Grant was slouched on the couch, watching me with steely eyes. His expression was impassive, but some predatory energy radiated off him. Like he was a panther about to pounce and I was a gazelle frozen in place.

  I glanced at the door.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I have people.”

  Such a simple statement, but it bled power.

  “Are you over it?” he clipped.

  Not getting him, I frowned. “What?”

  Grant stood up and started walking—no—stalking toward me. “Are you over it?” he repeated. “Your freak out.”

  I laughed nervously. “My what?”

  “Don’t lie to me, Blaire.” His eyes flashed. “You left because you got scared.” He’d reached me and we were toe to toe. He lowered his head. “Sex changed things between us.”

  “Have you never heard of casual sex before?” I snapped, my mind still had the power to squash the yearnings of my heart.

  Grant chuckled derisively. “Oh, baby, there was nothing casual about last night. Balls-deep in you three times. Came the same number of times on my mouth and twice on my cock. Managed to eat dinner at two a.m. I’d say we’re past casual.”

  I couldn’t breathe as an image of his dark head between my thighs with his hands spreading me open, flashed through my head. I leaned against the side table, suddenly lightheaded.

  “Glad you remember,” Grant muttered.

  “You were supposed to lose interest.”

  Frustration scored his expression as comprehension dawned. He clenched his fists at his sides. “You let me fuck you thinking I’d lose interest,” he stated quietly.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” he pressed when I didn’t say anything.

  “You’re not,” I said softly.

  He tipped my face up to look at him. “Why, Angel? If all I wanted was a fuck, I wouldn’t have put up with your mountain-man friend cock-blocking me at every turn.”

  A corner of my mouth quirked up before turning down again. “You were getting too close.”

  “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  “Our worlds are different, Grant. You live in the public eye while crowds make my skin crawl.”

  “What happened to you, Blaire?” he asked thoughtfully, my statement leading him to believe something in my past made me this way.

  Something had and that was the reason I didn’t want him to know, I thought sadly.

  Grant took a step back, his gaze unwavering as he contemplated me for long seconds. Rubbing his chin with his forefinger, as if coming to a decision, he said, “Okay.”

  My brows cinched together in confusion. “Okay, what?”

  “It seems all that’s preventing us from being together is your aversion to crowds,” he explained, resting both his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll never force you into a public situation.”

  “Wait. Back up,” I exclaimed. “Together? Did I miss something?”

  “Keep up, baby,” he smiled. “Last night changed everything. Don’t fucking deny it. If you think after you’ve given me a taste of you that I’m giving you up, that’s your first mistake.”

  “Oh, enlighten me. There’s a second?” I invited with sarcasm.

  “I don’t have a lot of quit in me, Blaire,” his nostrils flared. “Your second mistake was thinking if you ran, I wouldn’t come after you. If you hadn’t come back tonight, I’d have set my entire investigative division on your ass.”

  Oh shit.

  I felt my face blanch. Grant’s expression turned concerned.

  “Blaire … fuck … that sounded psycho, didn’t it?”

  I just nodded, but my mind was racing. “But all those parties,” I lowered my eyes, thinking of other excuses why I shouldn’t be with him. “I’ve looked you up, you know. You’re always with someone. You need dates for those events.”

  “And that’s all they ever were,” he replied. “Eighty percent of the time, if I’m not in a relationship, those dates end when the event ends. They go home, that’s it.”

  “And the other twenty percent?” I whispered.

  “Not lying,” Grant said shortly. “I’m no saint, Blaire. I’ve had one-night stands.”

  That stung. It shouldn’t, but it did. “You need to be with someone who’ll be there to support you in—”

  “Trophy girlfriend? No thanks.” He tipped my face up. “Listen to me, Blaire. I’m not going to force you to go with me to a party or fundraiser. But I need you with me.” He took a deep breath. “I need for you to move to the east coast.”

  I was already shaking my head. “That’s impossible.”

  “I can’t manage the company long-term from Vail. Thorne Industries headquarters is in New York, but I prefer Boston living and stay there most days, including the weekends. Think about your art, you’ll have lots of inspiration. You can paint anywhere, right?”

  “Yes, but, Grant—”

  “Hear me out,” he interrupted gruffly. “I don’t want a long-distance relationship. Never tried it and never will. But this thing between us? I’m willing to do whatever it takes to give it a chance, even stay in Colorado longer if I have to.”

  “But you don’t want to.”

  “Not lying, Angel, it’s been challenging.”

  I frowned, noticing evasion in his eyes. “Is your, er, company in trouble?”

  A slight grimace crossed his face but he schooled his features quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Grant—”

  “Getting off topic, baby,” he cut in. His company was obviously a sore topic. “I have a brownstone in Boston and another property outside the city if you prefer wide open spaces,” he shrugged. “We could live there instead.”

  My head was spinning with how fast he was moving. “I need time to think.”

  “Blaire,” he crooned. “Say yes, baby.”

  I wanted so much to say yes and yet …

  “I need time,” I whispered.

  It turned out, time wasn’t on my side.

  Three days after Grant asked me to move to Boston, Liam returned. I was at my usual place by the window, painting a flock of bluebirds, when he walked in.

  “Hey, Wren.”

  “Liam,” I said, putting down my paint brush. “Good trip?”

  “Productive,” he said shortly, walking over to my work area and shuffled through my pictures.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he mused. Sometimes, I committed scenes to memory to paint later. But that day I fled the cabin after my night with Grant, I had my DSLR camera with me because I needed to occupy my mind in order to avoid thinking about the man I left in my bed.

  Liam glanced up at me. “Did it work?”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “He’s still in the picture?”

  I exhaled heavily. “He wants me to move to Boston.”

  His eyes narrowed. Running fingers through his beard as he started pacing, I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. I was surprised he didn’t blow up. Or at least laugh.

  He sat on the couch and stared at me. “It might work to our advantage.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve been on the run for two years. It’s time for us to start living our lives again,” Liam said. “I want you to do that.”

  “How? By going to Boston?”

 
; “Yes.”

  “You forget people are after us and Grant isn’t exactly low profile.”

  “That could be a problem,” Liam admitted.

  That was a huge problem.

  “And what about you? I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

  “I won’t be here.”

  “What?” I exclaimed for a second time.

  “I’ve got a couple of leads I need to track down.”

  “Take me with you.”

  Liam raised a brow.

  “Grant,” I muttered.

  Liam leaned back. “Thorne has been digging into federal databases for our information. So far, everything is legit on paper. If he follows up on any of those leads like your fake parents, this shit is going to blow up in our faces.”

  “He did threaten to unleash his investigative division on me if I disappeared,” I said, worrying my lips.

  “When?” His face darkened with concern.

  “Three days ago when I took off for more than half a day.”

  My friend sprang to his feet and started pacing again. “Yeah, but he started before that. Nosey bastard. So far, from what I’ve gathered, he’s only scratched the surface.” Liam stopped pacing and faced me. “How do you feel about him?”

  “Not sure I’m following.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “That’s kind of personal,” I said, all my defenses rearing up in attention.

  “But pertinent to where I’m going with this,” Liam replied. “I have a hunch that he would stop digging into our backgrounds if you were to move to Boston. I’m not cool with that plan if you don’t care enough for him and you end up feeling like a sacrificial lamb.”

  “It’s too soon to tell, Liam,” I said quietly.

  “You feel something for him?” he asked a less direct question.

  “I do,” I admitted wistfully. “I’m not sure what it is yet.”

  “Shit,” Liam muttered. “You’re in love.”

  “I’m not!” I exclaimed, a little too quickly.

  He barked a laugh. “Well, you’re in something. Your face doesn’t lie.”

  “You’re embarrassing me right now,” I grumbled as I felt heat creep up my cheeks.