Captive Lies

by Victoria Paige

  “I don’t want to lie.”

  “We won’t be lying. We will be omitting some facts and there isn’t enough time to explain why.”

  I trusted Grant, and yet, I had an odd feeling he was bulldozing me into something.

  “Okay.”

  The triumphant gleam in his eyes made me want to renege on agreeing with his request, but he was already leading me out of the office.

  36

  Grant

  Grant stood by his dad as they watched his mother and Blaire fuss over each other. The women had not seen each other since the accident and Blaire’s subsequent abduction, although he knew they communicated regularly through text or phone call. His mother needed to recuperate from the head injury and it was only now that the senator allowed his wife to travel. In that regard, Grant was similar to his father—they were protective of their women.

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” Mom said to Blaire. “When Marcus told me you’d been attacked at the gallery, I feared the worst.”

  So did I, Grant thought.

  “So do we know exactly who we’re dealing with?” Gus asked. His father’s political advisor was seated on a single sofa, with his right ankle crossed over left knee. He’d been watching Blaire like a hawk and it took all of Grant’s self-control not to toss the asshole out of his penthouse.

  “We’re following up on leads,” Grant answered.

  “What’s the connection to Blaire?” the senator asked.

  “She knew the artist whose paintings were stolen. Sergei Kostin,” he answered. Gus lowered his leg and leaned forward in his chair. Grant repeated what Blaire had already told him and Jake.

  “What would make them leave almost seven-hundred million dollars worth of art behind?” This came from the senator. “Are you certain there’s another painting underneath what you’ve already seen, Blaire?”

  “I’m familiar with Sergei’s brush strokes where he conceals a certain area,” she said. “Sometimes he doesn’t even cover the entire original painting but turns it into something else.”

  “You seem enthralled, my dear,” Gus said with candor.

  Blaire held his gaze. “Sergei was brilliant, but I don’t know the reasons why he chose this life of crime. Our conversations were never personal, and he discouraged my asking about him. If he was born into it, he certainly had enough talent to leave it, but organized crime has a compelling method to make you stay.”

  “And you know first-hand, of course.” Gus gave a disgusted shake of his head at Grant and looked at his father. “Senator, I don’t know how you expect our communications staff to put a spin on this. We haven’t addressed the rumors that Blaire is the illegitimate daughter of the most powerful Vor of Russia—”

  “And we know that’s not true,” Grant cut in.

  “Yes, but do you know that people are speculating why you’re having much success in Moscow real estate acquisitions? They say you’re using the Russian mafia?”

  “Let them speculate,” Grant retorted. “I’m not admitting or denying. Next thing you know, they’ll have me laundering money.”

  “Jesus, Grant,” the senator muttered.

  “There’ll always be rumors, Senator,” he addressed his father formally since this was a political meeting. “That’s why we agreed that I never talk about how I do business, but be assured that I have not broken any laws stateside.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Gus shot back.

  “Tell me, Lynch,” Grant said silkily. “How am I any different from the CIA that is given the go-ahead to break laws in other countries as long as they don’t get caught doing it?”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” the senator said. “We’re going off course here.”

  “Maybe you should muzzle your pit bull,” Grant suggested.

  “And maybe you should reconsider the type of female company you keep,” Gus sneered, looking pointedly at Blaire.

  Red hazed Grant’s vision and he barely heard the women gasp before he realized he had yanked Gus to his feet and his father was between them.

  “August,” his father growled. “That was out of line. Grant, calm down.”

  “Apologize to Blaire, you son of a bitch,” Grant snarled, his grip tightening on Gus’ collar, but Jake and Tyler also jumped in to pull him off his father’s aide.

  Visibly flustered, Gus attempted to regain his composure by straightening his collar, but he looked in no way apologetic. “That’s the second time you’ve assaulted me because of her. Don’t you see how bad she is for you?”

  “Lynch!” his father snapped.

  “Why you—” Grant’s temper skyrocketed again as he struggled to break free from Jake and Tyler.

  “But I apologize, Ms. Callahan,” Gus directed his gaze at Blaire who was red in the face and obviously affected by Gus’ tirade. Grant wanted to march over to her and whisk her away from this political bullshit.

  “I was out of line,” he continued. “And I am sorry. But I’m appealing to you right now, Blaire, in light of your friendship with the Thorne family, to see how your relationship with Grant is impacting the senator’s reputation.”

  “Oh, shut up, August,” Amelia snapped. “There’s no truth to the lovechild rumor, so what are we afraid of?”

  “Then why are we here, Amelia, trying to diffuse the ‘girlfriend situation’ when the senator is supposed to be back in DC, going over legislation and preparing for the next Senate Intelligence committee hearing?”

  Grant shrugged off Jake and Tyler’s hold and walked over to Blaire. He held out his hand, urging her to stand up beside him, his eyes appealing to her questioning ones to trust him. Tightening his fingers around hers, he didn’t want her to run away when he spoke his next words.

  “Blaire’s not my girlfriend.” Grant kept his gaze on his mother whose eyes narrowed at him. He smiled before glancing at the woman beside him. Blaire was staring at the area rug, probably feeling hurt and pissed at his announcement when not too long ago he demanded she be his again.

  “She’s my fiancée.” Her head snapped up then, eyes flaring with outrage, and before she could screw up his plans, he silenced her with a kiss. When he released her lips, he cupped her face with both hands so she had nowhere else to look but at him. “I know we were going to keep it a secret for a while longer, baby,” he crooned. “But there’s no reason to keep it under wraps anymore, not when the National Tattler released that story this morning.” Her eyes were shooting sparks of retribution, and Grant had to will his cock not to rise to the challenge just yet by reminding himself that his mother was in the room.

  “Well that certainly changes everything,” Amelia exclaimed, clapping her hands once in excitement. As if on cue, Colette appeared with a platter of small sandwiches and sweet little cakes and a pot of tea. “Don’t you think this calls for a celebration, Colette?”

  “It sure does, ma’am,” his housekeeper replied demurely before withdrawing back into the kitchen, but Grant caught the satisfied smile on her face.

  “I don’t see how this changes anything?” Gus sputtered, but Grant knew that he’d defeated his dad’s political advisor in his own manipulative game. He’d have to thank Gus later for giving him the opportunity to work his play to his advantage.

  “It changes a whole lot actually,” the senator said reflectively as he joined his wife who walked over to them.

  “You’ve always been a part of the family, Blaire,” his mother said while giving his woman a kiss and squeezing Grant’s arm. His dad hugged Blaire and welcomed her to the family as well. Though Grant felt a pinch of guilt in his chest as he met Jake’s amused stare, he convinced himself he did the right thing for everyone.

  Mom held Blaire’s bare ring finger. “I know you wanted to keep this a secret, but I hope you proposed properly, Grant.”

  He grinned at his mother before surrendering a bemused Blaire to her. Grant walked to his office safe, unlocked the secure cabinet, and withdrew the small box he’d kept there for more than a mont
h. He’d been debating on ways to ask Blaire to marry him, but each carefully composed speech didn’t sound like him. He wasn’t a man of tender words—he was a man who took what he wanted. He lifted the sparkling diamond from the box and strode back to the living room.

  Shit! Blaire had that deer-in-headlights look as his mother went on and on about wedding dresses, flower arrangements, and reception venues. He’d better go rescue her.

  “Don’t scare my bride-to-be, Mom, when she’s just getting used to the idea,” he chided. Pulling Blaire back into his arms, he held her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “Now, you’re mine, Angel,” he whispered in her ear. He tried to kiss her lips, but Blaire turned her head toward his mother and he ended up kissing her cheek instead.

  “Your son is sooooo possessive.” Blaire smiled as if making a joke, but Grant knew better and winced when her fingers pinched the muscle at his side.

  “Oh, these Thorne men are,” Mom replied conspiratorially.

  Gus cleared his throat. “Senator, where do we want to go from here?”

  “It’s up to Grant and Blaire to announce their engagement,” the senator looked pointedly at his son. “The sooner the better.”

  “I’ll have a press release out tomorrow,” Grant said smoothly.

  “How will this help with the Tattler story?” Blaire asked.

  “There’s a big difference between a girlfriend and a fiancée,” the senator said. “The latter implies commitment. There’s nothing worse than uncertainty influencing public opinion. Being Grant’s fiancée, you’re more or less already family, and there’s a suggested permanence that would go a long way in calming my supporters.”

  “The term girlfriend could be twisted to mean lover, hookup, fling, or even worse,” his mother added. “Too much scandal can come from that, but as a fiancée you can only be looked upon as the future Mrs. Thorne and that, my dear, commands respect.”

  “There’ll be questions about Blaire’s background,” Gus pointed out. “But since she’s engaged to Grant, it’ll be more accepted when the senator’s office throws their support behind her. One caveat. This may fly with our Massachusetts voters, but if you run for higher office, it might cause an issue.”

  “Family first,” the senator replied without hesitation.

  Lynch nodded, resignation on his face, even if he tried to remain stoic. “She’s not a criminal … that much we ascertained, unless she hasn’t told us everything. She can’t choose her family. If you need the senator’s office to draft a show of support if the lovechild rumors persist, then we’ll get involved. Otherwise, I hope you get your engagement announced as soon as possible.”

  Grant gave his father’s advisor a curt nod. He didn’t fully trust August Lynch, but he had bigger matters to settle at that moment. Blaire was staring daggers at him like she wanted to do damage to some parts of his anatomy.

  He couldn’t wait to get her alone.

  37

  Blaire

  Our visitors had left and Jake was updating Grant on the status of Bobby and Drew. I was sitting on the couch and Grant was perched on its arm, his hand never leaving mine ever since he’d slipped the ring on my finger. I was fuming on the inside, but set my outrage aside to listen to Jake.

  “Bobby’s out of surgery. Two of the bullets were through and through, but one was lodged in his shoulder,” Jake explained. “Drew has a concussion due to his fall.”

  “His fall?” Grant asked.

  “The reason he was out for a while was because someone shot him with a tranquilizer.”

  “It must be the suit guy who approached Blaire,” Tyler said. “I was able to radio Drew when the homeless guy attacked Bobby, so it must have happened soon after.”

  “The hospital will be keeping them both overnight for observation,” Jake said. “Bobby will be out of commission for a while; Drew, probably until he’s clear of his concussion.”

  “Make sure Bobby and Drew are covered with what they need,” Grant told his man. “Get with Heather to see where their short-term disability is at. The company will cover anything the insurance won’t.”

  “On it, Mr. Thorne.”

  “Anything else?”

  Tyler looked at me, then returned his eyes to Grant. “We had a visit from a Miami FBI agent this morning.”

  Grant tensed beside me. “Wilkes?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “So you know him?”

  “He was the agent on the scene in Miami. What did he want from you?”

  I told him my conversation with the fed.

  “Is he trying to say that Liam’s death was a cover-up?” Grant asked.

  “I don’t know anymore.” I was afraid to put my hope into words.

  “Blaire, don’t,” Tyler whispered, his expression one of sadness and pity.

  “Anyway, I think he’s dropping the case,” I shrugged.

  “I don’t want Wilkes showing up unannounced again,” Grant said. “Donovan, you still have the number for Liam’s crew?”

  “Last I heard from any of them was during Watt’s funeral in Atlanta. The number’s been disconnected. I figured they were using aliases.”

  Hope reawakened inside me. “Doesn’t that sound suspicious?”

  “If they’ve disconnected their number, they don’t want to be found,” Jake informed me. “Don’t buy any more trouble, Blaire.”

  Jake and I had come a long way since his initial disapproval of me after finding out I was the daughter of a ROC cleaner, but his last statement stung because I knew he was right. Grant had expended so many resources to keep me safe and his family was paying the price. I had to let this go.

  “I’m tired,” I said, rising and trying to pull my hand out of Grant’s, but he wouldn’t let me go. This reminded me of another issue—the fact that I was engaged. I glared at my fiancé as he got up calmly.

  “That’ll be all, Tyler, Donovan.” His eyes never left mine.

  When our security left, we were still staring at each other. His expression was inscrutable, but I was sure mine left no doubt as to what I was feeling.

  “Whatever I say in there, please go along with it?” I mimicked his exact words from earlier with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “You manipulative son of a bitch.”

  “That was the right call and you know it,” Grant countered. “Even Gus had no objection to it.”

  I raised a brow. “So our engagement is not real, right? It’s just for show?”

  His eyes flashed dangerously. “Of course, it’s fucking real.”

  “I don’t recall getting asked,” I taunted, ignoring the hardening of his jaw.

  “Blaire …” he warned.

  Getting on tiptoes, which was really a joke since he still loomed above me, I leaned in. “And I certainly don’t recall saying yes!”

  “That’s it,” he muttered. Suddenly, my world went upside down as I found myself tossed over his shoulder.

  “Grant!”

  “Quiet!”

  Oh no, he didn’t. I wasn’t taking this Neanderthal act. I struggled, twisting and kicking. He swore, clamping both his arms over my legs to prevent injury to him and me.

  “Goddammit, woman!” He flipped me on the bed, leaving me sprawled on the mattress and glowering up at him. He stared at me with a mixture of frustration and—amusement? I couldn’t tell as he reached behind him and took off his shirt, exposing the ridges of muscle that made my mouth water.

  He smirked.

  I glared.

  “You think sex is going to fix everything?” I hissed even as my eyes hungrily took in his huge cock pressing behind his sweatpants.

  “No, but I could sure pound a ‘yes’ out of you.”

  “You still haven’t asked—Grant!” I yelled as he yanked my leg forward, reaching for the waistband of my leggings and stripped them off with my panties even as I was kicking him. He chuckled. Chuckled!

  He went for my tunic, but I managed to land my feet on his chest and kick him off, but I didn’t get far
when he hooked me around the waist and tossed me back on the mattress. He got on top of me, settling between my legs, his hardness against my needy core. I was so annoyed and so aroused at the same time. I tried to buck him off. My nails bit into his sides and he growled, manacled both my wrists with one hand and pinned them above me. It was then I saw the gleam in his eyes. They were euphoric and triumphant.

  “Marry me,” he whispered.

  “No!” I said.

  “Marry me,” he repeated and bit my lower lip. I shook my head.

  “Marry me, Angel,” he mumbled against my throat, before heading lower and releasing my wrists. I didn’t answer, but gasped as he bit my nipple through my tunic and bra before pulling away to discard the rest of my clothes. He then resumed his downward journey with his fingers, seeking the heat between my thighs, groaning when he found me wet. He looked up from just above my navel. “You want me.” He circled my entrance, reveling in my slickness before slipping his calloused fingers in and out, deliciously abrading the sensitive nerves of my inner walls. “Your pussy doesn’t lie, baby.” He continued nipping down my pelvis and I inhaled sharply when I felt the first flick of his tongue. With his face buried between my thighs and my legs over his shoulders, Grant devoured my delicate folds. His tongue lashed and dipped at my entrance and then he moved to my clit.

  “Yes, there … there… oh, God,” I whimpered as my fingers clutched the sheets and my ankles squirmed on his back.

  He flicked his tongue, back and forth, back and forth, building an unbearable pressure and then he sucked the sensitive nub and I exploded on a scream, my back arching at the force of my orgasm.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Then it became too much until I couldn’t breathe. “Stop. Oh God, no more!” I yanked his hair but he only smashed his face further into my core, keeping the pressure on my clit and extending my pleasure.

  I was still coming down from my high when he drove into me. My fingers clutched his shoulders as I marveled at his powerful body moving above me, muscles cording in sculpted beauty with the force of his vigorous pounding.