Page 22 of Captive Lies

Liam looked at mestrangely.

“He asks me every night before bed,” Iexplained.

“Persistent son of abitch.”

“That he is,” Iagreed.

Looked like I was moving toBoston.

7

Blaire

Early April heraldedthe arrival of brisk spring weather in Massachusetts. Boston Commons was alive with a sea of vibrant emerald, the grassy landscape a tempting invitation to lay down a blanket and laze the day away. I leaned back under the canopy of an ancient elm tree, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Knees pulled back, I laid my sketchpad on my lap and outlined the arresting landscape before me. The equestrian bronze statue of George Washington stood tall and proud among an army of tulips in shades of red, pink, orange, and yellow. It was one of Boston’s most impressive sculpture with both horse and rider hewn in graceful and natural lines. A ghostly weeping willow served as a backdrop in the distance. The promise of new life in the air inspired my fingers to work the charcoal pencil feverishly over the textured drawingpaper.

I moved to Boston at the end of January. Grant took time off from his work at Thorne Industries to show me New England living. The architecture and history provided instant appeal. I also relished capturing on canvas the everyday life of bustling municipalities like Provincetown and other quaint communities that speckled the Northeast corridor. But Grant himself was the biggest selling point of this temporarymove.

Three months had already passed, and Grant, instead of losing interest, had become more determined to bind me to him. Last week, he’d been after me to give up my cabin in Colorado. He told me that as long as I had a place to run away to, I couldn’t commit to him. He actually used the word “commit.”

His success, good looks, and stature in life should have intimidated me, but when he was in my company he had a way of making me feel special, not to mention he’d been giving me the best sex of my life. I exhaled heavily. And yet it was the littlethings…

As if my thoughts conjured him up, I saw a tall familiar figure approaching me with easy strides. My heart stuttered, before a bubble of happiness burst inside me. What was Grant doing in Boston on a Wednesday morning? He usually left Monday afternoon for Manhattan and returned on Thursdays. The muscles of my cheeks hurt from grinning too wide as I lowered my sketchpad on the blanket to admire the man dressed in faded jeans and Henley—a far cry from the sharp suits I was used to seeing him in during the week. The nylon cooler he was carrying in one hand did nothing to disrupt the controlled grace of his movements, like a jungle cat prowling its territory withconfidence.

“The board called,” I hollered when he was twenty paces out. “They said you’refired.”

His lips fractured into a broad smile, his teeth flashing as he looked to the side before cutting his glance back to me, eyes crinkled in humor. “I got tired of their squabbling. I told them I had better things todo.”

I laughed as he reached me. He lowered the cooler, stooped to kiss me and, before I knew what was happening, I was flat on my back with one hard-bodied male pinning me to the ground. I wrenched my lips away. “Grant! We’re inpublic.”

He stared down at me, unrepentant. “Missed you so much,” he murmured and captured my lips again. The undisguised yearning in his kiss filled my own heart with longing that was strangled by conflictingemotions.

I lovehim.

Without a doubt, I lovehim.

I shouldn’t. It wasn’t part of the plan. And yet, the way his kiss demanded my response, stripped of control, I articulated my love in the way I kissed him back, in the way I molded my body against his. It might had been a few seconds, it might had been long minutes, but for that fragment of time, we lost ourselves in each other. Grant ripped away from the kiss and swore. He rolled off me, lying flat on his back with his arm across his eyes. I propped up on my elbows, panting, and tried my best to cool off my heatedflesh.

He was breathing raggedly, his erection pressed painfully against his jeans, and then in small degrees, I watched him reel itin.

“Fuck.” Grant grinned crookedly as he lowered his arm and looked at me. “You littlewitch.”

My brows quirked. “I’m the little witch? Aren’t you the one who invaded my little space oftranquility?”

“Yeah, but …” his face turned serious. “What just happened feltdifferent.”

I started at his perceptivity. How could he tell from a kiss that I had let go of my reservations about falling in love with him? Walls quickly slammed up around myheart.

His eyes narrowed. “Blaire …don’t.”

Flustered at being laid open, I changed the subject. “Why are you back in Boston soearly?”

I held my breath as he regarded me for long moments before he expelled a hiss of frustration. He recovered quickly though, and grinned. “Making a lunchdelivery?”

“Okay, be serious,” I said, relieved that he didn’t force the issue. “I thought you had a lot of meetings and paperwork to getthrough?”

He shrugged those powerful shoulders. “I do. I had Heather clear my day and move all my meetings to tomorrow. Might as well make use of web-conferencing technology. I brought all the paperwork with me. Most of them are on our FTP siteanyway.”

“So, you’re all mine for theafternoon?”

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