Page 43 of Captive Lies

“Yes … yes …” I moaned, feeling another wavebuilding.

“You’re mine,” he declared raggedly and his voice broke off as he swore, canting his hips to hit me just where I ached themost.

He came on a roar as I blissfully quaked and moaned in the aftershocks. We collapsed in the middle of the living room on the plush area rug with his cock still inside me. He kept us connected, letting his cum seep into me. We were both sweaty, exhausted, andsated.

Our bond was damaged these past two months, but our physical attraction smoldered just as strongly. Whether our passion was hot enough to reforge the frayed strands of our connection remained to be seen, but Grant was right. Knowing we still burned for each other had left me with a clearerhead.

16

Blaire

Grant’s parentshad a house on the Back Bay area of Boston. A historic townhouse that was recently renovated with an elevator that serviced all six levels, it still maintained the stately charm of a Victorian brownstone. Sensible shoes for the cobblestone sidewalks were a must. The first time I had dinner at Senator and Mrs. Thorne’s house, I wanted to make a good impression and wore three-inch heels with my dress. Grant didn’t think to inform me that I was navigating a bumpy path. He also thought parking for an easier exit was ideal and chose not to park at the three available spaces behind the house, because it meant two extra right turns and needing to get around the block to get back on the mainroad.

Men.

So, on top of the anxiety of meeting his parents for the first time, I had to worry whether I was going to break a heel or my ankle before introductions were made. Grant, to his benefit, was perceptive enough to hold me up while I teetered over the unevensurface.

He kept mumbling apologies and, from the set of his jaw, he was kicking himself for his lack of foresight when it came to women’s footwear. I must also stress that living in the mountains for so long, I’d lost practice strutting in heels, so it wasn’t entirely his fault. But Grant was a quick study and for successive dinners at his parents’, he reminded me about shoes, which really wasn’t necessary since I’d learned my lesson the first time. He’d also started parking behind thetownhouse.

That night I wore loafers, light wool slacks, and a flowy blouse with ruffles at the neckline and sleeves. There was a chill in the September breeze, hinting of the end of summer, so I wrapped a shawl aroundme.

Grant opened the door and held out his hand to assist me out. “You lookbeautiful.”

“So you told me earlier,” Igrinned.

“Never get tired of telling you,Angel.”

LeSigh.

I should really bask in this perfect moment. Grant shut the door behind me and gathered me close, giving me a kiss. “No matter what happens tonight, know I’m on your side,okay?”

Inodded.

I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be. I think I was feeling relieved that I could finally let go of my secrets and my life could moveforward.

* * *

Far from an intimate family gathering,it appeared to be a dinner party of about twenty people. Grant swore under his breath as he tightened his hold aroundme.

People gasped when they saw Grant. His right eye was still slightly swollen and the bruises had grown noticeably darker. Marcus Thorne’s eyes narrowed when he saw his son and stalked toward the foyer to greetus.

“Now what did you do to my son, Blaire?” the senator teased. The amusement in his tone belied the grim look in hiseyes.

He couldn’t know how close to the truth he was. My expression must have mirrored the guilt I was feeling and effectively wiped any trace of humor—contrived or not—from the senator’sface.

“Well, damn, I was just joking, sweetheart,” the senator said. I wished I was a better actress but Iwasn’t.

“Blaire saw me soon after it happened,” Grant explained. He left it hanging there because any other excuse would become a lielater.

“Sorry, I overreacted.” I forced asmile.

“At least you got the bastards.” An unusual savagery crossed the senator’sfeatures.

“We’ll talk later,Dad.”

The senator gave a quick nod, slung an arm around his son, and led us further into thehouse.

Senator Thorne mixed a mostyummy cocktail. I sipped a red-orange drink of Drambuie with a hint of Campari and lime. As with all the times I’d had dinner here, the Thornes were hands-on hosts. The senator mixed some of the drinks himself and Mrs. Thorne was all Southern hospitality in the way she minded the kitchen and made her guests feel athome.

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