Page 6 of Captive Lies

“What did you just say?” Liam growled, taking an intimidating stepforward.

Grant didn’t back down and, instead, stared down his nose into angry gray eyes. “You’re protective of her. I get that. But I’m not some psycho you guys rescued who’s gonna hurther.”

Liamsnorted.

“You have a problem with me,Liam?”

“Only richassholes.”

“When have I wrongedyou?”

“I know yourtype.”

“I assure you,” Grant replied, gritting his teeth because he was in no shape for extended verbal sparring with this man. “You’ve never met mytype.”

“I haven’t gotten you to the hospital yet,” Liam threatened before he backed away, continuing to hold Grant’s gaze, until he reached the door before turning to leave theroom.

2

Blaire

Ajoltof awareness shot through me when I touched Grant’s arm and, it was so unnerving, I had to leave the room. When his fever spiked, a desire to help him overwhelmed me. It was a simple act of caring—or so I told myself. But I realized I’d left myself open to feeling more. That was one complication I couldn’t afford. I had remained clinical when Liam helped me strip our guest out of his wet clothes, but seeing Grant on his feet, towering above me—and even Liam—I couldn’t help but recall the searing temperature of his tanned skin and how his corded muscles bunched under mypalm.

Chicken and dumplings was perfect comfort food and a cure-all for all illnesses including the temptation of making bad decisions—like getting attached to a stranger who was only passing through. So I turned my attention to the pot of simmering broth and lifted two whole chickens from its depths to let them cool before I pulled the meat off. I’d sautéed the vegetables earlier, so all that was left was to add the broth to the mixture. Drop biscuits were next. Scooping flour into a bowl, I cut in the butter, milk and otherspices.

As I shaped the dough, my friend stalked out from the hallway and, judging from his scowl, he and Grant must have had words. He was about to say something to me when the kitchen light flickered more than normal. We’d been on generator power since the night before. It had stopped snowing, but the roads wouldn’t be passable for another twenty-four hours. The county took snow removal seriously because businesses around here thrived on ski-resort tourism—two feet of white powder was something they had to be preparedfor.

“I’m going to check on the generator,” Liam informed me. “If I weren’t worried about you freezing, I wouldn’t give a fuck ifyourguest turned into apopsicle.”

“Liam.”

“What?” hegrowled.

“Ourguest,” I remindedhim.

“Whatever,” he muttered. Cold air shot into the house as he opened and closed thedoor.

I sighed. Liam was used to having his way. Even before I knew who Grant was, my instincts told me he wasn’t a pushover. And I was right. Battered, concussed, or fighting a fever, he wore his dominant personality like a second skin. And yet, I witnessed his vulnerability when he had thatnightmare.

Liam was gone less than ten minutes when I heard a shuffle on the wood floor and then, “Something smellsgood.”

I jumped and spun around. Grant stood there, his hair curling in wet tendrils, looking ridiculous in Liam’s smaller clothes. His crooked grin did funny things to myheart.

“You should lie down,” I toldhim.

Ignoring my statement, he limped toward the stove. “Took a shower. Hope you don’t mind if I used your … uh, shampoo. I couldn’t stand myselfanymore.”

“Yes, you were smelling a bit ripe.” I leaned in and mocked a sniff to tease him further. “Lemon verbena sure smells good onyou.”

There was a quick hitch to his breathing and I berated myself for letting my guard down, but before I could take a step back, he caught my elbows and drew meclose.

Our faces were almost touching, and I felt a shiver run through me and a strange flutter low in mybelly.

“It sure smells good on you,” he murmured. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. The scent of spicy citrus only enhanced his clean, masculine smell, a heady lure that made it difficult to pull back. I was sure he was going to kiss me and I wasn’t sure if I was going to stop him. So, I was baffled when he dropped his hands, moved away, and cocked a hip against the counter. A tremor ran through him as if someone had walked over hisgrave.

“Are you allright?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. He nodded to the pot. “What are youmaking?”

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