Page 2 of Deceiving Grier

“We have a no-sex-on-the-table rule,” Jett said, following me. “Well, on any of the furniture in the rooms we share.”

Well, that was way too specific to not have happened. I stopped, turned to Jett, and cocked a brow. “Um… good to know.”

Red bloomed on Jett’s cheeks, and he pressed his hand to his chest. “Not me.”

Did he actually want me to believe the patron saint of Bayside University, Grier Miller, had sex on dining room tables? While the mental image of Miller naked and bent over the table next to me wasn’t unpleasant, I didn’t buy it for a second. Miller had always struck me as lights off under the covers kind of guy when it came to sex.

Maybe guessing where my thoughts had drifted, Jett added, quickly, “Or Grier.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. “It’s… um… just a rule.”

“Sure,” I said. I couldn’t stop the smirk pulling at my mouth if I’d had a gun to my head. “Without rules, we’re living in chaos.”

As I turned away, my gaze snagged on a set of open French doors and what looked like a study through the opening. I moved past Jett and into the room. A large desk stood in the center, heavy shelves packed tight with books lined the walls except at the far end where a fireplace like the one in the living room stood.

“This is incredible!” I said, standing in the middle of the room and turning slowly.

Jett flopped into the chair behind the desk and shrugged. “I guess. You could use this room if you wanted to. No one else does. Grier’s read some of the books, but he takes them then puts them back when he’s done.”

“This is all Oliver Mackenzie’s? It was all just left here?” I didn’t mean to come across as so interested, but a part of me couldn’t believe so much of the man’s things had been left behind for a bunch of college students to use.

“Yeah, there are boxes in the attic filled with his personal things.”

A tingle prickled the skin along the back of my neck. “Why didn’t someone clear all this out?”

Jett shrugged. “I don’t even know why they didn’t do anything with the boxes in the attic, but I think they left the furniture to stage the house when they were going to put it up for sale.”

I turned to the shelf nearest me, feigning interest in the titles of the books and running my fingers over the leather-bound spines. “Why didn’t they sell it?”

“I think Greyson Mackenzie felt bad about our house burning down, so he let us rent this place for the next year.”

And why would that be? What had the man done to make him feel bad enough to rent his father’s house that he’d been gearing up to sell to a bunch of college kids?

I knew there was something going on here. I knew it with the same certainty that the sun would rise tomorrow, and I wanted to dig it up and lay it out for the world to see. There were things in this world that I wanted, and uncovering the truth about Oliver Mackenzie’s sketchy heir would be the key to opening the doors to everything I’d ever wanted.

If I rented a room here, in Oliver Mackenzie’s house, I would have unfettered access to the man’s personal things and the two men who’d benefited after someone burned down their house. Let’s face it, they’d be a lot more likely to open up about what had gone down between them and Greyson Mackenzie to someone they believed was one of them than a would-be reporter.

Was I really going to do this? Give up where I was living now and move in with strangers just for a story? How could I not? Opportunities like this didn’t happen every day. I would be crazy to pass up a chance like this.

“Hi. Sorry I kept you waiting.”

I turned away from the bookshelf to find Grier Miller standing in the open doorway. Hell, as much as I hated to admit it, the man was even better looking up close. He was taller than me, at least six feet, with perfect-angled features that left him a shade away from pretty. His light brown hair, sun-streaked with gold, was trimmed short around his ears and the back of his head, but a little longer on top. Long enough to grip, I thought, unhelpfully, doing my best not to let my gaze linger on those perfect pink lips.

He was dressed in a dark blue button-down tucked neatly in a pair of khaki pants. How in hell had a guy like Miller wound up living in The Square? He looked as though he should be mingling in some country club somewhere between games of golf.

I realized not liking someone on sight without ever having exchanged a word with them wasn’t especially fair, but after years of writing for the school newspaper covering his soccer games or whatever do-good group he was volunteering for, I knew enough about Grier Miller to be fairly confident that we wouldn’t have much in common.

“This is Tom,” Jett said, standing from behind the desk.

Shit, If I was really going to go ahead with this, I would have to reign this whole thing in. Living here and trying to pretend to be someone else would get complicated fast.

“I think there’s been a mix-up. I’m not Tom,” I said, shooting both men a rueful grin. “My name’s Sawyer.”

Jett frowned, and Grier tensed, suspicion immediately clouding his light gaze.

“You said you were here about the room?” Jett said.

“I did. I am, but I didn’t call ahead or anything. I was just in the area and thought I’d try my luck. I hope that’s okay.” I tried to sound rueful and as unassuming as possible. Sometimes my ability to lie convincing on the fly like this worried even me, but right then, I’d never been more grateful for that particular talent.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Jett said, frown dissolving like a child’s sandcastle in the rain.

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