He lowered his head to kiss me roughly. “Marry me, baby.”
With my legs hooked under his arms, he spread me wider, giving him unfettered access to slam his cock into me, over and over.
“Grant,” I moaned as he hit a particularly sweet spot and I knew I was seconds from coming again. “Fuck me harder.”
He changed the angle of his thrusts, keeping me on the brink, not letting me come. His mouth was tight, he was sweating, and straining not to come himself. “Answer me, Angel,” he growled. “And it better be the fucking answer I want.”
“Harder,” I moaned.
His pumping was relentless but it wasn’t the rhythm I needed. I reached for my clit, but he grabbed both my hands and pinned them above me once more.
“Make me come, please …” I begged, anticipating the intensity of release only Grant could give me.
“Say it, Angel,” he mumbled, slowing down to a maddening pace.
“Yes,” I whispered in surrender.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I barely got the last word out when his lips crashed down on me. His thumb hit my clit and I soared into climax.
My inner muscles gripped his cock and he went feral, pounding deeper, sending me higher until he joined me. He groaned into the crook of my neck as he released inside me. His thrusting slowed and gentled. Then he was kissing my jaw, my cheek, and my lips. When the tremors left us both, he caught my gaze.
“I love you, Blaire.” Grant kissed the tip of my nose.
I didn’t know why, but my eyes filled with tears and a sob caught in my throat. I laughed to hide the sudden onslaught of emotions. “You kinda did that in reverse, Thorne.”
“I know,” He grinned crookedly. “We’ve wasted so much time these past ten months.” He pulled out of me, and maneuvered us to sit against the headboard. I was naked and he was still wearing his sweatpants. How was that fair?
“I took too long to tell you how I felt,” Grant said. “You took off and then I discovered your secrets in the cabin and I didn’t know if you were the same woman I had fallen in love with. When I got you back, I knew nothing had changed and then the whole mess of the past month happened. I only fell deeper in love with you and you had put up a wall between us.” Pained eyes looked at me. “Do you know how crazy you made me?”
“I think I have an idea,” I murmured, drawing circles on his chest. “You had us engaged when we barely got back together.”
“In my mind, we were never broken up,” Grant said with arrogance. “I used that time to woo you.”
I shook my head, as a burst of laughter exploded from my lips. “You really never do things in order.”
“See, if I told you I loved you first, and if I followed the order of things, I would have to wait at least three months without sounding psycho-in-love to ask you to marry me. I wasn’t willing to wait that long.”
“Hmm … and this doesn’t make you psycho?” I teased.
“I have you where I want you,” he smirked. “Naked, on my bed, and wearing my ring.”
“Usually, feelings have to be mutual, Grant. Are you sure I love you?”
He scowled down at me. “I couldn’t love you this much without you loving me in return.”
“That’s very presumptive on your part.” I was having a hard time keeping a straight face, but his smug expression was annoying. Who wanted to be a foregone conclusion? Not me.
“You love me,” he growled, and had me sprawled on my back once again.
“I do love your cock,” I said. “And your diabolical tongue.”
“Blaire …” My name was a guttural warning.
“Oh, all right,” I smiled. “I guess I love you.”
“Guess?” His eyes sparked with amusement this time when he caught on to my teasing.
“I definitely love you, Grant Thorne.”
“I know.” The smirk was back.
Cocky bastard.
38
Grant
The following morning, Grant went into his penthouse office and closed the door. He knew there was one person who wouldn’t be pleased about his engagement to Blaire and he’d rather that someone found out from him before the news broke.
Sighing heavily, he thumbed the number to call his sister.
The phone rang and rang.
“Dammit, Val, pick up,” he muttered. He wanted to get this over and done with and he’d be damned before he left her a message.
Just when he thought the call was going to voicemail, his sister answered the phone. “Hello?”
She was breathless.
“Hey, sis. Catch you at a bad time?”
“Nah, it’s good. Just came back from my run. Heard Dad and Mom went to see you last night.”
“Did they mention anything?”
“Is there anything else I should know besides your girlfriend is a mafia princess?”
“Val,” Grant sighed in irritation. “You should know better than to believe that garbage.”
His sister snorted a derisive laugh. “It’s kind of funny. I like it when Gus gets all huffy and puffy.”
If there was one thing he and his sister shared, it was their dislike for the senator’s political advisor.
“One would think Dad is the King of England,” Val continued. “And everyone in the family needs to fall in line to some royal protocol.”
“Gus is probably setting the stage for a possible White House bid.”
“That’s kind of presumptuous, isn’t it?” Val said. “Dad has yet to win his reelection to the senate. Does he even want the presidency?”
“I don’t think he does, but there’s pressure from the party,” Grant speculated. “But knowing Dad, he’s going to consider how this is going to affect Mom and us.”
“Well,” Val snorted. “I should be thankful that you’re dating a woman with questionable background. Takes the heat off of me.”
Grant bristled at his sister’s barb, but she provided him with the perfect opening. “Well, sis, you’ll be happy to know I’ll be making Blaire an honest woman.”
A gouging silence, and then, “Please tell me I misunderstood you and you’re not marrying her.”
“I plan to have the company’s publicist announce our engagement today.”
“I can’t believe you’re bringing that criminal and gold digger into the family! Are you out of your fucking mind?”
His fingers almost crushed his phone. “I couldn’t be more clear-headed about this.”
“What does she give you, Grant? Sex? You can get that anywhere.”
“I actually feel sorry that you think that way. Maybe if you stop dating losers, you’ll figure it out.” No way in hell was he discussing with his sister how fucking hot sex was when you were crazy in love.
“At least I’m not blind to their faults and can dispatch them when I want to,” Val sneered.
“This conversation is going nowhere,” Grant muttered. “Consider yourself informed and don’t go crying to Mom that I didn’t tell you—”
“Yeah, Blaire would look great in orange by the way—”
“Dammit, Val,” he snapped. “The next time you call Blaire a criminal or a gold digger, you can lose my number.”
“You’re picking that bitch over me?”
“You’re the bitch, sis.” It twisted his heart to say that, but he’d had enough. “I love Blaire, she’s going to be my wife, and if you can’t get onboard with that, it’s your problem, not mine.”
Val hung up.
The days following the announcement of their engagement were a whirlwind of interviews and social appearances. Much to everyone’s miscalculation, the interest in Blaire and him didn’t die down. Instead, it skyrocketed. Mostly from the female demographic who wanted to romanticize his fiancée’s background as a mafia princess and Grant was the knight in shining armor billionaire who rescued her. What baffled his publicist was there was thirty percent who wanted an Italian mafia prince paired with Blaire.
/> Heather was chuckling when she handed him the latest report from the PR agency. “Looks like you have competition for Blaire’s affections.”
“What are you talking about?” Grant scowled. The mere idea of someone else vying for his woman’s affections made him furious enough to bend a crowbar.
“Luca Morelli just tweeted to his followers for suggestions on how to court Blaire.”
“That fucker,” Grant growled. Luca Morelli was the head of Mediterranean Shipping Lines, a legitimate enterprise owned by the Morelli crime family. To his knowledge, the man’s nose was clean, but everyone knew his brothers ran the Italian mafia.
“Do you want me to tell your publicist to draft a response on your official twitter account?” Heather asked.
“No, I’ll handle it myself.” He had some past dealings with Morelli and had the man’s private number, so Grant called him and told him to fuck off.
Just as Grant suspected, the mafia prince wasn’t really serious, but was just a limelight hog with a big ego and apologized for using Grant’s engagement to Blaire as a social media stunt.
Other than the thirty percent of women not approving of Grant for Blaire, the rest were enthralled with their love affair. Because of the interest in their relationship, Gus sent Andy to Manhattan to temporarily work out of Grant’s office so he’d be available to advise the couple on political etiquette should the need arise, especially since they’d received several dinner invitations from New York politicians like the governor and mayor.
Even if he knew Andy was acting in an official capacity, he didn’t like it when he came home to the penthouse to find him spending time with Blaire. He heard their laughter just when the elevator doors opened. Tyler was sitting at the bar, Blaire and Andy were busy pouring over a newspaper.
“Are you sure that’s not gossip, Andy?” Blaire laughed.
“It’s actually true. That’s why there’s tension in city hall right now.”
His fiancée’s eyes lit on Grant and he was gratified to see her jump up from her comfy seating with Andy and greet him at the foyer.
“What are you two gossiping about?” Grant murmured, kissing her on the lips.
“Andy is giving me the inside scoop on city hall,” Blaire said. “It’s rumored that the mayor’s mistress is the city council speaker. He’s giving me pointers on how to tactfully navigate the sticky situation for The Prestige exhibit.”
“We can just scrap them from the guest list,” Grant suggested.
Andy gave a choking sound.
“The mayor is at the top of Jeff’s list,” Blaire protested.
“Yes, but the art in the exhibit is mine,” he said. “I’m not going to have anyone ruin the evening for you. You’ve been working so hard assisting Jeff in restoring the paintings.” The exhibit was six weeks away and Blaire had been helping out in the gallery amidst her therapy visits and meetings with Grant’s publicist. She lamented she didn’t have enough time for her own art. Grant was pleased that Blaire had shown interest in painting again. She’d been like a ghost finding joy in nothing after her experience at Orlov’s hands. Both of them hoped the interest in their engagement would die down enough to cut back on the demands from the publicist.
Andy jumped up from the sofa. “I guess I should be going.”
“Are you driving to Boston to see Val?” Blaire asked.
“No, but I’m seeing her Saturday evening.”
Blaire inclined her head, a sadness flitted over her face. Grant could curse his sister for her stubbornness. He had not spoken to Val since he issued his ultimatum and it looked like his sister followed his advice to lose his number.
That Saturday, ten days after declaring their engagement, his woman begged him for a weekend lazing around the penthouse. Everyone from politicians to fashion houses wanted a piece of Blaire. At first she was excited, but the thrill faded after the first few nights of endless cocktail and dinner parties. Sometimes they had to squeeze in two events in one evening but that soon got old for his fiancée. Grant was used to the fast-paced nightlife because he usually did it for business, although rarely for pleasure.
“I’m tired of smiling when my feet hurt,” Blaire whined as she plopped in front of the kitchen counter and welcomed the mug of coffee Grant set in front of her. “And it’s ridiculous the amount of clothes these designers send me. They’re sending me size zeros. Do I look like a size zero to you?”
Grant rounded the kitchen counter and hugged her from behind, kissing her temple. “You’re a size sexy-as-fuck.”
Blaire giggled. “Great answer. Have these people seen my ass?”
“It’s a very nice ass.”
“Thank you. I’m a six and on my off days I could be an eight. Maybe it’s my skinny legs that make me look like a zero.”
Grant nipped her ear. “Your legs aren’t skinny, they fit around my hips perfectly with enough meat for my fingers to grip.” As I nail you to the wall.
“Meat?” Blaire cast him a dubious sideways glance. “That’s not a sexy description.”
He kissed her exposed shoulder. She was wearing a robe, belted loosely over her sleeping tank and shorts. “Hmmm … did I ruin my chances for morning sex?”
“Grant Thorne, shame on you,” Blaire said in mock rebuke. “You woke me at four this morning.”
“That was a pre-dawn fuck.”
“Not to mention how you fucked me right by the elevators when we arrived at the penthouse last night,” his woman grumbled.
“That was a make-up fuck.” Grant smiled against her skin.
The night prior, they had a fight. It started with a disagreement regarding the wedding date before they left for the Harvest Gala. The barbs continued on the way to the event, and when they arrived, Grant wanted nothing more than to bundle Blaire back into the vehicle so they could continue their discussion. Instead, his frustration grew and smiling became a chore, so he quit forcing one.
“Would you please try to smile,” Blaire whispered, annoyance drawing her brows together. “One would think you’re facing a death sentence instead of having just gotten engaged.”
Grant bared his teeth. “Better?”
Blaire’s jaw turned mulish. “December is too soon. What’s wrong with waiting until May?”
“Are your feelings going to change between now and May?” he challenged. “Mine won’t.”
“That’s an unfair question.”
“I get the feeling you’re hedging—that you’re unsure about something.”
Blaire looked away uncomfortably.
Grant suppressed the urge to drag her into a deserted hallway and kiss her into submission. He needed a drink. “I’m going to the bar. Want me to get you a glass of cabernet?”
Her expression softened as she glanced at him. “That would be nice.”
He gave her a chaste peck on the lips and nodded to the silent auction table. “Why don’t you find something for us?”
Grant took that opportunity to give them both a breather, resisting the instinct to glance back and check on her. There was no reason for him to act paranoid. The Diplomatic Security Service was in charge of safeguarding the event because there were several high-profile foreign dignitaries in attendance. Blaire was as safe as she could get.
As he waited his turn at the bar, he mulled over the real reason why he was pushing for a December wedding. It wasn’t the date itself, but a tactic to find out what she wasn’t telling him. But unlike the uncertainty that hounded him in the beginning of their relationship, he felt an openness in communicating his thoughts without the fear of sending her running. Blaire changed him in a fundamental way as the instinct to shutdown when he got pissed had diminished. Elation expanded in his chest with this self-discovery. His eyes sought her in the room. His gaze narrowed. Well, something else hadn’t changed.
His possessiveness.
A man was busy chatting up his fiancée by the auction table. Grant recognized him as an upstate NY state representative who had recently gra
bbed the headlines. Abandoning the quest for drinks, he made his way back to his woman.
“You were a total caveman,” Blaire sighed, bringing his attention back to the present. It took Grant a moment to register that she was referring to the elevator sex. Her eyes flashed as she pushed against his chest. “Oh … oh… and I had to stop you from going all alpha male at the auction table. You’re lucky I saved you from getting hauled off by the Secret Service.”
“That punk-ass congressman had his hand on your back. He had no reason to touch you,” Grant shot back. “And it’s the DSS, baby. The Secret Service protects—”
“Stop,” Blaire cut in dryly. “I don’t need a lecture on federal security agencies. If I need to know, I’ll Google it. My point is I could have handled the situation. I was about to move away when you swooped in like some knight about to rescue a damsel in distress.”
“My job is to protect you,” he growled. “Besides, all I wanted was to talk to him.”
Blaire eyed him dubiously. “Somehow I have a feeling that chat would end up with me bailing you out of jail this morning.” She patted his cheek. “Aren’t you glad I saved our weekend?” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “We argued about this ad nauseam on the way home last night. Are you plotting another makeup-sex session?”
Grant grinned crookedly and scratched the scruff at his jaw. “Is it working?”
She laughed and went on tiptoes to kiss him. “Thanks for defending my honor.”
“Anytime.”
“Love you, Mr. Thorne,” Blaire said softly as a tender look crossed her face. “Glad you didn’t freeze me out despite looking like you were about to lose your mind.”
“I’ll never shut you out again,” Grant promised. “Especially since the make-up sex is so good.” His hand slipped inside her robe and stroked her breast.
“Be serious, Grant.”
“I am, baby,” he said. “I’ve made huge mistakes in our relationship that caused you so much pain, both physically and mentally—”
“Never blame yourself for what Orlov did.”
Captive Lies Page 25
