Read Escaping Reality Page 12


  has pleased him. He walks toward me, his jacket gone, his lean masculinity

  accented by the dark dress pants and a fitted blue shirt; he is power and

  grace, the epitome of dark good looks.

  The instant he is before me, I am captivated by his deep, blue stare,

  lost in a sea of warm, drugging waters, and I do not speak. I want to swim

  just a little longer, but too quickly, his gaze lowers to the box I am holding

  and my gut twists with the knowledge that my time is up. I hold it out to

  him. “I can’t take this.” And while I am proud of how strong my voice

  sounds, my hand shakes, practically drawing a storyboard of my emotions

  that Liam is too smart to miss. Anger fills me at how the past has made me

  weak. I should never have taken the job at the museum and let it back into

  my life. But then, I would never have met Liam and I’m not sure I can wish

  him away, even if I have to walk away.

  “Let’s talk about it over dinner.”

  I shake my head, more at my desire to agree than at his words. “I

  can’t go to dinner. I can’t see you anymore.” I sound like I mean it. Almost.

  Those piercing blue eyes sharpen, and the dark edginess he wears

  like a second skin ramps up about a hundred notches. Seconds tick by and I

  try to think of some appropriate thing to say when I of all people know less

  is better. Should I turn and leave? Yes. I should leave.

  Actually, I’m still holding the phone. He needs to take the phone. He

  takes the phone but he doesn’t stop there. He laces the fingers of his free

  hand with mine. “Come with me.”

  My eyes go wide and I don’t have time to argue. He’s already tugging

  me along with him and not toward his hotel room, and I don’t have time to

  consider why that disappoints me. Not when he’s headed toward the exit,

  which most likely means he intends to go to my apartment, where he will

  discover the delivery of my things has not taken place.

  Desperation kicks in and I rush forward, putting myself in front of

  him, flattening the hand he isn’t holding on his chest and digging in my

  heels. “Take me to your room.” I can’t even believe I’ve just said that, but

  the warm spot in my belly won’t let me take it back.

  Liam’s jaw flexes. “You can’t see me anymore but you want me to

  take you to my room?”

  His voice is tight, a band of steel wrapping each word. He’s angry. I

  don’t know why, though the possibilities are many. I’ll figure it out when

  we are effectively detoured from my apartment and what will surely lead

  him to dig where it is dangerous to dig. “Yes. Yes. I want to go to your

  room. I need to, ah…lick your tattoo goodbye.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  My cheeks heat at the edge I’ve heard in his voice but I will myself

  past my discomfort and recover. “Liam—”

  He takes a small step and I dig in my heels and wrap my fingers

  around his shirt, wrinkling the fine material. Direct is all I have left. “I don’t

  want to go to my apartment.”

  “We aren’t.” This time he firmly sets me aside, and before I can so

  much as yelp, he has my hand in his, and we are in pursuit of the exit.

  I follow eagerly, trying not to look around me, and spot attentive

  observers of our exchange. For a supposed recluse and a woman on the

  run, I’m pretty sure we’ve made our second scene of the day together and

  I’m not looking for a third. We pass the sliding glass doors and I avoid the

  gaze of the doorman.

  Liam cuts us away from my apartment to the sidewalk on our right,

  where people stroll here and there, and thankfully the wind is milder and

  my skirt stays at my knees. I cast Liam a sideways look. “Where are we

  going?”

  He stops abruptly and faces me. “The phone’s in your name. You

  have to talk to them about the service.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment hits me hard and fast. I’ve become

  complicated. He’s ready to cut all ties. His "not going anywhere" vow sure

  didn’t last. But…he’s holding my hand. Why would he hold my hand if he

  was cutting all ties? It’s not like he’d worry I’d bolt and he loses the phone.

  He’s a freaking billionaire.

  “Oh?” he prods.

  “Oh,” I repeat to keep myself from saying something like "can we go

  back to the hotel and start this night over?" when I need to stick to my

  plan. Saying goodbye is the right thing to do. “I’m not phone savvy,” I finally

  manage. “If you need me to go with you I will.” My gaze manages to flicker

  to our connected hands and the quick pinch in my chest that has me jerking

  my eyes back to Liam’s. “Where is it?”

  “Two blocks.” This time, his gaze drops and not to our hands, but to

  my feet, where it lingers and then rakes hotly up my body. Jared’s

  inspection this morning had been a bit too familiar. Liam’s is downright

  wicked. And oh my, I am hot all over and tingling in places I shouldn’t be

  tingling in public. He knows, too. I see it in the quirk of his lips, the gleam in

  his eyes as he asks, “Can you walk that far in those shoes?”

  “After walking around New York for years, my feet are oblivious to

  pain. I can walk.” Or I might stand here in the beam of his scorching gaze

  and melt in my shoes. He still wants me, but it will be cold comfort in my

  empty bed tonight. I’m letting him go. He’s letting me go. I’m complicated.

  I’m always complicated.

  I start to turn, to get this over with, but his fingers curl on my elbow

  and he pulls me close, his legs pressing to mine, sending waves of heat

  through me. And just like that, everything but Liam fades away. There are

  no people walking about, no doorman a few steps away, no horns honking.

  There is just me and this man, and I tingle with awareness, alive when I was

  barely living before meeting him. There are many things I want to say to

  him but cannot. I am confused and conflicted in all ways possible with this

  man, stuck between right and wrong.

  “Liam—”

  “Amy,” he says softly, his tone just sharp enough to be warning, a

  command of silence, and maybe he simply wants me to stop arguing with

  him, but in my mind, he is saving me from something I might say and we

  both will regret.

  “Yes,” I say as if he’s actually issued the warning, and wishing he’d

  say whatever he stopped me to say. Wishing it would be something magical

  that made everything all right. “Let’s go to the store, Liam.”

  I do not know why I said his name. Why I felt the absolute need to

  say it, or why it lingered on my lips almost wistfully, but his eyes narrow, his

  head tilting slightly and there is no question he’s noticed. I hold my breath,

  not sure what he will say. Not sure what I want him to say. Not sure what

  he intended when he pulled me close. But when he finally replies, I get

  nothing more than, “Yes. Let’s go to the store.”

  Air trickles from my lips and I am both relieved and disappointed by

  his non-response.

  But he does not allow distance between us, drawing my hand in his

  again as he turns us forward.

  Easily, co
mfortably, we fall into step together, silence settling

  between us and I find myself obsessing about our fingers twined together.

  About what that means about his intentions and even mine.

  Too quickly we are at the store and Liam releases my hand to open

  the door. I freeze with a jolt of reality. We are not one but two again, and

  he may never touch me again. Once we are done here, we are…done.

  Emotion wells in my chest and I can feel Liam looking at me, willing me to

  look at him, but I can’t. Not without forgetting why I have to do this.

  Feet heavy as lead, I walk into the store, the cool air conditioning

  adding to the chill I have suddenly developed. Hugging myself, I stop just

  inside the entrance and see phone displays in the center of the store,

  accessories hanging on the walls and a small service counter in the back.

  Liam steps beside me, and as if washing away my fear he will never touch

  me again, his hand settles on my back. The touch is electric, sizzling down

  my spine and washing away the cold.

  “Hi, folks.” The greeting comes from a lanky guy no more than

  twenty, with dark, wavy hair and black, thick-rimmed glasses, wearing a

  store t-shirt, who stops in front of us. “I’m Scott.

  Can I help you?”

  “We need to have you look up our account information,” Liam states.

  Scott shoves his glasses up his nose and indicates a counter in the

  back of the store. We follow him there and Liam does not remove his hand

  from my back. We stop at the counter and Scott walks behind it, pulling a

  keyboard closer to him. “What can I help you with?”

  Liam sets the phone on the counter. “Can you confirm the name on

  the account and who has access?”

  Scott’s face pinches. “Only if I’m talking to the person who owns the

  account, and surely they would know this information already.”

  “Not if a good friend set the account up for them,” Liam corrects.

  “Then I need the ID of whoever is on the account,” Scott replies. He

  obviously takes his job seriously and I have to respect the guy, considering

  how I value my privacy.

  Liam glances at me. “He’ll need your ID.”

  I’d seen this coming, but as I open my purse a sliver of unease ripples

  down my spine as a thought hits me. Is this Liam’s way of seeing my driver’s

  license? I remove my driver’s license that reads Amy Bensen and it hits me

  that it is a Colorado license. Liam is a smart man. This is going to make him

  ask questions.

  I slide the card forward face down and hold my breath in hopes that

  Scott is discreet. He lifts it and sets it on a keyboard beneath the counter,

  out of sight, and I let out a breath. He keys in my information. “What phone

  number do you have a question about, Ms. Bensen?”

  The way he says it, like I have another one on file, is curious. I barely

  stop myself from asking. “I don’t have it memorized.”

  “303-222-1018,” Liam supplies by memory.

  “You remembered it that quickly?”

  “I’m a numbers guy.”

  The mental image of all those numbers trailing from his belly button

  down to some delicious destination I’ve yet to explore and never will

  thickens my throat. “Yes. I suppose you are.”

  “Got it,” Scott informs us. “What do you need to know, Ms. Bensen?”

  “She needs to know if anyone else is on the account,” Liam answers.

  Scott looks at me for confirmation and I’m not sure where Liam is

  going with this but I’d like to get there with him sooner than later. “Is

  there?”

  “Nope,” Scott answers. “Just you.”

  “And the bills go to her directly?” Liam asks.

  Scott glances at me. “You can speak freely. Please tell him whatever

  he wants to know.”

  “The account is paid for a year in advance. Statements do go to you

  directly, Ms. Bensen, and any extra charges would therefore be payable by

  you.”

  “Does the account have a password of any type?” Liam asks.

  Scott punches a key on his computer. “No password set up.”

  Liam opens the box and takes the phone out. “Throw that away.”

  “What about the paperwork?” Scott asks.

  “That’s why we have the internet.” Liam’s attention shifts to me but

  he speaks to Scott.

  “Walk her through setting it up.”

  Scott starts speaking, but I tune him out, focused solely on Liam. His

  eyes hold mine and I feel the connection between us. He never intended to

  return the phone. This was never about things getting too complicated. He

  held onto my hand to hold onto me. I should have seen that, but let my

  state of mind and inexperience with a man like Liam make me a little crazy.

  He steps closer to me, sweeping a strand of hair behind my ear, his

  fingers brushing my skin and sending a shiver down my spine. “You need

  the phone,” he says softly. “Set up the password. You can change it at any

  time.” He glances at Scott. “And she can change her number if she needs to

  as well, correct?”

  “Yes,” Scott agrees. “If there is a reason she needs to change it she

  just needs to call in and provide account validation.”

  Liam leans down, his hand settling possessively on my waist,

  branding me. I want to be branded by this man. “If you ever really want to

  get rid of me,” he whispers, “you can always change your number.”

  If I ever really want to get rid of him. He didn’t believe my lie. I didn’t

  either.

  ***

  A few minutes later, I’ve tucked my cell phone into my pocket and let

  Liam hold the door for me to exit the store. Pausing, I wait for him to join

  me, instinctively scanning the still-busy sidewalk illuminated by a

  combination of moonlight and street lanterns.

  “How about that dinner?” Liam asks, stepping beside me, and just

  that easily I’ve forgotten my surroundings and there is only him.

  “Earlier,” I start, “back at the hotel. Liam, when I said what I said. I…”

  Still need to say goodbye, but I can’t seem to get the words out.

  He steps closer to me, sliding his hand to my face. “If you tell me you

  don’t want to be with me. I will listen. I won’t like it, but I’ll listen. I need

  you to know that. But when you say you ‘can’t’ be with me, like some

  obstacle out of your control is stopping you from seeing me, I’m not going

  to listen.”

  I am stunned and happy and confused and freaked out all at once. It

  is as if he has reached inside my head and ticked off every possible thing I

  could need him to say but it also means he sees too much. And yet…not

  enough. I have never wanted to bare my soul to anyone and I do now to a

  man I barely know.

  “Liam—”

  He brushes his lips over mine, and while I have no idea what was

  going to come out of my mouth, I think this is another case of him saving

  me from saying something we both might regret. “Let’s go eat, baby.”

  Let’s go eat, baby. I like how familiar this sounds. How not alone it

  makes me feel. “Yes,”

  I whisper, willing accepting the reprieve I am certain he has

  intention
ally offered me. “Let’s go eat.”

  His eyes light with approval, his fingers lacing with mine, and in silent

  agreement we begin to walk and my mind replays that first time I’d seen

  Liam in the airport. Even from across a room, he’d spoken to me. I think of

  making love to him. I think of him picking me up today from the store and

  then kissing me in front of the hotel. I think of every second I’ve spent with

  this man, so absorbed that I blink and we are stopped at a restaurant a few

  doors down from Liam’s hotel. Suddenly, I realize that for all of my thinking

  I managed on this walk, remarkably, there’s one thing I haven’t had on my

  mind. Godzilla. I have not thought about what monster is watching or

  lurking around the corner. And Liam did that for me.

  He holds the door to the restaurant open for me and for a moment I

  just stare at him, this brilliantly talented, amazingly generous man, who

  epitomizes tall, dark, and handsome, and I think I am crazy. Crazy for him.

  And I’m selfish. So very selfish because I have been alone and now he is

  here and I don’t know how I can walk away from him. I don’t deserve him

  and he absolutely does not deserve me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ten minutes after arriving for our reservations at North, a chic

  modern restaurant with frosty dangling lights and steel and glass tables,

  Liam and I are sitting inside a high-backed half-moon-shaped booth that

  seems to hug us in privacy. Our twenty-something attractive blonde

  waitress takes our orders of pasta and salads, batting her eyes at Liam in

  the process, clearly smitten with him, but then so are most of the females

  in the place from what I could tell on our arrival. He, however, is a perfect,

  suave gentlemen, neither disrespectful to her nor encouraging for that

  matter, casting me warm looks in the process. I am charmed and

  remarkably at ease with her flirtation considering my inexperience and his

  good looks.

  Reluctantly the woman tears her eyes from Liam and departs, and a

  waiter appears by our table with the insanely expensive bottle of

  champagne Liam has ordered for us. Once the top has been popped and

  our glasses are filled, Liam and I are finally alone.

  Liam lifts his glass, shifting in his seat to stare down at me and his

  blue eyes might as well be red fire, they burn so hot. “To new friends and