Escaping Reality by Lisa Renee Jones
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
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
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