Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality (13 page)

this job is my cover story. A fake cover story. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this

is a real job, just like my lease was a real lease. The letter clearly references

a conversation with someone pretending to be me. But the instructions I

received clearly stated that I was not to get a job. Flipping open the folder,

there really are property listings. Maybe my boss isn’t real. Maybe he, like

the job, is a cover that is meant to be convincing. This is not a comforting

thought. It tells me I have reason to go deep into hiding.

I remove the computer from the box and find it’s not new, but close.

It powers right up and I create a Gmail account for Amy Bensen and email

my new boss. A muffled beeping sound reminds me the phone Liam gave

me is still in my bag by the door and I head that way, unpacking what items

need to be removed and finding the phone lit up with a text message.

Don’t eat dinner. I want to take you out.

I press the phone to my forehead and try to weigh my worries for his

safety as valid or not. I have no real reason to believe anyone but me is in

danger, and unlike Chloe, a man like Liam has the money and resources to

protect himself. But he cannot protect himself from something he doesn’t

know about and I do not know him well enough to risk trusting him, no

matter how much my gut says I can.

The phone beeps. I look at the screen.
Amy?

He’s going to call me if I don’t answer.
I’m here. I’m doing some work

my new boss gave
me. Call me when you head this direction.

Your new boss?

My brows dip.
Yes. My new boss.

Interesting. I can’t wait to hear all about him.

Avoidance mode kicks into gear.
What time will you be here?

Around six or seven. Headed into a meeting and I’m not sure how

long it will take.

I glance at the clock. It’s three. How did it get to be three?
See you

soon then.

Not soon enough.

My chest burns with what could be nothing more than a flirty

message, but it feels like more. He feels like more. The very more I have

ached for deep in my soul. Which is exactly why I have to walk away. I will

trust him. I will pull him into my hell. And then one or both of us will crash

and burn.

***

After two hours of searching the internet for clues about my new

boss to no avail, I left a message for Meg about changing the locks on my

apartment since the office was already closed.

Trying to clear my head to think straight, I decided to shower and

freshen up. For the time being, I put my shorts back on, but I will change to

meet Liam. Or not. I don’t know. I shouldn’t change. It will send the wrong

message. Seeing him again might too, but it’s a risk I have to take to return

the phone. I considered just dropping it off, but I feel I know enough about

Liam to know he will just march to my door. If I am ending this, I need to

really end it. If. No if. I am ending it. I will meet Liam at the hotel bar, nice

and public, and then be on my way.

Feeling jittery, I decide to run to the store to grab a few staples,

hoping it will work off my nerves. It doesn’t work. Thirty minutes later, I

return from the quick trip, and while I felt better while on my little

excursion, I am right back where I started the instant I step into my “fake”

apartment and more jittery than ever. I decide I probably need food and

should force myself to eat to see if it will help, though I fear it will not sit

well on my stomach. It’s not like I have to worry about ruining my dinner I

am not having with Liam.

Deciding on a can of soup, I pull out one of my new pans from a bag

and then grimace at my newfound, should-have-been-obvious problem. I

have no can opener or bowls. Paper plates are not going to cut it. Brilliant

move. Just brilliant. My list has failed me and I eagerly jump on another

excuse to get out of this cage I’m supposed to call home. The very idea that

it will ever be that is laughable. This place is not home. Home is in Texas,

where I can never return.

Considering it’s already five o’clock, and Liam should be calling soon,

I quickly find my way to the street. The instant I step off the elevator I know

this trip is different from the last.

Unease prickles through me and the hair at my nape lifts. The

sensation of being watched I’d had walking to the bank earlier is back, and

it is powerful. Each step I take seems to magnify the feeling. I speed up

more and more, until I am all but running as I cross the main street to the

grocery store.

At the door, I glance behind me, searching for the source of my

discomfort, but finding no one obvious. If I could flippantly call this

paranoia I would gladly do so, but I’ve seen death and heartache. I am not

hiding from no one and for no reason. Desperately, I wish for some sign

from my handler that I am safe in this new location with this new identity,

but even this is troubling. I am blind to the colors around me, trapped in a

world that is only black and white.

Run or be caught. Hide or die. My throat thickens. Like everyone else

I loved has died.

Inside the store, I begin to shop, and momentarily I am relieved. I am

in a public place. I am safe and the sensation of being watched is gone, but I

am deeply troubled by the idea of being watched, even by my handler.
He

saved my life
, I remind myself. He is trustworthy. No one else can be

trusted. But Liam. I play that idea over and over in my head and in every

version of how and I think of all the good ways that might end. And the

bad. I think of him being in danger. I think of me being in danger.

Quickly, I fill my basket, grabbing my staple bargain box of popcorn, a

few bowls and a cheap can opener before I head to the checkout line. I

grimace down at my basket. My popcorn requires a microwave. Craigslist or

Walmart here I come and soon, I decide. Popcorn and TV dinners are this

single girl’s staples. I’m about to remove the popcorn from my basket to

save my pennies for later, when my phone, or rather Liam’s phone, rings.

Steeling myself for the impact of his voice, I answer. “Liam?”

“Damn, woman, I like how you say my name.”

My cheeks heat with the gruffness of his tone that tells me that he

means his words. The knowledge that I affect him reaches inside me and

tightens my belly. I barely feel like I exist in this world and this rich, famous,

and impossibly delicious man makes me feel as if I do. I don’t want to let

him go. I don’t want to lie to him.

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes to pick you up.”

The announcement jerks me back into the moment. “I’m at the store.

I’ll drop off my stuff and meet you at the hotel bar.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“No. No. I want to change clothes anyway.” It’s my turn in line, and I

put my items on the belt. “I have to check out. I’ll see you soon.”

“Amy—”

I hang up and cringe. Did I really just hang up on him? I expect him to

call back but he doesn’t. Maybe I should call him back but the less I say

before “goodbye” the better. I can’t call him back. I’m still telling myself

that five minutes later when I walk out of the store with a bag that includes

popcorn I cannot even pop. Another brilliant move considering my limited

funds.

I’m just full of them. I am less worried about who might be following

me than I am who might be waiting at my door when I arrive. Crossing the

parking lot, my gaze skitters here and there, watching for the stranger.

Watching for
him.

I am about to cross the grass to the stoplight when a fancy black

sedan pulls up beside me and stops. My heart lurches and I whirl around as

the passenger window rolls down, but I cannot see the driver. Holding my

breath, I lean down to discover Liam occupies the driver’s seat, and the

man is power and sex in a black suit and a royal blue shirt that brightens his

already too blue eyes. He reaches across the car and opens the door. “Hop

in, baby.”

My stomach flutters at the endearment that he might use on all

women, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Right now, he’s using it on me. Right

now, his eyes are on me and even in the playfulness I sense in him, they are

as intense as the man. And Liam Stone is as intense as they come.

“Is this your car?” I ask, trying to decide what to do. Certain that

getting in the car with him is my ticket to being mindlessly lost in the

temptation that is Liam.

“Rental.” He arches a brow at my stillness. “If you’re worried I’ll bite,

I promise to tell you first.”

My eyes go wide before I can stop them and he laughs, a sexy, rough

sound deep from his chest. The same chest I have touched and want to

touch again. I glower at him. “I won’t.” The smart reply earns me another of

his sexy laughs, and he’s successfully seduced me right here in the spot I

stand.

Caving to the inevitable, I step forward and settle my bags on the

floorboard of the obviously expensive car. Discreetly inhaling, I steel myself

for the impact of being in a small space with him where I both long to be,

but see it for what it is. A mistake. Being near this man is not going to help

me say goodbye.

The instant I slide inside the car, expensive leather hugs my bare legs,

and Liam’s earthy scent tickles my nostrils, teasing me senseless. It’s

official. This was a mistake. A wonderful mistake. I tug the door shut,

rotating toward Liam and I am pulled into his arms, one strong hand sliding

into my hair. “Miss me?” he asks, and his breath is a hot tease on my lips.

My fingers curl on his jaw, the soft rasp of newly forming whiskers

teasing my fingers. I remember that rasp on my skin. Everything fades but

the moment and the man. No one has ever done that to me. “Did
you
miss

me
?”

“I’ll let you decide.” His mouth slants over mine, his tongue parting

my lips, caressing against mine in one lush stroke. “Do I taste like I missed

you?”

I am melting like chocolate in the hot sun, and he has barely touched

me. But I want him to. Oh yes. I want him to. “I’m still not convinced.”

His lips curve a moment before he answers me by licking wickedly

into my mouth, teasing me with two deep strokes of his tongue that leave

me darn near panting. “Any doubt I missed you now?” he challenges.

My chest burns with his reply. Liam missed me. I have been missed.

This is unfamiliar territory and I like it. And I am so not ready to let go of

this man. “If I say yes you won’t kiss me again, right?”

“I’ll do a whole lot more than kiss you when I get you alone.” His

promise is somehow both soft velvet and rough sandpaper, and the air

around us shifts, thickens, the sexual tension transforming into something I

cannot name, far deeper than simple lust. Far harder to walk away from. He

strokes a tender hand down my hair and I lean into the touch like a cat

claiming her territory when he is not mine. He will never be mine.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Is that a trick question?”

His lips curve. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” He brushes his lips over mine.

“Me too, baby.

Me too.” He releases me and leans back in his seat and I am instantly

cold where I was hot seconds before. He puts the car in drive and cuts me a

steamy blue-eyed look. “Buckle up and we’ll be at your place in no time.”

I don’t argue, eager for anything that makes me feel grounded,

certain this man will take me on a wild ride before this night is over if I let

him. And I can’t let him. I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself I will not do

anything but get out of this car. I will make small talk and ease the sexual

tension and get back where I need to be to do what I have to do.

“There’s a great Italian place next to the hotel, if you like Italian?”

My lashes lift at his question and settles on the logo on the

dashboard. “I’m a pasta addict.” I’m about to add “mostly Ramen noodles,”

but my gaze narrows on the logo on the dash and I decide he probably

doesn’t even know what Ramen is. “You rented a Bentley?”

He shrugs. “They didn’t have anything else.”

“They had nothing but a Bentley?” I don’t hide my disbelief. I’ve

never even seen a

Bentley and I figure that’s because they run in the six-figure range

and I don’t know people that pay that kind of money for a car. Really, I

don’t know many people who can even afford to park a car in New York, let

alone pay for the vehicle.

“It’s the only car I thought was good enough to drive you around in.”

“Me?” I balk, pursing my lips. “You, Liam Stone, are rich and spoiled. I

am not.”

“I’ll spoil you if you let me.” His voice is a soft, silky promise.

My chest burns with something I do not want to feel. “No.” It comes

out almost a hiss I cannot retract. “I don’t want your money.” I just want a

life.

If he notices my tone, he doesn’t show it. “Spoken like someone who