Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality (20 page)

make them go away.
Or they will make him go away. I can’t let that

happen.

***

I wake to the morning light and the soft rumble of Liam’s voice from

someplace not far away, and I smile with the realization that I am naked

and I did not have a nightmare last night.

Thanks to Liam, I am certain who spent the night with his big body

wrapped around mine. His big, sexy body, I amend. I am sated and relaxed.

Safe
. I feel safe with Liam.

Rolling over in the big, comfortable bed, I watch the curtain flutter

over the sliding glass window only a few feet away, confirming Liam’s

location. “I’m not meeting with him today, Derek,” I hear him say, sounding

more than a little displeased. “Forget it. I have plans I’m not giving up for

that jackass. Monday.” A pause. “Yeah, well, he’s lucky I’m motivated to

stay around Denver for a few months. And no. That’s none of your

business.”

Motivated to stay around Denver for a few months
. I revel in these

words, savoring them like I would fine wine in a bottle soon to be empty.

But he will eventually return to New York
,
where you can never go again,
I

remind myself. Eventually he will be gone.

“Good morning.”

My gaze lifts from the bed where it has fallen, to where he has

parted the curtain and is standing in the opening of the door, dressed in

nothing but a pair of blue pajama bottoms. I sit up, hugging the sheet to

myself, but I am not shy in my inspection of his body, gobbling up every

detail of this hot man I’ve had the pleasure of waking up to, from his lean,

hard body to his lightly shadowed jaw line that only makes his goatee

sexier. “You, Liam Stone, are too good looking for the safety of womankind,

and I probably look bad enough to scare small children and a few timid

animals, too.”

He laughs, and it is deep and wonderful and far better than sunshine

or cinnamon rolls in the morning. He starts toward me and I hold up my

hand. “No. Wait. Stay right there.”

Stopping in his steps, his brow furrows, and I can’t believe I’m about

to do this, but that savor-him-until-he’s-gone thing is ripe in my mind.

Throwing aside the sheet, I expose my naked body, and I don’t let the blast

of heat from Liam’s inspection slow me down. I rush forward and stand in

front of him and I am as I was last night. Exposed in the most erotic of ways.

Liam arches a brow, a question in his gorgeous blue eyes I could

drown in, and probably will before he goes back to New York. I answer his

inquiry by dropping to my knees and pressing my mouth to his tattoo, my

hands settling on his lean hips. He sucks in a breath, his body tensing ever

so slightly, and I smile against a taut muscle. I have surprised him and this

pleases me.

My gaze lifts to Liam’s and the heat I see in his stare only serves to

empower me. I lick his stomach and drag my finger down the line of

numbers until it dips beneath his waistband, a quick tease before it is gone.

“Now,” I say, “I am going to have to kiss my way down—”

A knock sounds on the door and Liam groans. I jump to my feet. “You

have company?”

He wraps me in his arms. “Room service. I thought waking you up to

breakfast in bed

was a good thing until you started licking my tattoo.”

“You were going to wake me up to breakfast in bed?”

“Then make you the second course.” Another knock sounds and he

gives me a quick kiss.

“Just to be clear. Sexy is me waking up to you in my bed and looking

just like you do now, tattoo licking optional, though not discouraged. Grab

one of my shirts. I don’t want any sneak peeks from room service. I plan to

keep you for myself.” He sets me aside and heads toward the other room.

I stare after him. He plans to keep me for himself. I fight the urge to

call him back and make him seal those words with a promise.

Chapter Fourteen

Fifteen minutes later, I sit at a table on the balcony, drinking coffee

and sampling an enormous amount of food Liam ordered to be sure I had

something I liked to eat. What I like is him bare-chested and relaxed in his

pajama bottoms, with sexy, mussed-up morning hair. And me, in his shirt,

with his scent teasing my nostrils. I have never worn a man’s shirt and that

somehow makes wearing his shirt all the more intimate.

I pluck a grape from a basket with a variety of fruits and laugh as he

argues his claim that the
Fast & Furious
movies are of cultural importance.

“And you support this claim how?”

“The movies were released over the course of a decade. One could

say they are a historical biography of the evolution of muscle cars.”

“One such as you.”

He smiles, and I swear his eyes are as perfect as the bright blue sky

shadowing him. “One such as me.”

I cover my now-empty plate that once held a fluffy cheese omelet. “Is

there a collection of muscle cars to go along with this interest?”

“No muscle cars in my garage. Too impractical. I’ll live vicariously

through the movies.”

“And here I thought you were a Bentley kind of guy.”

“I’m not a flashy guy.”

“But you love
Fast & Furious
.”

“All men love
Fast & Furious
.”

“But you are not all men, Liam.”

His shoves his empty plate aside and leans close, his elbow on the

table. “And why is that, Amy?”

“Oh, come on. You know you aren’t like other guys. You’re a prodigy,

protégé, and billionaire.”

“If I let those things become who I am, then they are all that I am.

Judge me by who I am outside those things. Who would I be if those things

were suddenly stripped away? A man who loves hamburgers,
Fast &

Furious
, Thirty Seconds to Mars, and the History Channel, which we’ve

determined we have in common.”

I laugh at the way he sums himself up, charmed by his lack of

arrogance and by the unexpected randomness of his interest. “And some

violinist—”

“David Garrett.”

“David Garrett,” I repeat, “who you swear will seduce me into loving

his music. All these pieces of you are not what I expected.”

“Is that good?” His voice is softer now, rougher.

“Yes. Yes, it’s good.”

“Unexpected and good. Much like us.”

I suck in a breath, surprised, pleased, warmed by this man in a way

the morning sunshine cannot begin to touch. “Yes,” I say, sealing my

decision to weed through all the history I have to hide, to have just a few

weeks with this man. “Unexpected.” So very unexpected.

“And good,” he prods.

I smile. “And good.”

His cell phone rings. He grimaces and hits decline, glancing at me and

answering my unasked question. “Derek, the guy I was talking to when you

woke up. He’s an investor in the building project and the only reason I

entertained the idea of being involved. He gets me and what I do.”

“Do you need to go meet with him? Because I’m fine if you do.”

“No. They’ll wait until tomorrow.” He changes the subject. “Do you

have a passport?”

My unease is instant; a fizzle of fear over his motives sparks into life. I

laugh nervously, feeling as if I have been on a casual fun drive and just got

sideswiped. “My travels have been as ambitious as sampling the various

cupcake shops around Manhattan.”

He smiles, and it is as devastatingly sexy as his tattoo. Well, almost.

“Sweet tooth?”

“Mammoth-sized, though I don’t indulge often or
I’ll
be

mammoth-sized.” I sound halfway okay, I think, but all I can think is
why
did

he ask about the passport?

He lifts the cover of a plate to display some sort of gooey chocolate

waffle concoction. “I do, too.” He hands me a fork. “I’ll dare if you will.”

I take a fork and my hand trembles. Liam gently shackles my wrist

and I inhale and look at him. “What’s wrong, Amy?”

I want to scream at my complete inability to mask my emotions with

this man. I’ve always handled myself smoothly. Okay, well, after that first

year of melting down. “I feel like I’m keeping you from work.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

You are such a liar.

His eyes narrow and I swear he knows what I am, if not who I am. I

think he will call me on my reply, but he does not. His hand slides away and

he motions to the chocolate goo on the plate. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, and I want to know why he asked about a

passport—but at this point, it would be too obvious a question and invite

more from him. I spoon up the sugary treat and take a bite.

Liam does the same, watching me as he tastes the dessert-like

breakfast item. “Good?”

“Yes. Delicious.”

“Now we have two things on our to-do list,” he says, referencing my

confession about list-making I’d shared while avoiding other personal

things, like my dead family, both the fake one and the real one.

“Two things?”

“The doctor,” he reminds me, and when I should be worried about

the passport reference that seems so bizarre, I instead remember last

night.
Until then, I’ll be fantasizing about the
moment the only thing

wrapped around me is you.

Somehow I am now both warm and cold at the same time.
“
And the

second to-do item?”

“David Garrett is touring in Europe the rest of the year. That’s why I

asked about the passport. I’d like to take to you to a concert.” His lips quirk

in that sexy way they do. “He’ll seduce you with his music and I’ll seduce

you in another country.”

Tension uncurls inside me, replaced by regret. Not only did he not

have bad intentions, he had romantic ones I don’t know if I can accept

without taking the risk that my identity would be scrutinized. “As much as I

would like to go, my job is only certain for a few months. I need to look for

something more long-term.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I sense a sharp shift in his mood, a

heaviness in the air around us that wasn’t there seconds before. “The boss

who provided you with an apartment.”

I bristle, something in his tone setting me on edge. “What does that

mean, Liam?”

“It’s not safe to go to work for a guy you don’t know and who

provides you with an apartment. Does he have access to it?”

My pulse races at the concern that mimics my own. “It’s my

apartment. He just arranged it with a realtor. I have to pay for it.”

He studies me and the seconds feel eternal before he says, “There is

something about the situation that feels wrong. I’m going to have him

checked out.”

I assume he is talking about my boss not the realtor, but either way,

this is exactly what I have feared. The more involved I am with Liam, the

more he will dig into my life. “He’s just my boss. And only for a few months.

That’s the point. I need to focus on finding another job that is more

long-term. This is a bridge job.”

“That friend of mine, Derek. He runs a large real estate investment

firm. I’ll introduce you and see if he might have anything you might be

interested in.”

I am not about to apply for work with his friend, who then would

have a human resources file on me, but I can’t say that. “Thank you.”

“And I’m going to pay your rent for a year tomorrow so you don’t

have to stress about it anymore.”

I am stunned and angry all in one blow. And hurt. I feel again like a

charity case bordering on becoming a tramp. “No. You are not.” I shove to

my feet. “I’m going to get dressed and leave.”

I barely manage to slide out of my seat before he’s in front of me and

his hand is on my arm, possessiveness in the action that I crave and reject.

Feeling vulnerable, I lash out. “I guess I pay you for my rent by fucking you

all night until we both can’t walk?” I can’t even believe I can talk like this. I

can’t believe I let myself be in this situation.

Liam looks stunned. “Where did that come from, Amy?”

“I’m not some ‘kept woman’, Liam. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“Kept woman? That’s crazy.” He softens his voice. “You have to know

that’s not how I am or how we are.”

“How can I not feel like that? I like how I feel when I’m with you,

Liam. I do. Or I did.

Except right now. I don’t like how I feel right now. I don’t want your

money, Liam.”

“It’s not about money…”

It’s not about the money.
I hear nothing else. Spots form in front of

my eyes, and a distant, unwelcome memory forces itself on me. I squeeze

my eyes shut, trying to block what I instinctively do not want to see, but it’s

too late. The past refuses to be ignored and I am transported back to Texas,

to a day when I am excitedly running up the stairs of my family home to

share my acceptance letter from the University of Texas with my mother. I

can see the blue jean skirt and red tank top I am wearing, and the smell of

the honeysuckle bushes off the side of our huge wooden porch is ripe in my

nostrils. I reach for the doorknob to open it and freeze at the sound of my

mother shouting.
It isn’t about the money. It was never about money.