Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality (6 page)

store.”

Spotting the “Sur Le Table” sign he must be talking about, I turn to

Liam and reach for my suitcase. “Thanks for the ride.”

He holds on to both of my bags. “You’re alone in a new city. I’m not

letting you go inside an apartment you’ve never seen before by yourself.”

“The driver—”

“Has been tipped well.” He motions me forward and starts walking,

effectively giving me no room to argue.

Staring after him, I am on unsteady ground, inexperienced with a

man as dominant and stubborn as this one. I didn’t think this part of the

evening through when I accepted the ride. I have no idea what awaits me at

the apartment. What if there is something I can’t let Liam see?

Double-stepping in my high heels and not all that gracefully, I catch

up to him. “You really don’t have to—”

He cuts me a sideways look. “Right. I don’t have to. You don’t have

to. But we are, baby, and we both know it.”

My heart sputters at the obviously naughty sexual reference. “I was

talking about walking me to the door. You don’t have to walk me to the

door.”

He shoots me an evil smile. “I wasn’t.”

“Liam—”

“Amy.” We stop at an elevator and he punches the button,

amusement dancing in his eyes. “When do you start work?”

The elevator dings and opens. “I don’t know.” I dart inside the car,

trying to think of an answer that isn’t a lie.

He steps in beside me and punches the button. “You don’t know?”

“I’m supposed to get settled first.”

He scowls, and even his scowl is handsome. “How well do you know

your new employer?”

Now I scowl. “How well does anyone know their employer?”

“You moved here for this person.”

“A job is not a person, and I know just as much about him as I do

you.” The elevator opens again and I don’t give him time for a rebuttal. I

step into a carpeted hallway that reminds me of a hotel corridor and note

the sign pointing me to my right.

“Your boss didn’t make sure you got here safely tonight,” he points

out as he joins me, and we make our way to the last apartment at the end

of the hallway. “I did. Do you have your key?”

I hold it up between two fingers and stop in front of the assigned

door. I just can’t think of it as “my door”. “I’m all set.”

“I’m coming in to make sure you’re safe.”

“This is good,” I assure him quickly.

“You have no idea what waits on you inside.”

Exactly. “An empty apartment and I don’t know you, Liam. I can’t

invite you inside.”

And I have no idea what makes me say it, but I add, “Not tonight.”

“That’s better than not ever,” he comments. “But I’m not a serial

killer and for all I know, your new boss is. Let me check the place out for

you. You can stay outside while I do.”

“I’m not letting you in.”

He leans in close and presses his hand on the door above me. I can

feel the heat rushing off his body. And as silly as it seems, I can’t explain it,

but I can almost taste the masculine scent of him. Or maybe I just want to

taste
him
. “I’m going to get a room across the street,” he informs me.

“Your hotel is across the street?”

“It is now. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with a list of restaurants

open at this time of the night we can choose from. My name is Liam Stone,

Amy. Look me up on your computer. Then you’ll know I’m trustworthy.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

“Or enough clothes to be moving from state to state.”

I left myself wide open for that one. “I had them shipped along with

my computer.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Right. Of course. Look me up. Use your

cell phone.”

“It’s broken. I have to get a new one tomorrow.”

“It’s broken.” His tone is flat.

“Yes. It’s broken.”

He considers me a moment. “Stay here and don’t go inside yet.”

Without further explanation, he walks toward the elevator.

Confused, I open my mouth to call after him and snap it shut. It’s

midnight. People are sleeping. He steps into the elevator and regardless of

what he’s planning I know he’ll be back, which means I need to act fast. I

unlock the door, flip on the light and tug my suitcase and bag along with

me.

A small hallway leads past a kitchen to my left and directly into a

large open-concept dining and living area. Thankfully, I do have furniture,

which is more than I had when I was sent to New York. I scan and quickly

dismiss the overstuffed brown couch and two chairs. It’s the envelope

sitting on a simple wooden dining table that has my attention. I set my bag

down and sink into one of four chairs, reaching for the envelope. The

contents I find inside are disappointingly uninformative. There is only a

lease to the apartment with a note telling me to sign it and drop it by a real

estate agent’s office. The first month’s rent is paid. Nothing else.

Absolutely nothing. No information about what has happened. No

words to explain the threat I might be under. No triangle symbol. It’s not

there. My heart starts to race. There is supposed to be a symbol on any

instructions I get. I don’t know what this means. Maybe he thought this

note was an extension of the last so it didn’t need it? I can’t think. I have to

get rid of Liam and go to a bank machine and see how much money I have

to live on. Should I run? I don’t know. I just don’t know. I have to take one

thing at a time. Liam first. The rest later.

Shoving away from the table, I rush back to the door, and open it,

gasping when I find Liam standing there, dark blue t-shirt stretched over his

impressive chest, and he doesn’t look happy. “I told you not to go inside. It

wasn’t safe.”

If having him, or anyone for that matter, worry about me didn’t feel

so good I might have bristled at his reprimand. “Well,” I say, “as you see, I

did go inside, and I’m happy to report that Godzilla is nowhere in sight.”

He does not look any more pleased than moments before. “We’ll talk

about that later.”

My brows dip. I’m not sure I’m processing all content properly right

now. Why wasn’t the symbol on the note? “Talk about what?”

“Later,” he repeats tightly, and hands me an iPad. “My Wikipedia

page is up. Look it over. There’s a hotel directly across the street. I’ll get a

room and suggestions for places to eat that will still be open.”

My eyes go wide. “You have a Wiki page?”

“Yes. I have a Wiki page, and despite the unauthorized information it

contains, it’s fairly accurate. I’m going to check into my hotel. I’ll be back to

get you in a few.” He starts to turn away.

“Liam, wait.” He pauses and looks at me. “You do know that I don’t

have a Wiki page.

I’m not a model or an actress or a celebrity of any kind. I’m not even

a secret heiress to a mega-fortune.”

“You’re you. That’s what counts.” He turns away again and I don’t

stop him.

You’re you,
he’d said. Only that’s the whole problem. I’m not me.

Chapter Five

Rich, sexy, and powerful no longer seems an adequate description.

Liam Stone is, per Wikipedia, a reclusive billionaire and philanthropist who

lost both of his parents at a young age and was taken in by one of the most

famous architects who ever lived. Liam inherited his mentor’s extreme

wealth and apparently, his skill. At the young age of thirty-one (apparently

most architects are older when, and if, they become established) Liam is

the highest-paid living architect, and is considered an architectural prodigy.

Setting the iPad aside, I press my fingers to my throbbing temples.

It’s almost comical that I actually thought Liam could be my handler. He has

far more to occupy himself with than little ol’ me, and I really don’t know

why he’s hovering around me at this point. Well, except maybe he just

wants to have sex. I’m not above admitting it’s on my mind. Heck, maybe I

should just embrace a potential one-night stand and let Liam take me away

for a few hours. Whatever awaits me tomorrow will still await me

tomorrow. It might even stop me from melting down. So why do I feel so

let down that this thing with him isn’t more? I can’t have more. There is

no “more” for me. I went to the door to get rid of him. When he comes

back I should pretend I’m not here.

A knock sounds and I discard the idea of not seeing Liam again,

jumping to my feet and rushing past the kitchen. Afraid I might talk sense

into myself, I waste no time opening the door, and then almost swallow my

tongue with the impact Liam Stone has on me standing there. He might be

a billionaire, able to afford the finest of fine, but the man does a pair of

faded Levi’s and a t-shirt as right as they can be done. And he does it while

looking at me like I’m the dinner and he’s going to lick me off the plate.

“Done with your research?” he queries.

“Yes. I read your Wiki page.”

“And?”

“You’re rich, talented, and why are you at my door again?”
And why

am I not sending
you away?

“Because you haven’t invited me in yet.”

“You sure don’t seem like a recluse to me.”

His lips quirk and he straightens, and before I can blink he’s advanced

on me, his hands coming down on my shoulders, his big body crowding into

the apartment. “Liam,” I object. Sort of. Actually, I’m not sure I object at all.

“Amy,” he counters.

My nerves prickle. “Don’t do that.”

He kicks the door shut, pressing me against the wall, his powerful

thighs encasing mine.

“Do what, baby?”

The endearment does funny things to my stomach and so does the

solid wall of his chest beneath my fingers. “Mock me when I say your

name.”

“Ah, now, little Amy, I assure you I am not mocking you. I already told

you how hot it makes me when you say my name.”

I am so not skilled at this flirtatious word game he is playing, so I

resort to what I do well. “I didn’t invite you in.”

“No?” he asks, his eyes alight with sexy amusement.

“No,” I reply and while I am nervous, out of my league with a man

this experienced, this incredibly sexy, his playfulness somehow takes the

edge off.

“Yes, well,” he says, his voice holding a hint of evil mischief, “I prefer

privacy when I kiss you. We recluses are like that.”

My nerves shoot to the sky.
Kiss me
. He wants to kiss me. I
want
him

to kiss me. “You’re no recluse,” I accuse, wondering how the Wiki got that

so very wrong.

His eyes darken, narrow. “Then how would you describe me, Amy?”

he asks, his voice low, gravelly. Affected. By me. The idea is exciting and

frightening all at once.

“Demanding,” I say, and I sound as breathless as I feel.

His fingers curve around my neck, tugging my mouth near his, teasing

me with the promise of a kiss. “You have no idea just how demanding I can

be.” And with that erotic promise, his tongue slices into my mouth, a silky,

hot caress that seems to touch every inch of my now tingling body. The

taste of him, of hot passion and desire, sizzles through my senses, and my

fingers splay on the hard wall of his chest.

A low groan escapes his throat and his hand caresses over my hip and

palms my backside, pulling my hip flush with his, his thick erection pressing

into my belly. “I’ve wanted to taste you since the moment I saw you in the

terminal,” he murmurs, and his breath is warm, a wicked seduction against

my mouth.

“Feel free to do it again,” I whisper, and I am surprised at the

boldness of my words. But then, I’ve never had anyone as tantalizingly male

as Liam Stone to inspire me.

“I’m going to do a whole lot more than kiss you, baby,” he promises,

and his mouth covers mine, his tongue once again pressing past my lips,

and I feel the lick between my thighs, in the deep throb of my sex. I have

never wanted like this and I like it far too much to let inexperience, or a

note on a bathroom mirror, interfere. This is one night for me. One night.

Where that concept had bothered me before, it feels remarkably

liberating now.

My nerves have nothing on my desire to lose myself in this amazing

man, who is like no one I have ever known, who I will probably never see

again. Determined to enjoy every minute with him, and every inch of him

while I’m at it, I sink into the kiss, my tongue caressing his, drinking him in.

Boldly, I slip my hands under his shirt, my palms flattening on hard muscle

beneath warm, taut skin. Touching him is wonderful, addictive. I am

trembling inside, aroused in a way no man has ever made me feel.

Confidence builds inside me and my hand strokes a path down his

zipper. His hand goes to mine and he tears his mouth from mine, his fingers

move from my neck, tangling in my hair, tugging me backwards with a

gentle, erotic force. “How old are you?”

The questions shatters a little part of me not even fully realized. This

is not a reaction a girl wants when touching a man. “Why does that

matter?”

“How old, Amy?”

“Twenty-four.” I don’t even know why I answer. I shouldn’t have

answered.

“How many men have you fucked?”