Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(33)

“Whoa,” he murmurs. “What just happened?”

I can’t open my eyes. I don’t even try. “Blood sugar,” I whisper, reverting to the excuse I’d used years before when these spells hit me. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” He sounds worried. Worried is not good.

Worried will get me an ambulance and attention I don’t need.

I inhale and the air feels like lead in my lungs, but the pain is good. It wakes me up and brings me back. “I am.” I force my lashes open and the spots begin to fade. Relief washes over me. I am already past this episode.

“Really,” I assure Jared. “ I already feel better.” Except that my hand is on his chest. Appalled, I jerk my hand back.

He chuckles. “Easy. You’ll tumble over.”

“No. I’m fine. I’m steady now.”

He hesitates but lets my arm go. “That kind of reaction will kill a man’s confidence, you know.”

I doubt seriously this man has confidence issues. “Sorry. I was just embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His voice is a gentle caress.

More of that familiarity creeps into my mind and the spot in my forehead starts to tingle at the moment my phone starts to ring again. This time the sound is music to my ears, offering me a welcome escape from another episode and from Jared.

Jared’s lips quirk. “You really need to ditch the box.”

“Or get a bigger purse,” I say, sounding like a complete idiot, which fits perfectly with me touching a stranger’s chest. I am officially ready to get the heck out of here. “Thanks for the save. I’ll see you around.” I don’t wait for an answer. For the second time today, I take off running, only this time I’m running to Liam, not away from him, and that feels so much more right than the goodbye I have to deliver with the phone in my hand.

In a short dash across the street, I approach the hotel in a gust of wind that has my dress lifting. With a gasp, I struggle to capture the skirt and juggle the phone. Somehow, I shove the material down and through the wild mass that, thanks to my new purchase, was my sleekly flat-ironed hair, I watch the doorman smirk and nod. Cheeks heating, I hurry past him, wondering if he also witnessed Liam and me tongue-dancing in front of the hotel earlier. This night is off to a grand start. I was right when I decided to change clothes. I need all the confidence I can get to survive the next fifteen minutes.

Stopping inside the doorway, I spot the sign to the restaurant/bar directly ahead. Even here, a good twenty feet away, I can already hear the rumble of voices over the sound of music coming from inside the archway entry. I might not know Liam well, but my instincts say he will not like my choice of meeting location.

As if he’s heard me, Liam exits the bar, irritation etched on his handsome face, and his eyes collide with mine.

His expression softens and warms, and I watch the frustrations of moments before melt away, as if seeing me makes everything all right. I do not move to meet him, frozen in the bittersweet knowledge that seeing me 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.”