Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(34)

“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, comfortably, we fall into step together, silence settling 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.