Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(9)

“I’ll hold you to that,” I finally say, unable to find even a thread of jest to lace the words.

I watch his eyes flicker, the color diluting to a soft blue then darkening again, and I am not sure how to read the meaning when he is otherwise guarded, as much a mystery as who I am running from. “Good,”

he replies simply before he leans back fully into his seat.

I let my head drop to the cushion, and for a few minutes I indulge in a fantasy about Liam to keep the monsters of my past at bay. But as the hum of the engine starts working me over again, flickering images of the past begin to slip inside my head, and I start to unravel. I’m not going to be able to sit here without getting lost in my own head and going crazy. A flash of flames has me jerking to a sitting position and my hands go to my face, my elbows to my knees.

I can feel the heaviness of Liam’s attention. He’s looking at me but I don’t want to look at him. If I do, I will talk to him. I will ask him questions.

He will ask me questions.

“Amy?”

His voice slides through me, and somehow it manages to be soothing, warm comfort and sensual fire at the same time. Not for the first time, I’m baffled by the way a man I barely know manages to be silk on my raw nerves, but I’m not going to overanalyze it. I have to hold myself together until I’m someplace safe enough to cave to a little temporary weakness, and he feels like the answer. He’s what will get me through this flight. I sit back to look at him, and though I’m perfectly aware that he is a heavy dose of delicious man, my heart still races as I blink his dark good looks and his piercing blue eyes into view.

He sets his pencil down on his tray and abandons his work for me, giving me a concerned assessment. “Everything okay?” he asks, and I think of him as a gentle lion in that moment, only it is me who is purring under his powerful male attention.

“Fine,” I reply, because “fine” is nothing but a word. There is no agreement on my end, no lie. I tilt my head back. Liam closes his tray and does the same, sticking his pad beside his seat.

With both our heads on our cushions, for several seconds we stare at each other and for moments I am lost in the deep blue pools of his eyes.

“You do know,” he says slowly, “that as a man I’ve been taught that a woman never means ‘fine’ when she says ‘fine’, right?”

I might have smiled another day, but not this one. “I guess we all have our own ways of defining fine.”

He studies me a moment, then another, and I have the impression he’s trying to understand me. I want to tell him “good luck”. I don’t even understand me. “You don’t want to sleep.”

Somehow I don’t openly react to the surprising change of subject and too accurate of an observation. Dodge and weave, I tell myself. Dodge and weave. “I don’t like to sleep in public places.”

“Talk to me, Amy,” he murmurs softly.

“Talk to you?” I ask. I want to talk to him. That’s the problem.

“You need to fill the empty space in your head, and right now, talking is your only method of doing that.”

I try to joke away his suggestion. “And you’d rather talk to a stranger than have her fall asleep and get you in trouble with the flight attendant again?”

“We aren’t strangers anymore, and I find the idea of occupying your time increasingly appealing.” His eyes light. “So use me, baby.”

The air crackles between us and there is no denying the growing attraction I have for this man. “Fine, then. I’d love to hear about the project you’re traveling to Denver to discuss.”

“There isn’t a lot to tell yet. It’s a typical property development deal.

A group of deep pockets get together and aspire for greatness that equates to dollar signs in their eyes. In this case, it’s a plan to create the world’s largest event center, complete with concert facilities, a shopping mall, and an office complex.”

He sounds blasé when I’m excited just hearing about the project, and I find I’m more curious about Liam than ever—enough to be nosy. “Are you one of those deep pockets?”

“There are too many egos fighting in one room for me on this one.

Egos translate to delays and problems.”

He didn’t deny he has deep pockets. I was right. He is money, sex, and power. “So then, what’s your role, if not investor?”

“I’m the architect they want to design the project.”

I sit up straighter at this surprising news. “You’re an architect?”

“Yes.”

“An architect that could create a project of the magnitude you just described?”

“Yes.”

“Would I know any of your work?”

“I’ve done a few high-profile projects.”

I frown. “Isn’t this where you drop names and impress me?”

“Do I need to impress you?”

My cheeks heat. “No. I…most people…”

“I’m not most people.”

No. No, he most definitely is not most people. “Have you thought about your design for this project?”

“I’ve drafted my vision, but I already know it’s not likely to please the financiers.”