Escaping Reality

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