Escaping Reality

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