Escaping Reality

“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.”
    “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