Escaping Reality

returns. “Ohhh, I’d love to try it.”
    He hands her the bottle and she takes a sip. “German?”
    “Yes. German.”
    “Try it, Amy,” Meg encourages. “German beers are completely
    different from the American version.”
    Jared hands me the bottle, a challenge in his eyes. Somehow, I feel as
    if me drinking from his bottle is some sort of ploy to tear down a wall he
    thinks will let him get closer to me, but I feel like a deer in headlights, with
    both him and Meg watching me.
    I grab the bottle and take a drink, the bitter taste filling my mouth,
    and I grimace a moment before awareness prickles down my spine. I glance
    up to find Liam striding toward us, and he is not only the picture of male
    perfection in his gray suit, his dark hair neatly groomed, his goatee finely
    trimmed, his jaw is set solid, his eyes hard. He’s pissed. He saw me drinking
    from Jared’s bottle.
    He stops beside me and takes my hand. “Let’s go, Amy.”
    I’m appalled. Did he really just order me to leave? “Liam—”
    He lowers his head and presses his mouth to my ear. “Let’s go now.”
    My emotions are a rollercoaster ride of anger, embarrassment, and
    more anger. I slip my briefcase and purse on over my shoulder and scoot
    out of my seat, and I don’t look directly at Jared or Meg. “I forgot we had a
    dinner meeting tonight.”
    “Amy—” Jared starts.
    “Don’t,” Liam says sharply.
    I pull away from him and start walking for the door. He’s behind me. I
    don’t have to look to know. I feel the predator in him. Well, he’s going to
    find out that this deer in headlights just grew fangs.

Chapter Eighteen

    I exit the restaurant and I don’t stop walking. I’m going to the
    apartment I swore I wouldn’t go back to anytime soon, not his hotel. I’ve
    spent too much time feeling like I don’t own me, and now he wants to own
    me. No. No, this is not going to happen. I’ve been “insane” over this man.
    Clearly insane.
    I’m crossing the street when Liam shackles my wrist, claiming control
    and all but dragging me with him, the big bully. “Let go, Liam.”
    “Not a chance. Not until we’re in the room.”
    “I’m not going to the room with you.”
    He doesn’t even look at me. “Like hell you’re not.”
    “I’ll make a scene.”
    He stops at the curb on the other side of the road, and turns to me,
    his eyes hard, his voice crackling with barely contained anger. “No. You
    won’t.” It’s a command he expects me to follow, solidified by the way he
    starts walking again, tugging me along with him.
    “Liam—”
    “Don’t talk, Amy. You’ll only piss me off more.”
    He’s pissed off? I’m the one who has been embarrassed and treated
    like crap. I’m the one who is angry. He won’t intimidate me. He won’t
    control me like this. He wants to go at it with me, I’m in. Bring it on.
    We reach the hotel in record speed. The doorman says hello to us
    and Liam doesn’t even look at him, and I’m pretty sure we’re a walking
    billboard for a couple about to go to war. Oh, yes. We are getting good at
    making scenes and getting noticed. I’m failing miserably at staying off the
    radar, and I have Liam to thank for that. No, I amend again. I have me to
    thank for that. I let this happen. I let him happen, and I have to do
    something about it.
    We enter the elevator and he slides his card through the panel and
    then pulls me hard against him, forcing my hands to his chest, with
    nowhere else to go. My legs settle against his, and damn it, I am affected,
    wet and aching for him, and this only serves to spike my anger a notch
    higher. He’s controlling me and I don’t like it. I can feel him willing me to
    look at him and I refuse.
    As if punishing me for my insubordination, his hand slides down my
    back and cups my backside, caressing deeply, and I swear I feel it like a
    stroke between my thighs. Barely containing a moan, I curl my fingers
    around his shirt and I want to scream with the injustice of how aroused I
    am.
    The doors to the elevator slide open and my heart jackhammers. The
    adrenaline pouring through me is like acid in my blood, burning me with
    anticipation. The swipe of his card on his door feels eternal, almost slow
    motion, and then Liam is dragging me inside the hallway and I am against
    the wall.
    “Stop shoving me around, Liam. Stop trapping me, and—”
    His mouth comes down hard on mine, a deep thrust of his tongue
    claiming me, the taste of his anger like a