Chapter Twelve. I stare at the unknown number and my mind races
I stare at the unknown number and my mind races. It could be a
wrong number. It has to be. No one has this number but Liam and my
handler has never called me. That’s not true, I remind myself and my mind
flashes back.
The phone is ringing and I jerk to a sitting position. There is no one
left to call me. No one I love. It has to be one of them. Someone is alive. This
is all a mistake. I grab the headset and my hand shakes so hard I all but
drop the receiver. “Dad?”
“Listen and listen quickly, Amy,” a stranger says. “They are coming for
you. Get up and get dressed and get the hell to the back door of the
hospital. I’ll be in a cab waiting for you.”
“What? Who are you?”
“There isn’t time. Get the hell out of the fucking bed. Now!”
“Okay, ready,” Meg announces. “What’s the number?”
I blink through spots, and damn it, my eyes are prickling and my
forehead pinching. Meg waves her phone in front of me. “I’ll type it in my
phone so I can’t lose it.”
“Right,” I croak and try to smile, though I imagine I look like I just
swallowed a rock the lump in my throat is so big. Somehow, I lift my phone
and punch in the screen to see my number, then read it to her.
“Perfect,” she declares, and if she notices I’m rattled, she doesn’t
show it. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll make a date.”
“Great. Yes.”
She heads towards the door and I follow her into the hallway, where
she has halted, a stunned look on her face. And I know why. Liam is leaning
on the wall, looking to her, I am sure, like some sort of magazine model or
romance hero who has miraculously popped off the pages of a novel. His
eyes meet mine and I feel the connection inside and out, radiating. To me,
Liam is what he has seemed since our plane ride. Salve on an open, aching
wound.
He pushes off the wall the instant he sees me and pulls me to him. “I
was worried about you.”
“He’s with you?” Meg asks from behind me, and there is no missing
the shock etched in her voice. I refuse to read into it.
Liam answers for me. “Yes. I’m with her.”
Meg whistles and I turn in Liam’s arms, comforted by the way his
hand settles on my stomach and pulls my back to his chest. “Amy, honey,”
Meg declares, “I need to know where you shop. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She
darts down the hallway and I stare after her, fighting the urge to follow her
to ask her boss about my new boss, unsure I am steady enough to even try.
“She’ll call you tomorrow?” Liam asks, and I turn to him.
“She’s the secretary at the leasing office. She wants to do coffee or
drinks.” My hand settles on the hard wall of his chest and warmth travels
up my arms and over my chest and shoulders.
“Then why do you look like you saw a ghost?”
I laugh but it sounds choked. “I guess ghosts are like lies. They swim
like sharks all around me.” What was intended as a joke holds so much
truth that I am shocked I have allowed such a telling statement to fall from
my lips. I am even more shocked that I cannot seem to regret it.
He studies me, his eyes probing, and I sense he wants to ask
questions, but he doesn’t.
Damn it, he doesn’t and I want him to ask, just as I want to answer.
“Sharks only have the power you give them, baby. Own them. Don’t ever
let them own you. And they’ll have to fight me to get to you anyway.”
Suddenly, I am swimming in one part fantasy, one part wicked, hot
desire. His declaration checks every box on my fairy tale desire list and
strokes my need for him to a full on fire. And while his words might be pure
seduction, I choose to grant them the possibility. I choose the fantasy. The
escape he has proven he can be for me in a way no one else ever has been.
He leans in and pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’m going to take you
to my room now, and fuck you until neither of us can walk anymore.” He
eases back, searching my face for a reaction, his blue eyes blazing hot
through the dim lighting of the hallway. “Any objections?”
“No,” I whisper, and am shocked at how unabashedly I reply to his
wicked declaration.
“No objections whatsoever.” Not only do I want this man, I have no
doubt, for at least tonight, he can make me forget the phone call. He can
make me forget everything but him.
“Then let’s get out of here.” He caresses a path down my arms,
raising goose bumps on my arms and I am anything but cold. In fact, the
only time I am not cold is in this man’s presence. His fingers lace with mine,
and as he leads me forward, this intimate act of hand-holding that is
becoming familiar, creates a burn in my chest and a moment of fear. I could
get used to this. I could get used to him in my life, by my side.
Entering the main dining room, I am momentarily jerked back into
the world where he is not all there is and where the ghosts that swim like
sharks at my feet, and in my head, live. I scan for Meg and her boss, but I do
not see her, or him. Relief washes over me. I do not want to think of
anything right now but Liam’s wicked promise.
***
The walk to the hotel is silent. We don’t have to speak. The air
between us is both electric and soothing, a contrast that speaks to my soul.
This is what I need. He is what I need. I refuse to let anything else in. I will
not melt down in a haze of pain and heartache, or fear over a phone call. I
can worry about that tomorrow. Locked in Liam’s room I am safe, and in his
arms my escape will be complete.
And when we approach the entrance of the hotel, I do not even
make a pretense of my mockery of a story about fearing how I will look to
the hotel staff. Maybe I should care for other reasons. Maybe I should fear
being noticed, and with Liam, it is impossible not to be noticed, but I do
not. I am with Liam and I will not be any other way in this moment of time.
“Mr. Stone,” the doorman greets Liam with a nod.
Liam inclines his chin at the man and I find myself drinking in his
profile, so strong, so confident, and I envy him, this man who knew what he
wanted to be in life and made it happen.
This man who knows where he has been and who he is. I know
nothing of me, not even where I have really, truly been and why I am here.
Why I exist. Why I breathe. We are not alike, as I had kidded in the
restaurant. We are so different that we are top and bottom, night and day,
but when I am in his arms, I do not have to face these things or myself.
The short path through the lobby to the elevator feels eternal, and I
am unusually frustrated when the doors to the car open and we have to
wait for someone else to exit. Liam seems to mimic my urgency, pulling me
into the car before I can walk in myself, and then pressing me toward the
wall by the keypad, his big body framing mine.
My hands go to his chest and heat darts up my arms and across my
chest. Liam slides a card into an elevator slot, directing us to the penthouse
level, then flattens a hand on the wall above my head. Our eyes connect
and I feel it clear to my toes, in every part of me. Still we do not speak, as if
we are both afraid the spell will be broken and we will be back to goodbye.
The doors ding open and he drags his hand down my arm, and laces
my fingers with his, tugging me along again as if he fears I will change my
mind. After my flip-flopping from no to yes, I don’t blame him, but that is
over. I crave the hot, dominant way I know he will take me away. I want to
be here, to be with him.
A quick swipe of his keycard and the door is open, and he flips the
light on. Liam tugs me inside and I smile as we step toe to toe, his hands on
my shoulders. “Any second thoughts?” he challenges.
“About how this night started, yes. About now, none.”
“Do you want to talk about how it started?”
“Do we have to?”
“No.” He takes my hand. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
A charge sparks in the air and he starts backing down the hallway and
I willingly follow until the sound of my phone ringing freezes me in place.
Urgency is like lightening in my blood, my future hanging on the
unanswered line. “I have to get this.” I tug my hand from Liam’s and grab
my purse from my shoulder, unzipping it with an obvious shake to my hand
that Liam isn’t going to miss.
Aware that I am unsteady, a mix of champagne and panic, I lean
against the wall and stare down at the unknown number. Quickly, I punch
the “answer” button before I miss the call again, and I swear my heart is
about to explode through my throat as I croak, “Hello.”
“Ms. Bensen?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, good,” a slightly familiar male voice proclaims. “This is Scott
from the cell phone store. You left your driver’s license here. We close in an
hour if you want to swing by.”
Relief washes through me and nervous laughter, once again, bubbles
from my lips.
“Thank you. I’ll come by tomorrow and get it.”
“I’ll hold it at the register and keep it safe. Goodnight.”
“Thank you again. Goodnight.” I end the call and Liam takes my
phone and shoves it back into my purse before setting it on the ground and
the look in his eyes says I’m in for another game of dodgeball I do not want
to play.
“I left my ID in the store.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around
Liam’s neck and mold my upper body to his. Warmth spreads from every
place we are touching to every place we are not. “Where were we?”
His hand splays between my shoulder blades, a hot branding I
welcome, but the warning that follows is ice dousing the fire. “You aren’t
going to pretend what just happened didn’t happen. Just like you aren’t
going to tell me you didn’t walk into the bathroom at the restaurant
running from me and then exit running from someone, or something, else.
And I’m not buying it was Meg.”
“New places make me nervous.” I press my lips to his.
His hand tangles in my hair and gently pulls my head back, forcing my
gaze to his, and his eyes are as hard as his voice as he orders, “Don’t give
me that kind of answer. Raw and honest, Amy. That’s what we are or we
are nothing at all.” He presses me against the wall, caging me with his arms,
pinning me in a stare. “Tell me who is scaring you and I promise you, Amy, I
will make them go away.”
If only it were that easy. If only he could be my Prince Charming, my
hero. But the truth he wants is that I’m a reality show kind of gal. And in
reality, heroes die, just like everyone else in my life. I grab his shirt and lean
into him. “What happened to you fucking me until we can’t walk anymore?
That’s what tonight is supposed to be. Not you making me one of
your mathematical equations you have to crack. I don’t want to be cracked,
Liam. I don’t want to answer questions. I want to be fucked.” I barely
recognize the woman who can say such a thing and that only twists me into
a few more knots. I am sick of not knowing. “You promised. You said you
were—”
I yelp in surprise as he picks me up and starts walking. “What are you
doing?”
“No more questions, remember?”
Blood rushes to my ears, and I do not even try to see the room
around me but I am aware it’s a fancy sitting area that is nothing more than
a means to an end. The bedroom. Sex. We are going to have sex. That’s
what I asked for. That’s what I dared to demand. Actually, I demanded I be
fucked. Until last night, I didn’t say that word. This man is changing me and
I am not sure if that is good or bad. It feels good. He feels good, but maybe
too good. I cannot even willingly lie to the man when lying is how I survive.
He is making me careless. He is making me…so much.
Too much. Not enough when I want more, and I have no business
wanting anything at all.
We enter the bedroom and a light glows dimly, though I am not
aware of how or when
Liam turned it on, and to my surprise, he bypasses the bed that sits in
the center of the main wall of the room. Instead, he sets me on my feet in
front of a massive bathroom I barely glimpse, before he shuts the door. And
that intense edginess I’m coming to know as Liam has cranked up several
notches. He is mad or…wounded? Over me? That can’t be. He is confident
and experienced and I am…whatever I am, but I am less, if I have hurt this
man who has already proven he is so much more than his Wiki page.
“Liam—”
“No more talking.” His hands come down on my waist, a possessive
branding, and his voice is hard, a tight band I have the impression might
break with his mood at any moment. He walks me backwards several steps
until my heels hit the door and I lean against the hard surface.
His legs shackle mine, holding me as captive as the burn in his eyes.
“You want me to fuck you, Amy, I’ll fuck you.”
I think he is angry and suddenly, the word “fuck” feels like a slap
when I am the one who all but shouted it at him. “Yes. Yes, I do, but—”
His mouth comes down hard on mine, hot with demand, with anger. I
do not want him to be angry and I lean into him, hoping it will fade, hoping
to get lost in him, but it doesn’t work. I taste the bite of his mood, the
roughness of his tongue, and I shove at his chest and tear my mouth from
his. “Wait. Not like this.”
“You want to fuck or you don’t. I am not a yo-yo any more than you
are one of my mathematical equations.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Don’t challenge me to fuck you and then run away.”
Run away. I am always running away and sick of that being my life.
“You’re just”—I make myself look at him—“you’re you, Liam, like you said
I’m…me. And you, Liam Stone, are like a bull when you want something.
You charge.”
“What I want is you.”
Even though I know this, hearing it stirs a sweet spot in my belly and
all I want to do is savor the sensation and the man who created it. “Then
please. Just be with me. Just be with me, Liam.”
He wraps his fingers around my neck and pulls me to him. “I get
wanting to block things out. Been there, done that, baby, but I won’t let
you do it to me. We’re going to talk tomorrow, but tonight, we’ll forget.”
He brushes his lips over mine and I feel myself tremble from the simple, but
powerful touch. “Now. Turn around.” He doesn’t give me time to respond,
rotating me to face the door, my hands on the hard surface, and I am
beginning to think he likes me like this. I think I might like me like this. He
leans into me, his body deliciously heavy and hard, his breath a warm
seduction against my neck as he declares, “No more barriers,” and tugs my
zipper down, though I do not think he is talking about clothes.
I was kidding myself to challenge him to “fuck” me, to think sex is my
sanctuary from words with Liam when I am headed deeper into this web of
intimacy with him, a place where he will want, and even deserve, answers
to all of his questions. But as his hands glide my dress down my shoulders,
leaving goose bumps in their wake, I find it hard to care. He promised to
take me away and I believe he can. Already, I am sinking into the sweet
oblivion of pleasure that only Liam has ever helped me find. He is my
sanctuary from everything else. He alone is my escape.
“Step,” he commands, and I lift my feet one after another and let him
kick my dress away. Then I squeeze my eyes shut when he unhooks my bra,
and I shrug out of it, and just like that, I am, as I was only one night before,
naked before this man, my breasts swollen and heavy, my nipples tight
balls of aching need. His hands flatten on the wall by my head but he does
not touch me. He likes this, I think. To trap me. To be in control. And I like
it. I like him being in control instead of the world outside. I like that when I
hand control to him there is pleasure, not pain.
“Turn back around,” he commands, and I like that, too. The
roughness of his voice, the absoluteness of him being in charge. I do not
hesitate to comply. I face him, and his gaze does a hot up-and-down
inspection of my naked body, that sizzles every nerve ending I own.
“Take off the shoes.”
I kick them off.
“Now the panties and the thigh-highs. I want nothing between us.”
But he is fully clothed. “Are you…?”
“When you ask questions, I ask questions.”
I swallow hard at the pointed remark and the clear message he
intends. He knows that’s what I do. He knows I play dodgeball, and with
anyone else it would work. With him, I’ve already run out of rope. I shove
aside the worry this creates inside me and focus on just what I told him.
Tonight. An escape. With him.
I roll down my thigh-highs and toss them away, and waste no time
with my panties. I am naked before this man but I am so much more. I am
exposed, vulnerable, and somehow I feel protected and safe.
“On your knees,” he orders softly.
“My knees?”
“No questions, baby. You do what I say.”
I inhale and hold in the air. I trust Liam. I trust Liam. When was the
last time I said that about anyone? I lower myself to my knees, the soft
carpeting padding my bare skin. Liam squats in front of me. “Hands over
your head and on the door handle.”
This time I gulp. I cannot believe I am doing this, but I do. I curl my
fingers around the knob above my head, and now I am truly exposed, my
breasts thrust high, my body stretched out for his viewing. But he does not
look at my body. He watches my face, searching my eyes, an intense,
inscrutable look etched in the hard lines of his handsome face.
He loosens his tie, then pulls it from his neck. Adrenaline surges
through me with the certainty that his shirt and pants are next, but he does
not undress. He reaches over me to my wrists, and I gasp at the realization
that Liam is using his tie to bind my arms over my head.
I am more than naked and vulnerable. I am at his mercy.