Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality Read Free Page A

stretched over his head, he adjusts
    my bag, muscles flexing, long torso stretching deliciously, and I don’t try to
    look away. Admiring this man keeps me from thinking about the hundreds
    of other people on this flight that could be trouble.
    “We’re all set,” he says, motioning to the seat. “You want the
    window?”
    “Window?” My belly tightens and I feel breathless. “We’re seated
    together?”
    “Appears that way.” Humor lights his eyes, and his mouth that I am
    somehow looking at, quirks as he adds, “Small world.”
    My cheeks heat at the reference to our little encounter in the
    terminal. “Too small,” I say, and an announcement over the intercom urges
    us to sit, saving me from some witty comment I don’t have.
    “Last chance,” he says. “Window?”
    I open myself to decline and snap my mouth shut. An aisle seat
    exposes me to the other passengers, many at my back. The only person
    who will ravish me while I’m trapped between this man and the wall is this
    man. “Do you mind?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Thank you,” I say, before I grab my bag and move to the seat he’s
    just given up, only to remember that he’d been settled here before I
    arrived. “Do you want your things from under the seat?”
    He slides in beside me and he is big, and broad and too good looking
    for the safety of womankind. “Why don’t I just put yours under my seat?”
    he suggests.
    He smells spicy and masculine, and the scent stirs a distant memory
    in the back of my mind. I shove it away, frustrated that I’m back to every
    little thing triggering flashbacks. Today has undone the strength I’d spent
    years creating in myself, made me weak as I once was. “Yes,” I agree. “Just
    let me grab a few things for the flight.” I quickly remove my file and my
    purse and hand over my carry-on, and in the process my hand brushes his.
    A jolt of electricity darts up my arm and I quickly turn away, buckling myself
    in. Maybe being locked in a corner with a man I am powerless to control my
    reactions to isn’t so smart.
    “Champagne?”
    I glance up to find a pretty twenty-something flight attendant holding
    a tray and gobbling up my seating partner with unabashed approval that
    makes me think of the bold way Chloe lives her life, and suddenly it’s hard
    to breathe. I will never see Chloe again.
    “Why yes, we will,” my travel partner says, accepting two glasses,
    and turning to me, successfully dismissing the flight attendant.
    I hold up a hand. “No. Thank you.”
    “We have a designated driver.”
    “I’m afraid it will make me sleepy,” I object, though I am certain the
    visit from my guardian angel, or handler, has ensured I won’t rest well again
    for a very long time.
    “It’s a four-hour flight,” he points out. “Sleepy isn’t a bad thing.”
    Sleepy. This gorgeous, incredibly masculine man has just said
    “sleepy” and it seems so out of the realm of what I expect from him, that
    he has managed the impossible considering my life right now. I smile an
    honest smile and accept the glass. “I suppose it’s not.” I sip the sweet,
    bubbly beverage.
    A glint of satisfaction flickers in his eyes, as if he’s pleased I’ve done
    as he wishes, before he takes my glass from me and sets both our drinks in
    the cup holders between us. The easy way he assumes control of my tiniest
    actions, and seems to enjoy doing so, should bother me. For reasons I don’t
    have time to analyze, it only makes him more tantalizingly male.
    He extends his hand. “Liam Stone.”
    My pulse jumps at both his ridiculously alluring name and the idea of
    touching him. I start to lift my hand and hesitate with the oddest sense of
    this moment changing my life in some way. Pushing past the crazy thought,
    I press my palm to his. “Nice to meet you, Liam. I’m Amy.”
    His fingers close around mine and a slow, warm, tingling sensation
    slides up my arm.
    “Tell me what I did to make you smile so I can do it