Escaping Reality Read Free Page B

to.
    “Sleepy,” I manage, and my voice sounds as affected as I suddenly, or
    maybe not so suddenly, feel.
    His brows furrow. “Sleepy?”
    “That’s what you said that made me smile. You don’t seem like a man
    who’d say ‘sleepy’.”
    He arches a brow and he’s still holding my hand. I should object. I
    should pull away.
    Because he has the experience and depth I’ve long avoided and
    craved in a man. All I succeed in doing is melting into my chair, like I know I
    could easily melt for him . “Is that so?” he challenges.
    “Yes. That’s so.”
    He looks amused, and—reluctantly, it seems—he releases my hand.
    Or maybe not reluctantly. Maybe he wasn’t holding it as long as it felt like
    he was holding it. I fear I have no real concept of what is real or not
    anymore.
    Liam leans closer, so close it’s like he plans to share a secret, and still
    I want him closer.
    “Just what kind of man do you think I am, Amy?”
    The kind that flirts with lost little girls who don’t even know their
    own names and then darts off to see the world with a supermodel, I think,
    but I say, “Not the kind who says ‘sleepy’.”
    Laughter rumbles from his chest, a deep, masculine sound that
    spreads warmth through my body. Impossibly, it is both fire in my veins and
    balm for my nerves, calming me in an unexplainable way, when I know he is
    too good looking, too inquisitive, and absolutely too controlling to play
    with. Not that I would even know how to play with a man like this, or really,
    any man for that matter. Men, like friends, have been risky propositions.
    “Why are you headed to Denver, Amy?” he asks, and the soothing
    balm becomes shards of glass splintering through me.
    “Excuse me,” the flight attendant thankfully interrupts, saving me an
    answer that is still in a file I haven’t read. “Can I take your dinner orders?”
    “Chicken,” I say.
    Liam glances at me. “How do you know they have chicken?”
    “It’s the go-to food for hotels, parties, and airlines.” And there was a
    time in my youth when all those things had been in my life. I glance at the
    flight attendant for confirmation, and she nods. “Chicken it is.”
    “Make that two orders of chicken,” Liam says with another rumbling
    of that deeply addictive laughter of his, and while I like his easygoing
    nature, I can almost feel the band of control he pulls around him. A muffled
    ringing sound fills the air.
    “Whoever is ringing,” the flight attendant warns, “you have about
    one minute until electronic devices are off.”
    She rushes away, and since the sound is obviously coming from
    Liam’s bag, I cautiously adjust my skirt and bend over to grab it, dislodging
    my folder in the process. My heart lurches as it tumbles to the ground and
    spills open, the contents flying everywhere. I grab for the contents, shoving
    papers inside the folder again as quickly as I can.
    “Your résumé, I believe,” Liam says, and I freeze at his obvious nosy
    inspection of the document I have yet to read. The idea that he knows
    more about me than me is unnerving.
    Slowly, I lift my gaze to find only a few inches separating us, and his
    eyes, those piercing blue eyes, see too much. He makes me feel too much. I
    don’t know him. I can’t trust him. Is there anyone I can really trust left in
    this world?
    “Thanks,” I say, taking the resume from him with more obvious snap
    than I intend. I tug his bag out from underneath my seat. He unzips the side
    pocket to remove his phone, and I am self-conscious of how high my skirt
    rides up my thigh as he helps me shove the bag back where it had been. But
    he isn’t looking at my legs. I can feel the burn of him watching me in my
    cheeks. I know he knows how uncomfortable I am. I know he knows I’m not
    okay right now. I feel trapped. Trapped with this man, and I am trapped in a
    life that isn’t mine.
    Tugging at my skirt, I sit up and he does the same, shifting his
    attention to his phone