Chapter Fourteen

Fifteen minutes later, I sit at a table on the balcony, drinking coffee

and sampling an enormous amount of food Liam ordered to be sure I had

something I liked to eat. What I like is him bare-chested and relaxed in his

pajama bottoms, with sexy, mussed-up morning hair. And me, in his shirt,

with his scent teasing my nostrils. I have never worn a man’s shirt and that

somehow makes wearing his shirt all the more intimate.

I pluck a grape from a basket with a variety of fruits and laugh as he

argues his claim that the Fast & Furious movies are of cultural importance.

“And you support this claim how?”

“The movies were released over the course of a decade. One could

say they are a historical biography of the evolution of muscle cars.”

“One such as you.”

He smiles, and I swear his eyes are as perfect as the bright blue sky

shadowing him. “One such as me.”

I cover my now-empty plate that once held a fluffy cheese omelet. “Is

there a collection of muscle cars to go along with this interest?”

“No muscle cars in my garage. Too impractical. I’ll live vicariously

through the movies.”

“And here I thought you were a Bentley kind of guy.”

“I’m not a flashy guy.”

“But you love Fast & Furious.”

“All men love Fast & Furious.”

“But you are not all men, Liam.”

His shoves his empty plate aside and leans close, his elbow on the

table. “And why is that, Amy?”

“Oh, come on. You know you aren’t like other guys. You’re a prodigy,

protégé, and billionaire.”

“If I let those things become who I am, then they are all that I am.

Judge me by who I am outside those things. Who would I be if those things

were suddenly stripped away? A man who loves hamburgers, Fast &

Furious, Thirty Seconds to Mars, and the History Channel, which we’ve

determined we have in common.”

I laugh at the way he sums himself up, charmed by his lack of

arrogance and by the unexpected randomness of his interest. “And some

violinist—”

“David Garrett.”

“David Garrett,” I repeat, “who you swear will seduce me into loving

his music. All these pieces of you are not what I expected.”

“Is that good?” His voice is softer now, rougher.

“Yes. Yes, it’s good.”

“Unexpected and good. Much like us.”

I suck in a breath, surprised, pleased, warmed by this man in a way

the morning sunshine cannot begin to touch. “Yes,” I say, sealing my

decision to weed through all the history I have to hide, to have just a few

weeks with this man. “Unexpected.” So very unexpected.

“And good,” he prods.

I smile. “And good.”

His cell phone rings. He grimaces and hits decline, glancing at me and

answering my unasked question. “Derek, the guy I was talking to when you

woke up. He’s an investor in the building project and the only reason I

entertained the idea of being involved. He gets me and what I do.”

“Do you need to go meet with him? Because I’m fine if you do.”

“No. They’ll wait until tomorrow.” He changes the subject. “Do you

have a passport?”

My unease is instant; a fizzle of fear over his motives sparks into life. I

laugh nervously, feeling as if I have been on a casual fun drive and just got

sideswiped. “My travels have been as ambitious as sampling the various

cupcake shops around Manhattan.”

He smiles, and it is as devastatingly sexy as his tattoo. Well, almost.

“Sweet tooth?”

“Mammoth-sized, though I don’t indulge often or I’ll be

mammoth-sized.” I sound halfway okay, I think, but all I can think is why did

he ask about the passport?

He lifts the cover of a plate to display some sort of gooey chocolate

waffle concoction. “I do, too.” He hands me a fork. “I’ll dare if you will.”

I take a fork and my hand trembles. Liam gently shackles my wrist

and I inhale and look at him. “What’s wrong, Amy?”

I want to scream at my complete inability to mask my emotions with

this man. I’ve always handled myself smoothly. Okay, well, after that first

year of melting down. “I feel like I’m keeping you from work.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

You are such a liar.

His eyes narrow and I swear he knows what I am, if not who I am. I

think he will call me on my reply, but he does not. His hand slides away and

he motions to the chocolate goo on the plate. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, and I want to know why he asked about a

passport—but at this point, it would be too obvious a question and invite

more from him. I spoon up the sugary treat and take a bite.

Liam does the same, watching me as he tastes the dessert-like

breakfast item. “Good?”

“Yes. Delicious.”

“Now we have two things on our to-do list,” he says, referencing my

confession about list-making I’d shared while avoiding other personal

things, like my dead family, both the fake one and the real one.

“Two things?”

“The doctor,” he reminds me, and when I should be worried about

the passport reference that seems so bizarre, I instead remember last

night. Until then, I’ll be fantasizing about the moment the only thing

wrapped around me is you.

Somehow I am now both warm and cold at the same time. “ And the

second to-do item?”

“David Garrett is touring in Europe the rest of the year. That’s why I

asked about the passport. I’d like to take to you to a concert.” His lips quirk

in that sexy way they do. “He’ll seduce you with his music and I’ll seduce

you in another country.”

Tension uncurls inside me, replaced by regret. Not only did he not

have bad intentions, he had romantic ones I don’t know if I can accept

without taking the risk that my identity would be scrutinized. “As much as I

would like to go, my job is only certain for a few months. I need to look for

something more long-term.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I sense a sharp shift in his mood, a

heaviness in the air around us that wasn’t there seconds before. “The boss

who provided you with an apartment.”

I bristle, something in his tone setting me on edge. “What does that

mean, Liam?”

“It’s not safe to go to work for a guy you don’t know and who

provides you with an apartment. Does he have access to it?”

My pulse races at the concern that mimics my own. “It’s my

apartment. He just arranged it with a realtor. I have to pay for it.”

He studies me and the seconds feel eternal before he says, “There is

something about the situation that feels wrong. I’m going to have him

checked out.”

I assume he is talking about my boss not the realtor, but either way,

this is exactly what I have feared. The more involved I am with Liam, the

more he will dig into my life. “He’s just my boss. And only for a few months.

That’s the point. I need to focus on finding another job that is more

long-term. This is a bridge job.”

“That friend of mine, Derek. He runs a large real estate investment

firm. I’ll introduce you and see if he might have anything you might be

interested in.”

I am not about to apply for work with his friend, who then would

have a human resources file on me, but I can’t say that. “Thank you.”

“And I’m going to pay your rent for a year tomorrow so you don’t

have to stress about it anymore.”

I am stunned and angry all in one blow. And hurt. I feel again like a

charity case bordering on becoming a tramp. “No. You are not.” I shove to

my feet. “I’m going to get dressed and leave.”

I barely manage to slide out of my seat before he’s in front of me and

his hand is on my arm, possessiveness in the action that I crave and reject.

Feeling vulnerable, I lash out. “I guess I pay you for my rent by fucking you

all night until we both can’t walk?” I can’t even believe I can talk like this. I

can’t believe I let myself be in this situation.

Liam looks stunned. “Where did that come from, Amy?”

“I’m not some ‘kept woman’, Liam. You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“Kept woman? That’s crazy.” He softens his voice. “You have to know

that’s not how I am or how we are.”

“How can I not feel like that? I like how I feel when I’m with you,

Liam. I do. Or I did.

Except right now. I don’t like how I feel right now. I don’t want your

money, Liam.”

“It’s not about money…”

It’s not about the money. I hear nothing else. Spots form in front of

my eyes, and a distant, unwelcome memory forces itself on me. I squeeze

my eyes shut, trying to block what I instinctively do not want to see, but it’s

too late. The past refuses to be ignored and I am transported back to Texas,

to a day when I am excitedly running up the stairs of my family home to

share my acceptance letter from the University of Texas with my mother. I

can see the blue jean skirt and red tank top I am wearing, and the smell of

the honeysuckle bushes off the side of our huge wooden porch is ripe in my

nostrils. I reach for the doorknob to open it and freeze at the sound of my

mother shouting. It isn’t about the money. It was never about money.

“Amy.”

I blink and realize that I am on the bed with Liam sitting beside me,

his hand on my leg, and I do not remember how I got here. “I, ah…”

“Blacked out,” he says. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“I’m sorry. I…” I sit up and lean against the headboard. “I’m okay.”

It’s not about the money. I hear my mother’s voice in my head again and

drop my face to my hand. Desperately at times, I have tried to remember

my mother’s voice, to hear my mother’s voice, to remember the way she

used to run around the house singing to the radio. But not today, not in this

partially formed memory some part of me seems to be clawing to get at

while another blocks it from entry. Maybe it isn’t even real. Sometimes I

don’t know what is or isn’t anymore. I do not know how I can want to know

the truth and fear it this badly.

Liam’s hand settles on the side of my head and he presses his cheek

to mine. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here and nothing is going to happen to

you.” My hand goes to his, and I want to tell him it’s not me I’m worried

about. It’s him. He strokes my hair and leans back, gently turning my face to

his. “Can you walk to the car?”

The dull throb in my forehead is easing, but I must not be

clearheaded because I truly have no idea what he’s talking about. “Car?

Where are we going?”

“We need to go to the ER and make sure you’re okay.”

I stiffen and fight through the clawing sensation in my gut, the

aftermath of hearing my mother’s voice. “No. No ER. It’s cluster headaches.

They feel eternal but they only last a few minutes.”

“How often?”

“They went away several years ago and just started again.”

“Have you had an MRI?”

“Yes. I’m fine. They usually can’t explain why they happen to

sufferers. They just happen. I’m supposed to watch for triggers like stress,

change of environment, and what I eat.

I’m sure it’s the move.”

“Do you take meds?”

“There isn’t much they can do for them since they come fast and

hard. Acupuncture helped. They went away for years after I tried it.”

“And they just came back today?”

“A couple of days ago.”

His hands curve around my calves and he scoots closer. “Nightmares

and cluster headaches. I’m not going to ask all the questions that come to

mind. Not now, but sometime soon you’re going to have to tell me. You

know that, right?”

All too well, I think. “Moving here was a big decision, Liam. I’ve

always been like this.

Big things mess with me. It goes way back to my childhood Godzilla

nightmares.”

“I’ll take that answer for now as long as you agree to see a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“What if you’d been driving?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Or walking down the stairs. I’m going to be stubborn on this. You

need to see a doctor.”

“Acupuncture is what worked before. I’ll find a place to go.”

“I think you should be checked out by a real doctor again to be safe.”

“I’m not spending thousands of dollars for them to run MRIs and

tests to tell me what I already know.”

“Humor me and see someone. I’ll pay for it.”

“Stop trying to spend money on me.”

“Stop hyper-focusing on the money. This isn’t about—”

My head pinches. “Stop. Stop. Don’t say it again. I get it. You have

money and you spend $100 bills like it’s my penny. But I am not wasting it,

no matter how much of it you have. I know what works and that’s

acupuncture.” And it does. It’s how I’d recovered years before.

Disapproval furrows his brow. “I’ll get you an appointment, but if it

doesn’t work—”

“It will and I can get my own appointment.”

“But you won’t because you want to save money, which is exactly

why I’m going to take some of the pressure off of you. Tomorrow I’m going

to the leasing office and paying your rent for a year, and—”

“No, I told you. I’m not going to take your money.”

“It’s done, baby. No strings attached. No conditions. If you want to

ask for a refund after I pay it, you can donate the money to charity, but I

won’t take it back. A gift is a gift and I expect nothing in return. Not even a

promise of tomorrow.” He leans in and kisses me, and I mean to pull back

but his tongue presses past my teeth for one irresistible, deep, silky caress,

before he adds, “And tomorrow won’t be enough.”

“Liam—”

He gives me another quick kiss and I lose my thought. “Stop kissing

me,” I reprimand, sounding completely unconvincing. “You’re trying to

distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes. That’s the problem.”

“Then why would I stop?” he queries, looking exceedingly pleased

with himself. He leans in for yet another kiss.

I press my fingers to his lips. “No. Not again. I remember what I was

saying. Please stop throwing money at me.”

He covers my fingers with his hand. “I want to do this for you, Amy.”

His voice softens, turning gravelly. “Please let me.”

Please let him? My heart squeezes with the sincerity I sense in him

and I reach up and stroke his cheek, then trace the line of his goatee. He is

amazing and generous and so much more than I bargained for in every

possible way. “You’re new territory to me, Liam. I have never met anyone

like you. You’re overbearingly generous and overwhelmingly male, or

maybe it’s the reverse. Sometimes I don’t know how to respond.”

He pulls me down on the bed and under him. “I’d say I’d show you,

but I think we better wait until later considering you blacked out on me a

few minutes ago.”

“I told you. I know what is wrong. It’s over. I’m fine. Show me.”

“Your sure?”

Finally, a question I can answer without hesitation. “Yes. Please.”

Please take me away and block a piece of my past that is clawing its way

through me.

***

It’s nearly one in the afternoon, and Liam and I are walking through

the hotel lobby, our fingers laced together. I am such a nervous wreck I do

not even care that wearing the same dress as the night before screams

“sleepover” to the hotel staff. I cannot walk away from memories that hold

answers, but at the same time my mind rejects even thinking about what

that means right now. Not when Liam and I are heading to my apartment

so I can change clothes before we go to the cellular store and pick up my ID,

which is just another chance for Liam to find out it’s a Colorado license.

Before I deal with that potential bombshell, I have to explain why my things

I left in New York City haven’t been delivered. I hate lying, but I hate the

idea of Liam being put in danger far more. I just want it over with, but a

voice in my head quickly whispers, Lies breed lies. But questions breed

questions, and when I made the decision to stay with Liam, I made the

decision, like it or not, to own being Amy Bensen with him.

Liam and I step beyond the awning of the hotel exit and into the

beaming sunlight. I cast his profile an inspection, and my breath hitches at

how exquisitely male he is, his thick, dark hair a finger-combed sexy mess.

He’s dressed in a snug black polo pullover, black jeans, and some kind of

deck shoes. Half an hour ago, he was exquisite in nothing but droplets of

water and the soap that I had the pleasure of lathering him with. I have

never showered with a man. I have never felt like this about anyone. I don’t

know what “this” is, except that it’s intense in all the right ways and I don’t

want my past to destroy it before it ever takes form, as it has every other

relationship I’ve had in my life.

We pause at the curb to allow cars to pass before we cross the street

to my apartment and I steal a glimpse of Liam to discover him doing the

same to me. He smiles a devastatingly sexy smile at me, and pulls me under

his arm, melding our hips together. My arm slides around his waist and he

leans down and gives me a quick peck on the lips. A sweet, hot spot forms

in my chest. It is this moment that speaks to me in a way all the hot sex

we’ve had last night and this morning cannot. He doesn’t do relationships. I

don’t do relationships, and yet that is exactly what it feels like we are doing.

We cross the street without breaking apart, and I have this sense of

being sheltered from the storm brewing all around me. At the apartment

elevator, Liam doesn’t seem keen on letting me go, and we huddle in the

car, still holding onto each other. I think of the leasing office providing me

instructions for my work assignments and a needling begins inside me. Why

exactly would my handler leave anything with anyone for me?

Approaching my apartment door, I dig for my key, and will my nerves

to calm down. The “zone” my fake self slides into to perform seems to be

pretty much non-existent where Liam is concerned, and I have to find it

now. For his own good.

Somehow, I unlock the door with a steady hand. The walls I erect

while inside my zone are trying to form, but they are as paper-thin as my

ability to resist this man. Entering the hallway, Liam is on my heels, but I

pause in front of him, and I flip on the light, stalling to inhale a deep breath

before letting him follow me forward. I turn to wait on him to shut the

door, blocking his entry, a soldier drawing a hard line.

He arches a brow and I really wish he wasn’t so damn sexy when he

did that. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” I warn. “The moving company lost

my things. I’m filing a claim. I took out the insurance I needed so I’ll have

my things replaced, so don’t go offering to help. I don’t need help.”

“It could take weeks to get a check.”

“I bought some things to get me by today.”

He stares down at me with that unreadable mask he wears like a

champion poker player, and then grabs my hand and says, “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Exactly what you have to survive on the next few weeks until you

get a check.” He doesn’t give me time to argue, dragging me with him to

the bedroom, and straight to my closet.

I cringe when he opens the door to the empty room and then

actually glares at me as if I’ve done something wrong. “What exactly is it

that you bought to get you by?”

“It’s not your business to—”

“I’m making it my business.” He releases my hand and walks to the

dresser, opening several empty drawers and removing the limited items I

purchased yesterday, setting them all on the bed. “This is what you call

getting by?” He looks at a price tag and grimaces. “A couple of outfits from

the bargain racks and not much else?”

My defenses prickle. “I’m not spending money I don’t have to.”

He grabs me and sits down on the bed, leading me between his legs,

his fingers playing on my hips, his mouth pressing to my belly. It’s so

unexpected that my mood softens instantly and I almost forget how

overbearing he is being. “Change clothes and let’s get out of here,” he says

softly. “I don’t like this apartment or you in it.”

My suspicion over him not pushing me on the purchase of more

clothing takes a backseat to his concern over my living arrangements.

“What’s wrong with this place and me in it?”

“Aside from me preferring you in my hotel and my bed, I don’t like

the premise of a boss you’ve never met arranging your lease.”

He is turning the pages on my cover story far too quickly. “Lots of

employers line up housing when employees relocate.”

“Not for an employee they don’t intend to keep for more than a few

months.”

“My ex-boss is good friends with him and all he did was contact his

realtor to find me something.”

“Are you certain he’s not on the lease and has no access to the

apartment?”

He hits a nerve that is already open. “Of course he doesn’t have

access.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going to get your locks changed.”

“You can’t just decide to change my locks, Liam,” I say, despite that

being exactly what I intend to do. I have to reel him in before he dials into

things that get him into trouble. “And you can’t just take over my life.”

“I’m not asking for a key.”

“No. You’d just take one. And this isn’t about a key. It’s about you

being assuming and bossy.”

His hands slide under my dress, up the back of my thighs. “You like

those things.”

“Sometimes.” Often. Too often. I fear it speaks of just how much I’m

breaking down again. “And those times usually include us not wearing

clothing.”

“Just stay with me at the hotel. Problem solved.”

My desire to escape to his world and block out my own is so intense

it’s frightening. Too easily he could leave and I will be broken and alone

again. “I need to stay here and start making this home.”

“I have room service, which lets us stay in bed longer and more

often.”

A knock sounds on the door and I tense before I can stop myself.

“Expecting someone?”

Liam asks.

“I don’t know anyone to expect,” I tell him and my mind races. Who

would visit me except maybe my handler? And I haven’t even checked the

email I was given. The very idea that I’ve missed something important sets

my heart leapfrogging. I flash back to the call in the hospital. They’re

coming for you. If they come for me, they could come for Liam too.