Ten minutes after arriving for our reservations at North, a chic
modern restaurant with frosty dangling lights and steel and glass tables,
Liam and I are sitting inside a high-backed half-moon-shaped booth that
seems to hug us in privacy. Our twenty-something attractive blonde
waitress takes our orders of pasta and salads, batting her eyes at Liam in
the process, clearly smitten with him, but then so are most of the females
in the place from what I could tell on our arrival. He, however, is a perfect,
suave gentlemen, neither disrespectful to her nor encouraging for that
matter, casting me warm looks in the process. I am charmed and
remarkably at ease with her flirtation considering my inexperience and his
good looks.
Reluctantly the woman tears her eyes from Liam and departs, and a
waiter appears by our table with the insanely expensive bottle of
champagne Liam has ordered for us. Once the top has been popped and
our glasses are filled, Liam and I are finally alone.
Liam lifts his glass, shifting in his seat to stare down at me and his
blue eyes might as well be red fire, they burn so hot. “To new friends and
lovers.”
Goose bumps lift on my skin at the intimacy of his words, ripples of
awareness tingling across my chest, down to my belly, and I am blown away
by how easily Liam affects me. No one has ever come close to doing this to
me, but then, I know the sweetness of his mouth on mine.
The perfection of his body intimately molded against me. I know
what it is like to fall asleep in his arms.
I clink my glass to his, but I cannot repeat the sultry words of his
toast. Liam waylays my escape, reaching forward as my hand withdraws,
and gently shackles my wrist. He arches a dark brow and his face is etched
in silent reproach and yes, challenge. This man challenges me at every turn.
Irrationally, nerves flutter in my stomach. I have been naked with Liam,
with my fingers laced behind my back, and somehow, I feel more naked
here and now than I did then. But I am so very tired of hiding from
everything, most especially myself. And somehow hiding from me is hiding
from him.
Delicately, I clear my throat. “To new friends and lovers,” I repeat,
and I watch the approval in his eyes, and suddenly I know what feels
different about this moment than when we’d been making love, or rather,
fucking, as Liam has called it. Here, in public, there is no veil of spontaneity
to hide behind, and in this moment, there is no lie spoken to deny what is
burning between us. This is the most intimate I have been with this man, or
any man for that matter.
We both sip our champagne and the bubbles blossom in my mouth,
both tart and sweet, like this night with Liam. Like everything with Liam.
“Good?” he inquires.
I nod and set my glass down and he does the same. “It’s delicious.”
“So are you.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks and I am so out of my safe zone it’s not
even funny. Or maybe it is, considering I cannot stop the nervous laughter
bubbling from my lips. “If someone had told me I would be sitting in
Denver, having dinner with a gorgeous prodigy billionaire architect tonight
who’d be giving me compliments, I’d have suggested they needed medical
attention.” I reach for my champagne and sip.
“I’m not a recluse. I just wish I could be sometimes.”
“And the most bizarre part of that reply is your arguing that you
aren’t a recluse.
Billionaire”—I lift my hand—“no argument there.”
He sets his glass down, and his hand goes to my leg, sending darts of
heat up my thigh. “I am what I am.”
It is a sobering statement and, probably compliments of the
champagne, I cannot seem to hold back a wistful reply of, “That’s an
enviable trait.”
“And that means what?”
I down my champagne and he arches a surprised brow. I’m pretty
surprised myself. I value a tightly controlled tongue. “I don’t drink much
and I haven’t eaten all day so that probably wasn’t smart.”
“If it makes you stop being afraid to speak your mind to me, then it
was a good choice.”
I don’t play dumb. I probably have the champagne to thank for that,
too. “You’re intimidating.”
“No. Not to you.”
“So you agree you’re intimidating.”
“To some people but not to you. I’m not your Godzilla, baby, and we
both know it.”
“No. No, you aren’t. Far from it.” I pause and wait, testing him. Will
he push me for the answers he swears he can wait for? He doesn’t ask.
Instead, he arches his brow again, the look in his eyes clearly saying “did I
pass the test?”
“You really aren’t going to ask, are you?”
“I told you—”
“Tell you when I’m ready.”
“Exactly.” He fills my glass and hands it to me.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Yes. Then maybe you’ll feel ready.”
I laugh. “You’re very…honest.”
His thumb strokes my cheek, tender and sensual. “Raw and honest,
baby. Remember?”
This is a repeating theme with him, and while I’ve let guilt make the
words about me, I wonder if they are really more about him. “Who made
you hate lies?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“That’s a deflection.” I know because I’m so damn good at it.
Surprises flickers in his eyes and he sets his glass down. “Money
breeds lies, baby. They swim like sharks all around me.”
More deflection, but it tells me more about him than perhaps he
realizes. About us.
Outwardly we are night and day, but I now know why we share what
has felt like an instant bond. We sense what is beneath the surface of each
other, and it is the same. Everyone in his world he once loved is gone.
Everyone who still lives wants something from him.
I reach up and touch his cheek. “I don’t want your money.”
His hand covers mine. “I know.”
“The phone—”
“Was a gift to me. It gives me piece of mind that you’re safe.” His lips
curve. “And maybe you’ll even feel a little obligated to answer my calls,
though I’m not gambling on that.”
I barely register the joke, but rather the concern beneath it. No one
shows concern for me and I do not take it for granted. Regretting the buzz
in my head, I set my glass down, done with the bubbles. “I’m serious, Liam.
You spent a lot of money on me. I need you to know that I’m not one of
those people—”
He leans in and kisses me. “I do know.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“You don’t have to. I know you aren’t one of those people. I don’t let
those people in.”
His voice lowers, roughens. “You’re in, Amy.”
I am stunned by his absolute statement. “You barely know me.”
His lips curve. “I can think of all kinds of ways we can remedy that,
with and without clothing.”
My lips curve. “You are a very bad billionaire.”
“I think you like that.”
“I don’t think I know enough to be sure.”
“Then we’d better find out.”
I shock myself by saying, “Tonight?”
His eyes gleam with approval. “Oh yeah, baby. Tonight.”
Tonight. The word lingers in the air and there is a silent
understanding between us in a way I have never shared with anyone. We
both know that I’ve just erased the question of where this night will end,
and it will not be with me alone, regretting a goodbye we both know I
never wanted to say. I’ll convincingly feed him what my file says I should
and then he won’t look into my background. Lies to protect him that handle
the here and now. I’ll figure out the later, when I have some time alone.
A woman delicately clears her throat and Liam and I reluctantly break
apart, our eyes lingering on each other’s a moment before our salads are
placed in front of us. Beneath the table, Liam’s hand settles back on my leg,
his thumb stroking my knee, and I feel every caress in my sex. I do not want
food. I want Liam.
“Need anything else right now?” the waitress asks.
Liam glances my direction, giving me a look at that says “you’re my
dinner”, as he replies, “Not right now.”
The instant she’s gone I scold him. “Liam.”
He leans in and kisses me. “Liam, what?”
My mouth goes dry. “You have to behave.”
“Always or just right now?”
“Just right now.”
A low laugh rumbles from his chest and he hands me my silverware.
“I’ll behave so you can eat. I’ve been here a few times in the past and never
been disappointed.”
“When you designed the building you mentioned downtown?” I ask,
and I am not afraid of my questions sparking his questions anymore. I
believe Liam. He will let me answer what I want to answer. I’ll figure out
what that means later. Not tonight. Tonight has been decided. I am with
him and the rest of the world does not exist.
“Yes. I was here a couple of months and stayed in this area.”
A couple of months. My vow to focus on just tonight evaporates and I
make a pretense of picking up my fork and picking at my salad to hide how
crazy my mind is going. Will he be here that long this time? And what if I
get attached to him and he goes back to New York? He will go back to New
York and I can’t even visit him there. That will be when the file isn’t enough
anymore. Raw and honest, he keeps saying. Why can’t I not just have that
with one person in my life?
“Hey,” he says softly.
I swallow the knot in my throat and glance up at him. “Hey.”
“What just happened?”
I don’t have an answer so I don’t offer one. “I was just wondering
about your meeting.
How did today go?”
He narrows his eyes and studies me a moment, and I do not know
what he sees, but it’s probably too much. “Better than it should have,” he
finally says. “And they have you to thank for that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve decided to stay around a while. If I can create something I’m
excited about in the process I’d like to.”
“You’re staying?”
“Yes. I’m staying. Any problem with that?”
I’ve proven I don’t have coy or goodbye in me with this man. Why
change either now? “I won’t complain about seeing more of you.”
His eyes light with approval. “That’s good to hear, considering you
were ready to kick me to the curb earlier.”
“I wasn’t. I just…” I need more time to think about what to say to
him. “Did they like your design?”
He plays dodgeball like the pro I am. “All but one of the investors,
who is a complete prick.”
“You like him that much, huh?”
“Yes. That much.”
“What don’t you agree on?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“He still wants the tallest building in existence.”
I remember his comment on the plane and smile. “Is he short?”
He laughs and it is so warm and wonderful that I could roll around in
it like sunshine on a cold day. “Actually, yes,” he says. “He is.”
“Hmmm,” I say, pondering. “That doesn’t sound good. So what do
you think? Will you find a compromise with him?”
“Too many people involved want my name, and skill, attached to the
project to not try to make this work.” Amazingly, I think, as he continues,
he doesn’t sound arrogant, but matter-of-fact. “Two of the biggest financial
investors won’t arrive until Monday. If I win them over with my design,
then it’s probably a done deal. I’ll still need to meet with the engineers and
make sure everyone is on the same page, but all in all, I’m probably only a
week from a decision.”
I know that he’s said he’s staying, but some part of me aches for
further confirmation.
“So I get you for at least a week?”
“I told you, baby. Deal or no deal. I’m not in any rush to leave.”
I am too relieved, too emotionally dependent on someone I barely
know, and I do not understand why. I have had no one. I have relied on me.
What is it about this man that makes me want to lean on him, and is that
good or bad?
“Food is here,” the waitress announces, and feeling exposed and
vulnerable for reasons I can’t quite understand, I take the excuse to look
away from Liam, as she adds, “And I’m sorry I didn’t give you much time on
the salads. The kitchen was fast.”
It’s not long before we are sipping more champagne and enjoying
our pasta dishes, but I have a raw nerve still bleeding vulnerability I cannot
seem to seal. Reflexively, I launch into my standard question-asking
strategy meant to prevent question answering. Easy to do with Liam when I
crave every detail I can learn about him. “Will you tell me about how you
started apprenticing at such a young age?”
“The real story or the one I tell the media?”
“There are two versions?”
He sips his champagne. “One for the press. One for me.”
I stab a bite of pasta. “I’ll take both, please.”
“I had a feeling you would. Alex met me at a public event and learned
of my interest in architecture and took me under his wing.”
“And the real story?”
“What makes you think that isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
His jaw hardens. “No. The real story is that I was obsessed with
drawing buildings and I told my mother I wanted to be a famous architect.”
“How old were you when this started?”
“Per my mother’s old stories, I was six. At thirteen I hadn’t stopped
talking about it and had stepped up my interest. I was trying to self-teach
via books. My mother heard Alex was in the city unveiling a building, and
despite working two jobs at the time, she found the time and means to get
me there. We were living in the Bronx. And that’s when I met Alex and he
saw something in me.” He goes on to tell me all about going to Alex’s house
on weekends and summers.
Until this moment, I had not let myself connect the dots of his past to
mine. I too, had been a child protégé to my gifted father, and I reach for my
champagne to keep from letting the confession fall from my lips. That was
my old life, my real life. Amy Bensen has a business degree. She didn’t have
a famous archeologist for a father. Dead father. My father is dead.
“Alex tortured me with hours upon hours of math equations,” he
continues, and I set down my glass, saved from my past by my interest in
his.
“I hate math.” Although his tattoo could make me change my mind.
My lips curve. “You seem rather fond of it.”
His eyes gleam with understanding. “Alex used tell me there were
infinite possibilities in life and architecture. The tattoo represents that to
me.”
Infinite possibilities in life. I am not sure I like that idea. How many
people will I be before I die?
“Of course,” Liam adds, “as a kid I just wanted to draw buildings. Alex
said that’s what you call an artist, not an architect. I fought the math, and
ended up doing the whole wax on, wax off thing like in Karate Kid. ”
I laugh. “ Karate Kid? But that was to learn karate. What did that have
to do with math?”
“It’s hard work. My punishment for not getting the math right and
complaining about having to try.” He laughs, but it’s laced with a hollow
sadness. “And he liked the movie.” He smiles, shifting out of the past to the
present. “I don’t like the movie. I do, however, like math now. Funny how
mastering something makes you change your tune about it. By the time I
was in college I was a whiz.”
The waitress takes my plate and I am shocked to realize it is all but
empty. A few minutes later, we are enjoying coffee and I sigh in
contentment, more relaxed than I have been in a very long time. “What did
your parents think about Alex?” I ask, not ready for this dinner to end.
“My mother adored him.”
“And your father?”
His expression turns somber. “He wasn’t around to have an opinion.”
“I want to ask. I’m not sure I should.”
He gives me a wry smile. “And that’s about as honest as it gets.”
He’s right. It is and it feels good, but what I sense in him does not.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“He ran out on us when I was eight,” he says easily. Almost too
easily. “Told me he was going to the store and never came back.”
“You grew up poor.” There is so much more to this man than
billionaire architect. “That’s why your mother worked two jobs.”
“Yes. Until Alex came along. He took care of my mother.”
“Did they date?”
He gives a quick shake of his head. “No. They were just close friends
and when she came down with cancer, Alex paid for her treatment.”
I blink. “What? Cancer?”
“Cervical. She didn’t have the money for regular checkups so it was
caught late, but she beat it twice.”
My throat thickens at the obvious. She didn’t beat it three times.
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen. Alex adopted me.”
“Alex lost his kids and you lost your parents.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“And Alex? You said you lost him, too?”
“He had a heart attack while I was chasing pyramids a couple of years
back.”
He cuts his gaze and reaches for his coffee, and I sense his internal
emotional battle and do not know the right thing to say or do. I just sit
there until his gaze lifts and collides with mine.
And I see the truth in his eyes. “You don’t talk about this.”
“No.”
“But you did to me.”
“Yes. Now ask me why.”
“Why?”
“Someone has to go first.”
It is what he said to me on the plane. It is his offering of trust, and I
know I was right.
There is something happening between us, something I may never
experience again, and ironically that means lying. Now, this moment, is my
chance to tell him Amy Bensen’s story. To make sure he doesn’t dig around
to find out on his own.
I open my mouth to relay my fake life per my Amy Bensen file, and
snap it shut with a stunning realization. My story is Liam’s story. Her father
ran out on her when she was a kid and her mother died of cancer. How can
this be? It’s impossible. I am not telling this lie to Liam. I can’t. I won’t.
“I need to go to the ladies’ room,” I say, and I do not wait for his
reply. I scoot out of the booth and take my purse with me, but Liam is out
the other side and standing in front of me, and I see the worry in his eyes.
It’s like he senses my instinct to bolt. He thinks I’m running away, and I
am—but not from him. From the me I don’t even recognize as me.
“Amy—”
I lean into him and press to my toes, brushing my lips over his. “I still
want to lick your tattoo. Remember?”
But he doesn’t laugh. He leans back and gives me an intense look.
“Hurry back and let’s get out of here.”
“Yes. I’d like that.”
His hands slowly ease from my waist where they have settled,
reluctantly it seems, and I like that he does not want to let me go. And I do
not want him to either, but I have to find a way to make this work.
I rush away from Liam, and the waitress directs me to the bathroom,
a fancy three-stall room with mirrors on the door, and I rush inside the
farthest one and lock myself inside. All too soon, I am back where I was two
nights ago, leaning on a bathroom stall and fretting. But this time Liam has
found me and I do not want to lose him or put him in danger. I tell myself
lies protect him and I should embrace them and him while he is in Denver.
But deep down I feel this man inside me and I do not want to limit our
possibilities. He knows I’m running and if I really want to be with him, I
have to ensure he does not dig into my background. If I don’t give him
something, he might go look on his own.
The air shifts in the bathroom and I push off the wall. I didn’t hear
the door open but I hadn’t heard it at the museum either. My hand goes to
my throat and I do not dare breathe. I listen and I do not hear anything.
Wait. Do I? Time seems to stand still and I can’t seem to make myself move.
What if I go outside the stall and there is another note? What if I have to
run?
The cell phone in my purse starts to ring and I jerk at the sound. It’s
Liam. Of course, it’s Liam. He is the only one who has my number. How long
have I been standing here? I shake myself and open the stall, steeling
myself for whatever I find outside. Eager to just know what waits on me, I
rush forward and stop dead in my tracks as I bring the sinks into view.
“Meg? What are you doing here?”
She whirls around from where she stands at the sink primping her
long blond hair to lie on her shoulders, a contrast to her short red dress.
“Oh my gosh. Amy! What are you doing here?”
“I…” My phone starts ringing again.
“Oh good.” She lights up. “You got your phone working. I can’t
believe we’re both here.”
“I…yes. Very small world.”
“That’s what I love about this little area of Cherry Creek. You can live,
eat, shop, and play here and get to know everyone like it’s a small town.
Only we have Chanel and Gucci in this small town. We’re the high-society
chicks. Well, not that I can afford that kind of thing, but maybe I’ll find me a
sugar daddy.”
I cringe considering Liam and his billionaire status and think that
while her comment is playful, he must deal with real-life money chasers.
“Are you on a date?”
“My boss brought me. And he’s certainly a hot property himself.
What about you?”
“Yes. A date. Who I should get back to.”
She grabs her purse and pulls out her phone. “Let me grab your
number before we forget.”
I can’t get out of this. Dang it. I remove my phone from my purse and
glance at the numbers on the screen and my throat goes dry. One is from
Liam. The other is unknown.
