The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1
Amy is in New York and at work and she gets a note that says that "if he can find her, they can". She is instructed to go to the airport and get on a plane to Denver. She meets a man named Liam on the plane. Liam wants Amy and is determined to get her. He figures out that she is on the run. He is a rich billionaire architect. She is afraid to be with him because she is not sure of what her handler will do. She has never had a relationship before and she really wants Liam. But when things start to be hinky, she starts investigating her past. Where will Liam figure into this whole mystery?
I loved this story, now onto book #2.
From the author:
His touch spirals through me, warm and sweet, wicked and hot. I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t tell him my secrets. But how do I not when he is the reason I breathe? He is what I need.
At the young age of eighteen, tragedy and a dark secret force Lara to flee all she has known and loved to start a new life. Now years later, with a new identity as Amy, she’s finally dared to believe she is forgotten–even if she cannot forget. But just when she lets down her guard down, the ghosts of her past are quick to punish her, forcing her back on the run.
On a plane, struggling to face the devastation of losing everything again and starting over, Amy meets Liam Stone, a darkly entrancing recluse billionaire, who is also a brilliant, and famous, prodigy architect. A man who knows what he wants and goes after it. And what he wants is Amy. Refusing to take “no” as an answer, he sweeps her into a passionate affair, pushing her to her erotic limits. He wants to possess her. He makes her want to be possessed. Liam demands everything from her, accepting nothing less. But what if she is too devastated by tragedy to know when he wants more than she should give? And what if there is more to Liam than meets the eyes?
My name is all that is written on the plain white envelope taped to the mirror.
I step out of the stall inside the bathroom of Manhattan’s Metropolitan Museum, and the laughter and joy of the evening’s charity event I’ve been enjoying fades away. Fear and dread slam into me, shooting adrenaline through my body. No. No. No.This cannot be happening and yet it is. It is, and I know what it means. Suddenly, the room begins to shift and everything goes gray. I fight the flashback I haven’t had in years, but I am already right there in it, in the middle of a nightmare. The scent of smoke burns my nose. The sound of blistering screams shreds my nerves. There is pain and heartache, and the loss of all I once had and will never know again. Fighting a certain meltdown, I swallow hard and shove away the gut-wrenching memories. I can’t let this happen. Not here, not in a public place. Not when I’m quite certain danger is knocking on my door.
On wobbly knees and four-inch black strappy heels that had made me feel sexy only minutes before and clumsy now, I step forward and press my palms to the counter. I can’t seem to make myself reach for the envelope and my gaze goes to my image in the mirror, to my long white-blond hair I’ve worn draped around my shoulders tonight rather than tied at my nape, and done so as a proud reflection of the heritage of my Swedish mother I’m tired of denying. Gone too are the dark-rimmed glasses I’ve often used to hide the pale blue eyes both of my parents had shared, making it too easy for me to see the empty shell of a person I’ve become. If this is what I am at twenty-four years old, what I will be like at thirty-four?
Voices sound outside the doorway and I yank the envelope from the mirror and rush into the stall, sealing myself inside. Still chatting, two females enter the bathroom, and I tune out their gossip about some man they’d admired at the party. I suddenly need to confirm my fate. Leaning against the wall, I open the sealed envelope to remove a plain white note card and a key drops to the floor that looks like it goes to a locker. Cursing my shaking hand, I bend down and scoop it up. For a moment, I can’t seem to stand up. I want to be strong. I have to be strong. I shove to my feet and blink away the burning sensation in my eyes to read the few short sentences typed on the card.
I’ve found you and so can they. Go to JFK Airport directly. Do not go home. Do not linger. Locker 111 will have everything you need.
My heart thunders in my chest as I take in the signature that is nothing more than a triangle with some writing inside of it. It’s the tattoo that had been worn on the arm of the stranger who I’d met only once before. He’d saved my life and helped me restart my life, and he’d made sure I knew that symbol meant that I am in danger and I have to run.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting a wave of emotions. Once again, my life is about to be turned upside down. Once again I will lose everything, and while everything is so much less than before, it’s all I have. I crumble the note in my hand, desperate to make it, and this hell that is my reality, go away. After six years of hiding, I’d dared to believe I could find “normal”, but that was a mistake. Deep down, I’ve known that since two months ago when I’d left my job at the central library as a research assistant, to work at the museum. Being here is treading water too close to the bridge.
I straighten and listen as the women’s voices fade before the room goes silent. Anger erupts inside me at the idea that my life is about to be stolen from me again and I tear the note in tiny pieces, flush them down the toilet and shove the envelope into the trash. I want to throw away the key too, but some part of me won’t let that happen. Probably the smart, unemotional part of me that I hate right now.
Unzipping the small black purse I have strapped across my chest and over my pale blue blazer, that despite my tight budget, I’d splurged on for this new job, I drop the key inside, sealing it away. I’m going to finish my party. Maybe I’m going to finish my life right here in New York City. The note didn’t say I’d been found. It only warned I could be found. I don’t want to run again. I don’t. I need time to think, to process, and that is going to have to wait until after the party.
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