Submersed

by Rachelle Vaughn

  Now how did Dillon know about my piece in the gallery?

  Ah, of course. He had done his homework. That rascal.

  Submersed was an ethereal painting of a woman underwater, her hair swirling around her, shrouding her face. There had been some debate about who or what the woman was, but only I knew the truth behind what I’d painted.

  Cornelia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Now is that the one of the woman drowning?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, but Dillon spoke first. “I believe she’s a mermaid. Is that right, Livi?”

  I looked at Dillon and narrowed my eyes. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. No one ever saw the mermaid in that painting. They only ever noticed how she was floating underwater. The women’s hair covered up the haunting loneliness of her face and her dress swirled around her ankles, ambiguously hiding her feet.

  Cornelia shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Either way, it’s a beautiful piece.”

  “Yes, she’s exquisite,” Dillon said.

  I blushed. “You’re kind to flatter my work, Dillon.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your art, although it is too. I was talking about you.”

  I felt my cheeks burning. God, this guy was good.

  “I still can’t believe I persuaded you to part with it,” my father commented, sounding proud of himself.

  “It was more like you twisted my arm,” I replied.

  “Oh, Olivia. It belongs out where people can see it and admire it. It’s just unfortunate you decided to put such a steep price tag on it.”

  I gave my father my best stubborn smile. “You only said you wanted it in the gallery. You never specified a price.”

  We both knew I didn’t want to part with the piece and was doing everything I could not to have to. That included putting a hefty price on it out of spite. Someone would have to be crazy to pay that kind of money for an original Olivia Sharpe. My mysterious underwater lady wasn’t going anywhere.

  Cornelia frowned. “Elaine was most disappointed you didn’t choose her gallery for it. Speaking of which, when are you going to let her arrange a showing of your work?”

  Elaine was Cornelia’s sister. She owned a gallery in Los Angeles and had been trying to talk me into an exhibition for years.

  I took a sip of wine and watched as my hand shook the glass. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” I managed to say, setting down the glass. This conversation was long overdue for a topic change.

  “Oh sure you are,” Cornelia insisted. “I’m sure you have a whole collection of pieces up there in that room of yours.”

  My father shot Cornelia a warning look and my gut twisted into knots. Not talking about my reclusive lifestyle was an unwritten rule.

  Cornelia huffed and waved my father off. “Your daughter is one of the most talented artists of her generation, Ronald. Her work should be on display for all the world to see,” she declared, making a grand gesture with her arms.

  “Speaking of display,” Dillon added. “Livi, would you like to dance?”

  I could have kissed Dillon for jumping in to take the heat off me, but instead my throat tightened. I had to bite back my automatic negative response. There had to be hundreds of people on the dance floor already. It was hard enough being in the same room with this many people much less dancing right in the middle of them.

  If I said no, I’d surely be revealed in the sham of my own making. If I said yes, I’d be thrusting myself into an incredibly awkward position. Then again, I’d done it to myself the minute I called Dillon Milano to participate in this ridiculous hoax in the first place.

  Dillon stood up and was looking at me with hopeful eyes, holding out his hand. He was playing his part and I had no choice but to play mine.

  “Sure,” I said, pasting a smile on my face.

  I took his hand and he led me over to the dance floor. His hand was warm and pulsed over mine. He was so strong and powerful. I envied his strength and his self-confidence. When the product you were selling was yourself, I guess it helped to have confidence in said product.

  We waded through the couples and suddenly, Dillon pulled me close with a hand at the small of my back.

  My first instinct was to protest. I had no idea where I was supposed to put my hands. What about my feet? How did he want me to dance with him? What was I supposed to do?

  I didn’t need to worry about it because he was already holding one of my hands and I let the other rest at his shoulder. His skin was hot through the fabric of his jacket. Gradually, I molded myself to him and swayed to the music. After a while, it wasn’t difficult letting him lead me, letting my mind go blank except for the sound of the music and the feel of the warmth of his body against my own.

  He kept one hand clasped with mine and the other at the small of my back. His chiseled chest was like marble. Again, I could feel heat radiating from his skin.

  He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “So, how am I doing?” His breath tickled the sensitive lobe.

  I forced a smile and tried to concentrate on where I was moving my feet. “Great,” I answered. “Everyone loves you. And I think Cornelia wants to take you home with her.”

  As he chuckled, his chest rumbled against mine. The sound was deep and warm. Instead of soothing me like it should have, it made me tense up, reminding me of just how close his body was to mine. Too close.

  “Too bad I have to disappoint her,” he said softly. “Because you’re the one I’m going home with.”

  That did me in and I nearly collapsed right there in the middle of the dance floor.

  He flashed a wicked smile and my eyes darted everywhere but his face. To my dismay, I hadn’t thought that far into the evening. I had just assumed we’d part ways after dinner, I’d never see him again and I’d make up some story for my father of how we’d broken up. And that would be the end of Olivia Sharpe’s summer “romance.”

  My panic attack was interrupted by my father cutting in.

  “Dillon, would you mind terribly if I had a dance with my daughter?”

  “No, not at all.”

  I was passed off between the men and I took comfort in my father’s strong grip.

  “I’m glad you came tonight, Olivia.”

  “I know it’s important to you.”

  “Dillon sure is charming.”

  “Yes.” I had to agree. Charm oozed from Dillon like lava from a volcano.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t mention him before.”

  I sighed to keep from stiffening up and giving myself away. Did my father suspect I was a phony?

  “Daddy, it’s not serious or anything. We haven’t known each other for very long.” And that was the truth.

  “Well, I’m glad you met someone, Olivia.”

  I was glad it made my father happy even though he was oblivious to the dirty trick I was playing on him and everyone else.

  “Cornelia seems to have taken to him,” I pointed out.

  I glanced over to where Dillon and Cornelia were dancing, or more like Cornelia was groping, but Dillon was looking at me instead of his sticky-handed dance partner. It occurred to me that if I really did have a boyfriend, it would be smart to keep him away from Cornelia Davenport.

  “She’s not who he has his eye on,” my father remarked.

  I looked back at Dillon and he winked at me. I quickly looked away and focused on not tripping over my feet.

  When the orchestra switched to a new song, Dillon was at my side like he’d never left. Somehow, he’d managed to peel himself away from Cornelia and her roving paws. My father went to dance with Gwendolyn and Dillon brought me close to his chest again.

  “Mrs. Davenport sure likes you,” I commented dryly.

  “She’s just trying to get Mr. D’s attention.”

  I glanced over at Howard dancing the tango with the wannabe supermodel. “Too bad Mr. D has his attention glued firmly to that poor girl’s cleavage.”

  Dillon’s hand crept dangerously low on my back. Ther
e was just too much of him. I was drowning in his scent, yet I knew I had to cling to him like a life preserver to save me from myself.

  Partway through the evening and after several exhilarating dances, I’d forgotten I was paying him for a good time. It was nice having someone by my side while I made necessary small talk with my father’s associates and the charity’s committee members.

  Last year, I had danced an obligatory dance with my father, then sat at our table watching everyone else make fools of themselves before ducking out early to watch old Katharine Hepburn movies upstairs in my room.

  Tonight, Dillon and I danced until I was out of breath and my feet ached. He knew a little bit of every dance style to make it fun. The tango, ballroom, salsa. Knowing how to dance must have come in handy in his line of work.

  When the event started winding down, we said our goodbyes and Dillon walked me to the elevator.

  “Well, Dillon, thanks so much for tonight,” I said, stabbing at the elevator call button.

  He smirked at my lame attempt to end the evening. “Are you trying to get rid of me already?”

  I blushed and looked down at my shoes. “No.”

  “Let me at least make sure you get up to your room all right.”

  “Are you sure?” It wasn’t like there was a lot that could happen to me from here to there.

  “Yeah. I have a few hours left.”

  That’s right. He was still on the clock. I had just assumed he’d have his car brought up and then drive away into the Nevada desert. At least that would have saved us an awkward goodbye.

  “Okay,” I said meekly. I wasn’t sure why he needed to come back to my room. I’d already paid him in advance, so what was there left to do exactly?

  The door of my suite closed with a click and I leaned against it. It was good to be back in my sanctuary.

  “You really pulled it off, Dillon.”

  Actually, Dillon had charmed the pants off of everyone at the dinner party. I immediately blushed at the thought of Dillon with no pants on.

  “You sound surprised,” he said, loosening his tie.

  “Well, yeah. A little. I mean it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever done before, so I wasn’t sure.” I walked over to the window and looked down at the glowing city.

  “It wasn’t difficult. I actually had fun,” Dillon said from behind me.

  I’d had fun, too. Dancing with Dillon’s warm body was something I’d remember forever. “Me too.”

  “The food was pretty good.”

  I turned around and looked at him. “At a thousand bucks a plate, I’d hope so.”

  Dillon nearly choked on his own saliva. “Wow,” he finally said. “In that case it was excellent.”

  I shrugged. “It’s for a good cause.”

  “What cause is that? Finding Mr. D a suitable mistress?”

  I laughed and followed Dillon to the sofa. “Or finding Mr. MacTavish a toupee that actually fits.”

  Dillon laughed and we continued to make fun of almost everyone at the dinner. Dillon Milano made me feel comfortable and as much as I liked it, it scared the hell out of me.

  “Would you like a drink?” I offered, figuring it was the hospitable thing to do.

  “Sure. Here, I’ll make it. You sit down and get comfortable. I’m sure you’d like to get out of those shoes.”

  I blushed, embarrassed that he’d even noticed my shoes. It was so thoughtful of him. Then again Dillon had been polite and thoughtful all evening. Corny cliché aside, he was the perfect gentlemen.

  I kicked off my shoes and took the drink he held out to me even though I had no intention of drinking it.

  Dillon sat in the chair across from me and stretched out his long legs. I tried to swallow but my throat had gone mysteriously dry.

  I sat down on the sofa and took a sip of the drink. It wouldn’t hurt to have something to take the edge off. And here I thought dinner was going to be the nerve-wracking part. There was a beautiful, pre-paid man in my room and it looked like he had no intention of leaving.

  “So where’d you learn to dance like that?” I asked.

  Dillon paused and thought about it like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer me truthfully or not. “I had a client who wanted to take dance lessons and needed a partner.”

  Oh, that was why. He didn’t want to talk to me about his other clients. That was understandable.

  “Well, you’re very good at it.”

  I stifled a yawn and set my drink on the coffee table. Fatigue hit me like a stack of phone books. The dinner was the most excitement I’d had in quite some time and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep my eyes open. Even if it just was to look at Dillon’s gorgeous face.

  Dillon stood up and put his drink down next to mine. “Let me help you into bed, Livi. You must be exhausted.”

  I mumbled in agreement and shuffled into the bedroom. Between the excitement of the night, the heady dancing and the champagne, I didn’t care that Dillon was following me into my private bedroom.

  When I reached the edge of my bed, I turned around and Dillon was standing a breath away from me. He was so handsome and I was so lonely. If only I could have had the guts to do at least one of the billion things I was thinking.

  His eyes narrowed and if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was leaning in for a kiss.

  My gut wrenched in that old familiar way and I shook my head. “I can’t. I…I just can’t.”

  “It’s okay.” He straightened and squeezed my hand to tell me he understood. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  I sighed and leaned my cheek against his chest. He was so warm and solid. My body wanted his hands roving over it, his lips on mine, but my poor overworked analytical brain screamed no.

  The past was not going to be easily ignored, no matter how much I found myself wanting to move on from it.

  “Can you just hold me?” I asked. It wasn’t something I would have said in a gazillion years, but it just sort of slipped out. “I know that probably sounds cliché, but you’re so…warm. You’re arms…they’re nice.” I blushed from nose to ears. Because I’d only had one glass of wine and a few sips of brandy, there was no blaming the liquor for choosing my words for me. How corny could one person be?

  Oh well, I was the one paying for this. I could be corny if I damn well wanted to.

  Dillon smiled. “Sure. I’d love to hold you, Livi. Any day of the week.”

  “Let me go change,” I mumbled.

  I went to the dresser, grabbed out my biggest, baggiest, comfiest tee shirt and went into the bathroom to change.

  Feeling slightly ridiculous, but now much more comfortable, I tiptoed back to the bed and climbed inside. He snuggled in next to me and I sighed when those big, warm arms came around me.

  There was no reason to feel foolish, I decided.

  This was exactly what I wanted.

  As I lay, waiting for sleep to come, I wondered how something so broken could ever be fixed.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning when I woke up, Dillon Milano was gone. It was like I had dreamed the last few days. The only thing that remained of him was his masculine scent on my pillow. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Oh yeah, he’d been here all right.

  I hadn’t imagined his bright smile or his big hand holding mine. Or the sound of his laugh, or the feel of his chest against me while we danced. There was no way I could have dreamed up those shadowy blue eyes looking at me like I was the only one in the room.

  Here I’d had a real flesh and blood man in my room--in my bed!--and I hadn’t done a damn thing about it except curl into the fetal position and fall asleep.

  Berating aside, I still had to admit I’d done a lot more than I ever thought I could, starting with calling him in the first place. I’d hugged him, danced in his arms and snuggled up to him in bed. Not too shabby for an agoraphobic nutcase.

  I yawned and stretched and climbed out of the big empty bed. For a m
inute, I stood and looked at where he’d laid and pictured the two of us there together, our heads resting next to each other on the big puffy pillows. I smiled and patted myself on the back for being brave and taking a chance. It was an evening I would always cherish.

  I went in to the bathroom and drew myself a bath in the giant whirlpool tub. I didn’t think my wobbly legs could hold me up for the duration of a shower. My knees were still a little weak thinking about how muscular and powerful Dillon was while being kind and tender at the same time.

  As water gushed out of the faucet, an idea came to me. A naughty idea. Before I could analyze it, I was scooting my thighs down and under the spout. Since my fingers never seemed to do the trick--I could never get the touch or tempo quite right--it seemed worth a try.

  I spread my legs and positioned myself under the flood of water. The pounding flow was just enough pressure to massage me in all the right places. It soothed everywhere I ached with longing. Before long, my clit throbbed and my hips bucked, but I needed more. More pressure. More heat. More everything.

  I needed a firm, warm hand. I needed Dillon‘s arms around me. On me.

  The thought skittered into my head and I shook it off and tried to clear my mind of distraction. My body wasn’t the problem, it was my head. Always calculating, never silent. I focused on the whooshing sound of the water, letting it soothe me.

  I reached down and spread my outer lips so the water would reach deeper. So it could flow inside of me, fill me with its heat. It sluiced over my slit, pounding and then caressing. Bruising then laving.

  I clenched my butt cheeks and jerked my drenched body up closer to the spout. Water ran down my belly and neck and into my ears so that all I could hear was the roar of my heartbeat as I sucked in air.

  Everything tightened and I clenched my teeth as sweat broke out on my forehead. I was almost there. Just a little bit more. Just a little to the left, no, the right.

  I couldn’t wait any longer for it to happen. I needed it. I commanded it. But my body didn’t respond to orders. It just hummed and throbbed in a nice steady buzz with no coup de grace in sight.

  The sensation was so overwhelming I thought I might actually, finally, have an orgasm, but my brain took over before that could happen. Here I was in the middle of the desert wasting gallons of water trying to get myself off. Maybe I didn’t deserve to have one.