Submersed

by Rachelle Vaughn

  Instead, I tore myself from his grip stepped away. “Get out,” I said, my voice tight and controlled.

  “No, I get it now, Livi.” His brow furrowed and he reached out a hand. “It’s okay.”

  “No you don’t.” I wheeled away, ignoring his hand. “It’s not okay.”

  I started pacing the room like one of those prowling white tigers.

  I wanted to erase the past few months and forget I’d ever met Dillon. I should have slammed the door in his face that day. I never should have called him in the first place. Now, he was standing here in front of me, dissecting me like some lifeless frog on a cold metal lab table. I had to get away from him and those eyes. Those eyes that looked straight into me like I was made of glass. He had no right.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Livi?” Those blue eyes narrowed in concern. He shifted his weight to his other foot.

  The air between us crackled with tension.

  I felt anger boil up and burn my throat. “I will not stand here and be analyzed like some…some freak show! I want you to leave.”

  “Ah, Jesus.” Dillon raked his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Livi, I--”

  “Get out, Dillon.”

  “Please.” He took a step toward me, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “I didn’t mean--”

  “Now!” I shouted, my voice deep and raw. I stormed into the bathroom, gripped the doorjamb and whirled around. “You’d better be gone before I come back out or I’m calling security.” The threat scalded my throat and I slammed the door shut with a bang.

  Without undressing, I turned on the shower and stumbled inside to stand beneath the spray. Hot, fat tears burned past my eyes and I ducked my head so they washed away down the drain.

  I had ruined everything with a few angry sentences and now Dillon was gone forever. I had been in such a rotten mood I would’ve picked a fight with the Dalai Lama if he were there instead of Dillon.

  I had wanted to break something. To hurl something against the wall or squish something to pieces with my bare hands. Instead, I lashed out at Dillon, hurling words, breaking our trust and squashing our friendship with my fingers.

  Gut wrenching sobs shook my body and I collapsed against the cold, unforgiving tile.

  When I came out of the bathroom an hour later, Dillon was gone and I felt like a steaming pile of shit. It wasn’t his fault. How was he to know that after what he’d said he might as well have chained me to the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Tropicana Avenue in my birthday suit?

  In my bedroom, I curled up on the window seat that Daddy had custom made for me. It offered a spectacular view of The Strip. Twinkling lights, neon signs, the whole she-bang. It was dusk and the city lights below started glowing. But I didn’t see them. Instead, I thought about all the things I was missing out on by locking myself away from the world. I thought about the experiences I was preventing myself from having. Those things had never particularly bothered me before. If anything, I had been relieved to not participate.

  Now I wasn’t so sure.

  When I tried to sleep that night, I tossed and turned in the empty expanse that was my bed. It was cold and much too big for just one person.

  I hated myself for ruining everything and for chasing away the one good thing I’d actually found in this miserable life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, I looked at the clock and determined Dillon was most likely at the gym. I knew his schedule by heart. Although it probably wasn’t appropriate for me to seek him out in a non-professional capacity, I’d already crossed the client-escort line when I entrusted him with my shameful secret. And then tossed him out like the trash.

  I was going to set things right even if it meant facing some of my biggest fears to do it.

  After a call down to Frank for a driver, I stood in my closet for what seemed like forever, looking, scrutinizing my clothes, agonizing over what to wear. I wished I lived in the arctic or somewhere where I could bundle up and hide my body, but unfortunately the temperature outside was hovering around the mid-ninety mark.

  I couldn’t go out in sweats--no one should be allowed to wear them in public---and besides, it was too warm outside for them anyway. My yoga pants were super comfortable but weren’t flattering enough and most of them were stained with paint. Finally, after trying on a dozens of outfits, I decided on a pair of khaki shorts and a tee shirt. The shirt felt a little too baggy but it was better than being too snug. Even though I had flip-flops they seemed to…exposing, so I picked out a pair of white sneakers.

  During the ride to the gym, I contemplated what I would say. No matter how I twisted the words around I kept coming back to the same realization. I was a jackass. And I had to apologize for it.

  When the driver pulled up to our destination, I was thankful it was in a decent neighborhood.

  I instructed the driver to wait for me, took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. After crossing my fingers, I headed into Dillon’s home away from home.

  Inside the modern building, a perky blonde with a perky blonde ponytail greeted me at the reception desk with a perky smile.

  “May I help you?” she asked in a perky voice.

  I cleared my throat and dredged up every ounce of courage I had. “Yes. I’m looking for Dillon Milano. Do you know if he’s here?”

  “Yeah, he’s here.” She craned her neck to see into the workout area. “He’s probably back in the weight room. Straight through there and just take a left before you get to the treadmills.”

  “Thank you,” I said and started walking in the direction she’d pointed me.

  Once inside the weight room, I immediately spotted Dillon lifting free weights off to the side. Luckily, he was the only one inside.

  His muscles flexed, his skin had a sheen of sweat. He looked like a sexed up Bowflex commercial. My stomach fluttered and then clenched as I remembered all the horrible things I’d said to him.

  As if he could sense my presence, he looked over at me and set down his weights.

  I walked over to him on trembling legs.

  “Wow.” He flashed me a smile that told me he didn’t hold a grudge. “You’re the last person I expected to see walking through those doors.”

  I offered him a weak smile in return. “I needed to come and apologize.” I shrugged into my shirt and let my hair fall down the sides of my face like a curtain. It was bad enough the gym was unfamiliar territory, but there were also dozens of people milling around. “I…I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for flying off the handle yesterday.”

  Dillon raked his hands through his hair and sighed. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. You confided in me and I turned around and was a complete ass to you. I’m so sorry, Livi. I shouldn’t have--”

  I put my hand up to stop him. “No, Dillon. You were right. Everything you said was true. It just…hit a little too close to home and I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

  “Aw, Livi. Come here.” He pulled me into a sweaty hug, but I didn’t mind his damp skin on mine one bit.

  I breathed in his smell and swallowed back tears.

  He released me and apologized again. “Sorry. I’m all sweaty.”

  “It’s okay.” In fact, his pheromones were heavenly. The tears were forgotten and I cherished the feeling of his body pressed against mine again. “I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

  “Never,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  “All is forgiven.”

  For a minute there, feeling his arms around me and his lips on my face, I almost forgot where I was. Quickly, as my surrounding closed in on me and I remembered where I was, I hunched my shoulders and tried to hide behind my hair.

  “No one’s staring at you,” Dillon pointed out, with kindness in his voice.

  I tried to stutter an answer, but nothing came out.

  To prove his point, he put his hands on my shoulders and wheeled me around. “Look,” he instructed.


  I looked out at the gym through the glass doors of the weight room. Outside, a tall, slender woman jogged on a treadmill, her black ponytail bouncing up and down. She listened to headphones and watched the TV mounted in front of her. Across from her, a man, pretending to use some kind of elliptical contraption, was staring at a redhead using the hand weights. On the other side of the room, another man was looking at himself in the mirror as he did crunches. All in all, none of them were paying the slightest attention to little old me.

  I let out a ragged breath.

  “See,” Dillon leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Not a one. And they’re all idiots, too,” he added. “I couldn’t help but stare at you the way you stormed in here looking like a goddess.”

  Okay, so nobody was looking at me. That was a relief. I let the goddess remark slide.

  “Come to dinner with me, Livi. I want to see you tonight.”

  “I can’t.” The thought of going out and having people stare at me while I tried to eat gave me the heebie-jeebies. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Coming here was about as much as I can handle in one day,” I confessed. I needed to get back to my studio where it was safe.

  “What if I promise it’ll just be me and you?”

  I didn’t think that was possible, but I was willing to test his promise. I owed him that much at least. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’ll have dinner with you tonight if you promise it’ll just be the two of us.” And your glorious muscles.

  Dillon pulled me close and planted a kiss square on my lips.

  Even though we were in plain sight of everyone else at the gym, I didn’t shy away and pull out of the kiss. I forced myself to stand my ground to prove to him that I could do it. I’d come this far. I’d ventured from my room out into the frightening city. I’d apologized. I could do anything.

  Within reason.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a little strange seeing Dillon when there was no envelope involved. It had always been there to define our relationship and now it wasn’t. But it kind of felt nice, too. More…normal somehow.

  We rode most of the way to his house in silence. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I was getting used to Dillon’s comfortable silences. Even though I was at ease with him, I was still nervous about going to his house. Would this change our relationship somehow? I knew the answer to that question the same way I knew Dillon never brought clients to his home.

  Dillon’s neighborhood, where all the streets had clever nature-themed names like Whistling Brook, Swan’s Nest and Hawk Haven, was filled with two-story stucco houses that all looked the same.

  After navigating through a maze of cul-de-sacs, Dillon pulled into the driveway of a white house with a tan tile roof. With a click of a remote, opened the garage door.

  “This is your house?” I asked stupidly. Of course it was his house. Damn these nerves of mine.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling into the garage.

  I couldn’t breathe. My lungs weren’t working and I froze up. He was leading me into some kind of trap and people were going to jump out at me, pointing and laughing.

  “No one else is here?” I asked, twiddling with the hem of my dress. “I thought you had a roommate.”

  “Livi.” He shifted into park and put a hand over mine and its warmth soothed me. “What’d I tell you? It’s just us. Mike is out of town for a couple of days with a client.”

  I nodded and followed him into the house.

  The second Dillon opened the door leading from the garage into the kitchen, the most wonderful aroma greeted us. My tummy growled and my mouth watered. “It smells delicious.”

  “I hope you like Mexican food. I made enchiladas.”

  “You made enchiladas?”

  “And not the frozen kind either. This is the real thing.”

  “Wow, Dillon. I’m impressed.”

  He went over to the oven to peek inside. Red sauce bubbled up and the cheese on top was starting to brown. It looked delicious.

  “Almost ready,” he announced. “How ‘bout I give you a tour of the house while we wait?”

  “I’d love that.”

  Connecting to the kitchen, the living room was plain and simple with vaulted ceilings that gave it an airy feel. The furnishings were sparse, but what he had looked comfortable. A cozy looking brown leather couch, big screen TV, a pair of end tables. Nothing hung on the walls, no art and no photographs, and I found that ironic.

  A small patio was off the living room that opened to a small backyard. The view from the patio was spectacular. You could see the entire city in the distance. “Wow, look at you. You have an incredible view of the city and where I live, I’m smack dab in the middle of it.”

  “Yeah,” he said from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I leaned back into his rocklike chest and he briefly rested his chin on my head. “Come on,” he said, taking my hand.

  Next, Dillon took me down a short hallway that led to the bedrooms. One of the spare bedrooms was being used as a home office.

  “That’s Mike’s room.” Dillon pointed to the master bedroom and quickly shut the door. “He’s a slob.”

  I smiled and followed him to the room across the hall. Dillon’s bedroom.

  “This is my room.”

  I felt a slight tingle as I walked in. It felt like I was being shown the Holy Grail or something. The furniture in Dillon’s bedroom was just like him. Strong and masculine.

  A huge king-sized sleigh bed in a cherry finish dominated the room. Two end tables and a matching dresser were the only other pieces of furniture. The bedspread was midnight blue, just like his eyes. It looked plush and when I ran my hand over the fabric, its velvety texture caressed my fingers.

  So, this was where Dillon Milano slept. At least when he wasn’t entertaining a client. I tried very hard not to think about that. Instead, I thought of it as the place he slept when he wasn’t in my bed.

  “Do you ever bring your clients here?” I asked boldly.

  “No. We meet at their place or a hotel,” he answered softly.

  I looked at the bed and suddenly felt brazen. I felt safe here in Dillon’s bedroom. I felt like I could finally say and do all the things I‘d been too afraid to say before. Maybe it was because I was in new and exciting surroundings out of my comfort zone. Maybe it was because Dillon was showing me his house, his room. His bed.

  “What would you say if I told you I wanted you to fuck me on your bed?” I asked in a voice that didn’t sound like mine.

  “That’s not what you want.” Dillon said, his eyes searching my face. “I think you’re just trying out the word to see how it feels on your tongue.”

  I rolled my tongue around my mouth. Maybe I was starting to get tired of just words in my mouth.

  Everything tingled below my waist. It felt like my vagina was going to fall out of my body and flounder around on his plush tan carpet.

  He knew I was bluffing.

  “So you don’t want to fuck me?” The word still felt strange when I said it. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this.

  “Oh, I didn’t say that.” He shook his head, but his eyes remained locked with mine. “I do. Believe me, I do,” he said tightly. “That’s just not how it’s going down the first time. When we do finally have sex, I’m going to make love to you until your mind is so blown you won’t be able to remember your own name much less all of the bullshit you worry about.”

  My knees weakened and my breath whooshed out of my lungs. I felt myself smirking at the prospect. “Promise?”

  “You bet.” He smiled back and took a step toward me. “There is something I want to do right now, though.”

  “What’s that?” I asked on a sigh.

  Dillon closed the distance between us, cupped his hand behind my neck and pulled my mouth to his. My breasts crushed against his
chest and I grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

  It was an aggressive kiss, full of need and heat. He ravaged my mouth and plundered my tongue with his. If fucking were kissing, then this would have been it. He took and took until I was breathless. The more he took, the more I wanted him to take.

  When I groaned and reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, he abruptly pulled away. His face and neck were flushed and, I’m sure, hot to the touch. His eyes were wild like I’d never seen before. Darker. Full of desire and want.

  I pressed my lips together and they were swollen, just like another part of my body. I hadn’t wanted him to stop. If he wouldn’t have ripped himself away, I probably would have fucked him right there on the floor. A part of me was glad he’d stopped it before it got out of hand, because no matter how much I wanted him that wasn’t how I wanted him. Eventually, sure, just like he’d said, but not for the first time.

  Another part of me, the part that was foggy and swirling and throbbing from his kiss wished he would have thrown me on that bed and had his way with me. Hair pulling, scratches down the back kind of sex.

  The timer on the oven beeped, shattering my thoughts.

  Dillon blinked and turned to the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

  A small round bistro-style table sat in the dining room off the kitchen. It was already set for two with napkins and silverware. Dillon put his hand to the small of my back and led me to a chair. After insisting I sit down, he went into the kitchen to serve dinner. He pulled the steaming tray of enchiladas out of the oven and I watched as his muscles bunched and quivered as he lifted the dish onto the stove. I watched him move around the kitchen, pulling plates out of the cabinet and dishing out food. I watched him take margarita mix out of the refrigerator, pour it and some ice into the blender.

  When he brought me a margarita, I sipped it and savored the salty sweetness. Next, he brought over two steaming plates of enchiladas. I was delighted to discover that he’d even made rice and beans. He’d thought of everything.

  “Where’d you learn to cook like this?” I asked through a mouthful of heaven.