“I took a cooking class. I’m limited to just a couple dishes.”
Instantly, I imagined him naked underneath an apron that said, “Kiss the Cook”. I cocked my head to the side and studied him over my margarita. “I can’t really picture you at a cooking class. Voluntarily anyway.”
He looked at me in that way that told me he was debating something in his head. “I had a client who wanted to take a class and needed a partner.”
“Oh, that explains it.” And that explained why he hesitated to elaborate. I didn’t want to picture Dillon cooking with another woman. Or worse, “partnering” with anyone else. So I changed the subject. “So, if you’re not busy tomorrow, I was wondering if you’d like to come over and sit for me. I’d like to start on the sketch, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”
“Sounds good. I’m free all day tomorrow.”
“Dillon, this really is delicious,” I said around another mouthful. It was so scrumptious, I all but licked my plate clean.
“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”
“No one’s ever made me dinner before,” I said thoughtfully. “I mean, besides the chef at the hotel, of course.”
Dillon’s eye glazed over as he watched me take another bite. “God, I love to watch you eat,” he groaned.
“Dillon, don’t embarrass me!” I whined and shoved my empty plate away.
He ignored me, reached over and pulled my leg up to rest on his lap. “I get hard just watching you enjoy yourself.”
I swallowed and took another sip of my drink. It did nothing to settle my nerves and I gripped the edge of my chair.
Slowly, Dillon ran his hand over my ankle and up to massage my calf. I gasped when his fingers grazed the sensitive skin on the back of my knee. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip and I watched as his eyes darkened with lust. The way his gaze bore into me and his hands worked over my leg made me want to take him right there on the table.
With a couple quick scoots of his chair, he brought himself closer and was able to skim his fingers further up my thigh. I sighed and slid to the edge of my chair. The movement slid his fingers up closer to where I desperately needed them to be. Right to the edge of my panties. My breath hitched in my throat when he reached passed them and skimmed his fingers down the folds of my sex.
“Hell, I can’t wait until tomorrow to devour you,” he said huskily.
Suddenly he was down on his knees in front of me, pushing my dress up to my waist. My pussy tingled in anticipation of his mouth on me. Before I had time to think about what was happening, he was shimmying my panties down to my ankles.
He nudged my legs apart and I shivered at the hungry way he looked at my pussy. I felt an instant thrill from being exposed in an unfamiliar house. The air conditioner was cranked up to compensate for the oven and the cool air tickled my sensitive skin.
When his thumbs spread me open, I reached out and buried my fingers in his thick hair, urging him closer. Then he leaned forward and pressed a wet kiss between my legs. I moaned at the sensation. My ass nearly slid off my chair, but Dillon anticipated this and anchored me by placing my feet on his shoulders. This tilted me at an incredible angle and Dillon took advantage by delving his tongue into my center.
Between his thumb on my clit, his fingers stroking me from within and his tongue flicking me into a frenzy, the triple assault had my senses reeling.
A small cry escaped my lips and I let my head fall back. His hand stilled and he whispered, “Look at me, Livi.” I did and he smiled at me, his lips glistening with my honey. “You taste amazing.”
I had no words and he quickly resumed lapping my clit into a swollen bundle of nerves.
I forced myself to look down and watch his dark head bob between my thighs, worshipping me.
It didn’t take long to feel the burst of my climax. Bright flashes of light exploded behind my eyelids as my pussy quivered with a spasm. I was out of breath and felt myself slump over onto the table. When I finished catching my breath, I looked up shyly. Dillon helped me back into my panties and smoothed my skirt down for me.
It touched my heart how thoughtful and gentle he was with me. He never gave me any reason not to trust him. Obviously I’d felt comfortable enough with him and trusted him enough to have a raging orgasm in his dining room.
He pulled me to him and I sat on his lap. I could feel his hard-on underneath me and I shifted to give him more room. His arm tightened around me.
“Be still, Livi,” he said hoarsely. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
We sat like that until his breathing slowed and he was “relaxed” enough to get up. I felt awful for him. I wanted to relieve him and his discomfort, but despite my big talk earlier, I was still petrified of the consequences.
I knew I had to conquer my fear soon or it would be the end of both of us.
Chapter Nineteen
All morning, Dillon had patiently stood for me while I started on his painting. I was able to finish sketching his outline, paint in a dark background in umber with a touch of blue and add details to his clothes, hair and facial features. Now, I just had to wait a couple days before the canvas would be dry enough to do the second application without smearing my first day’s work.
We were in the living room kissing on the couch and I startled when the phone rang. Dillon gave me a reassuring smile, so I got up, went to the kitchen where I’d left the phone and answered it.
“Miss Olivia,” Frank said in his formal brisk tone. “Mr. Sharpe is here to see you.”
My stomach wrenched. Oh God, Daddy was here and Dillon was lounging on the couch. I couldn’t send my father away. He knew I was up here.
“Send him up, please. Thank you, Frank.”
I hung up and spun around to Dillon. “My father’s here.”
Dillon sat up straight in mock surprise. “Should I hide?” he asked, and then smirked.
That was a brilliant idea. Then the whole awkward situation could be avoided. Easy as that.
“How ‘bout the closet?” Dillon asked, jumping up, darting around the room. “How ‘bout over here?” Dillon ducked behind a chair and I laughed when he peeked out at me. “Oooh, I know the perfect spot!” he cried and darted to the window and hid behind the drapes.
His feet stuck out at the bottom and I doubled over with laughter.
By the time my father knocked on the door, I was out of breath, my cheeks hurting. I stood up straight, took a few deep breaths and opened the door. “Daddy! Hi!” I exclaimed, a little too cheerily.
“Olivia. Good morning.”
My father brought me in for a brief hug and kissed my cheek just like he always did. He glanced over at Dillon who had taken a seat on the sofa.
“Daddy, you remember Dillon?”
“Of course. Nice to see you again, Dillon.”
Dillon stood and the two men shook hands.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I waved my hand. “No, Daddy.”
“Livi was just working on painting my portrait.”
“Oh.” My father’s brow arched. He looked at me and back at Dillon again.
My insides jolted. Did he suspect what we were really doing up here? I calmly reminded myself that I wasn’t sixteen and it was perfectly acceptable for me to have a man in my room.
I attempted one of Dillon’s casual shrugs. “It’s a profile portrait,” I fibbed. I didn’t want my father knowing I was painting Dillon’s body or, heaven forbid, think I was doing a nude.
“Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, Mr. Sharpe, I wanted to thank you for leaving me a guest pass for the gym downstairs.”
“It was no problem. What’d you think of the facilities?”
Dillon flashed a million-watt smile. “After I open my own gym, it’ll be tough explaining why I still come here to work out.”
“Ah, you’re too kind, Dillon.”
I smiled at Dillon. He could charm a Terrier out of its bark.
“So, y
ou’re planning on opening your own place?”
“Yeah. Me and a buddy of mine are.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck. Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’d be glad to help.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Daddy,” I broke in. “Since you’re here, I have something for you.”
I led him into my bedroom and handed him the golf landscape I’d finished painting and had framed. “It’s the piece I promised you for your new office.”
My father took the painting as if it was made of porcelain and his eyes lit up. “Olivia, it’s exquisite.”
Pebble Beach had a sort of dreamy quality to it and I was satisfied with how it turned out.
When he looked up at me, I could see the pride in my father’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he said tightly and brought me in for a hug.
“Your very welcome, Daddy.”
I noticed Dillon had hung back in the doorway and let me have this private moment with my father. It made me wonder how someone could be so considerate and so attentive all the time.
I looked back at my father. “I hope it goes with your new décor.”
“It’s perfect, Olivia. Even if it didn’t, I’d have the entire building designed around this.”
I blushed. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It reminds me of your paintings at Bel Ange.” My father turned to Dillon. “Olivia has an island called Bel Ange in the South Pacific,” he explained.
Dillon gave an intrigued nod. “Oh, really. Livi never mentioned it.”
Like the topic of private island ownership ever came up in our conversations.
I looked back at my father and could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“It’s a beautiful place. Well, I’d better get back to the office and leave you two to work. Thanks again for this, honey.”
“You’re welcome.”
After my father left, Dillon pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.
“So,” Dillon dragged out the word. “You have an island.”
“Don’t say it like that. It sounds pretentious.”
“Fine. Where is this pretentious island?”
“It’s near Tahiti.”
He whistled. “Wow, it must be amazing there.”
“Oh, it’s the most beautiful place on Earth. If heaven isn’t anything like Bel Ange, then I don’t want to go.”
He studied my face. “You love it there.”
“I do. It’s like paradise. My family vacationed in Bora Bora once when I was in high school and I could never get it out of my head. After the whole Derrick thing, my father bought Bel Ange for me as a sort of retreat.”
“You’re just full of surprises, Livi. Today I found out that not only do you have a tropical island, but you paint golf courses, now too.”
I sighed. “I didn’t show you because I wanted him to see it first.”
“I know. It was gorgeous.”
“Thanks to you.”
“How’s that?”
“Your crazy rock and roll music inspired me to use color again.”
“I can’t take all the credit. It was inside you all along.”
Chapter Twenty
On Tuesday night, when Dillon walked through my door, he was carrying a bucket of ice with a champagne bottle nestled inside.
“What’s with the champagne?”
He looked like he would burst if he didn’t tell me in the next five seconds. “I have some really good news,” he said, his grin spreading across his face.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Dillon uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. “Let’s have a toast.”
I took a glass from him and raised my glass to his. “What exactly are we toasting to?”
“Drum roll please…Mike and I finally have enough to open our own gym! I don’t have to escort anymore!”
My heart dropped into my shoes and I nearly choked on the champagne.
Wait. Dillon wasn’t going to escort anymore? Did that mean our “relationship” was over and I couldn’t call him anymore? Was it really over, just like that? Just when I’d come so far. We hadn’t even had sex yet. That bothered be more than it probably should have, but I was on the verge of finally being ready to. We’d been so close.
Dillon picked me up and spun me around, but my head was already spinning with questions. “I finally did it, Livi!”
He set me down and I thought I’d never seen him smile so big before.
“I’m so happy for you,” I forced out. I had to be happy for him. This meant the world to him.
But was I happy for him? Really, genuinely happy? I should have been. He’d achieved his dream. Yet I was still stuck in a prison of my own making.
It was like he had peeled back my scar tissue, buried a seed of promise or hope or whatever kind of bullshit it was deep within, fertilized it, let it grow and now he was getting the hell out of Dodge.
“Thanks, Livi. Mike and I are going to start looking at locations right away.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That’s great.”
Dillon rambled on about equipment and layouts while I wondered what exactly this meant for us. For me.
“Are you spending the night tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I have to get up early in the morning to meet Mike and the real estate agent. He’s got a bunch of locations lined up for us to look at.”
“Okay,” I said, hiding my disappointment.
That night, Dillon seemed unusually preoccupied. I don’t know why, but that bothered me. I knew he had a lot on his mind with the gym and everything, but I wasn’t used to him acting like he was a million miles away from me while still in the same room.
We didn’t spend the night kissing or doing any of the other things I’d worked up to. Instead, Dillon just held me like he’d done the night of the charity ball. And I hoped it would be enough to sustain me for the rest of my life.
The next morning, I heard Dillon get out of bed and kiss me on the cheek, but I pretended to still be asleep. I listened to him take a shower and dress and heard his keys jingle as he picked them up from the table.
When I heard the door click shut behind him, I clutched his pillow to my face, inhaled his scent and wept.
Chapter Twenty-One
It took me until late afternoon to drag my sorry ass out of bed. I still wasn’t quite ready to face the light of day but I wanted to start on a charcoal sketch of Dillon while he was still fresh in my mind. I would allow myself to capture him one last time before letting go forever.
On my way to the kitchen, something white on the table by the door caught my eye.
It was Dillon’s envelope.
He didn’t take it with him. Did that mean our last time together was a freebie? Was that our last time together? If it were, wouldn’t he have said something along the lines of goodbye? Thanks for the memories. Have a nice life.
Deep down, I knew last night was the last time I’d feel his arms around me. I could feel it in my gut. Hadn’t he already told me he was retiring? Hadn’t he made it clear he was ecstatic about not escorting anymore?
My head reeled with unanswered questions.
For some reason, even though I already had Dillon’s phone number programmed into my phone, I had bookmarked the website where I first found him thanks to Michelle. Out of curiosity, I pulled up the site, scrolled up and down the page, but couldn’t find his picture.
He was gone.
Dillon Milano was not only gone from my life, but he was gone from the internet.
The space between “Bentley” and “Dre” where Dillon had been before was now occupied by a new escort named “Jack”.
It was true then, not that I hadn’t believed him, but it felt more final somehow after not seeing him on the website.
Dillon, my best friend and confidant, was gone and so was any chance I had my getting laid.
I wondered how I was going to tell
my father that Dillon and I “broke up”. Just like the story of how we’d met in the gallery, I’d have to weave a dishonest tale of how we just didn’t have enough in common or how things just weren’t working out.
I could already see the disappointment on my father’s face. He wouldn’t be disappointed in me, but for me, which was probably just as excruciating.
I didn’t sleep at all that night, but stayed in my studio working until my fingers were covered black in charcoal.
Since I’d already painted Dillon in color, I decided to capture him with a different medium. I purposely didn’t use color this time so that it didn’t distract from the strong lines of his features. Charcoal allowed me to develop the deep tones of his image and capture the depth of his muscle tone.
There were more options with charcoal. I could smudge and smear the lines with my fingertips to give shading under the cheekbones, mouth, chin, nose, eyes and hairline. I darkened the outer corners of the mouth to give the illusion of depth. And finally, I filled in deep shadows to give the sketch dimension.
Using my fingertip, I blended the edges and softened my last stroke over the textured paper.
When I finished, I was left with a triptych, a three-piece panel set of Dillon’s body split into three different sections. Head, torso and legs, pieced together to form a whole body portrait.
When I stood back to survey the finished pieces, I thoroughly liked what I saw. Short of reaching out and touching me, the sketch spoke to me. It captured his essence. When I looked at it, I could feel Dillon’s strength, his masculinity. His warmth.
God, I would miss him.
I bit back the tears and walked out of my studio. I wouldn’t cry for him anymore.
While I was washing the charcoal from my hands in the kitchen sink, there was a knock at the door. Which was strange because I hadn’t ordered room service and Frank hadn’t called to tell me anyone was on their way up. I frowned and dried my hands on a towel. I was still frowning when I opened the door.
When I saw who was standing on the other side, my jaw dropped. Somehow, my drawing had come to life and was standing right in front of me.
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