Submersed

by Rachelle Vaughn

  We had no choice but to follow her.

  “Let’s just look around for a few minutes,” Dillon coaxed me under his breath.

  Cornelia jabbered on about the auction and all I could think about was how I was going to get out of going into that room.

  “All proceeds are going to the Speedy Recovery Foundation,” Cornelia was saying. “It’s a great organization, Olivia. We help provide medical care for children who have leukemia.”

  I nodded, already knowing that. That was why I decided to part with Princess in the first place.

  The auction items were displayed in a large room off to the side of the main showroom. I knew what was beyond those glass doors and I felt myself start to shake. My painting would be on display for everyone to see. And laugh at.

  Besides that, I had no interest in an overpriced trip to Hong Kong or an original handcrafted locally made paperweight. Even if it was for charity.

  “We’re getting an overwhelming amount of interest in your painting, Olivia,” Cornelia pointed out. “It’s absolutely precious. My sister Elaine will be ecstatic when I tell her about it.”

  Dillon cocked his head to the side and smiled at me. “You didn’t tell me you donated a painting for tonight.”

  “No…yeah. It was a last minute sort of thing,” I said tightly.

  He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “You really don’t like talking about your art, do you?”

  “Not really.” I whispered back. I hurried to add, “It’s complicated,” before he could ask why.

  “Come on, Olivia. There are some people I want you to meet.” Cornelia detached herself from Dillon and sashayed into the room ahead of us.

  I froze in the doorway.

  Dillon squeezed my hand and after what seemed like hours, I reluctantly followed Cornelia, only because there were people behind me waiting to get through the door.

  Cornelia cheerily ushered us over to a group of people assessing my painting.

  My Princess was hanging on the wall and was lit in a way that made the little girl positively glow. The bangs of her golden blonde hair hung nearly to her eyes. If she blinked, her hair might have moved. She had big blue eyes, a perfect button nose and plump pink lips that looked like they could instantaneously thrust out in a pout if she didn’t get her way.

  Princess captured the dreamlike innocence of youth and I immediately fell in love with the painting all over again.

  I thought I should have named her Angel because she looked like she could sprout wings and flutter right out of the room. Too bad I couldn’t do the same.

  “Everyone, this is Olivia Sharpe, the artist,” Cornelia announced.

  The group let out an excited murmur.

  Champagne mixed with panic and churned inside my stomach. It felt like I was swimming underwater. Drowning. Gasping for breath. Submersed in terror. Everything sounded like I had my earplugs in and my vision swirled. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe.

  Somehow, I managed to plaster a smile on my face and tried to focus on what the woman in front of me was saying. I think she was asking something about inspiration but her voice was jumbled inside my head with the eerie sound of laughter.

  Repulsive. Ugly. Dirty.

  The words choked me and the laughter clawed at my eyes.

  I looked around for the exit and found myself surrounded by a whole mob of people. There were so many of them. Blurry faces and rumbling voices.

  My legs were too wobbly to run away like I wanted to and I couldn’t exactly change my molecular structure to melt me into the floor.

  Where was a transporter when you needed it? It was the twenty-first century. Weren’t we supposed to be able to announce, “Beam me up Scotty” and have it actually happen by now?

  “She’s beautiful, Livi,” Dillon was saying to me.

  I couldn’t breathe. There was no air. The air was laughter.

  “I have to go,” I stammered. “We have to leave.”

  “Are you okay?” His beautiful face was warped in concern and I was going to pieces.

  “No. I need to leave,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

  “Okay. Okay.” Dillon looked around the room and addressed to the group. “Excuse us, everyone,” he said sternly and led me outside, just like that.

  Even though my hand was sweaty and disgusting and dirty, Dillon didn’t let go until we were standing outside in front of Davenport’s Imports. Except for a young couple smoking cigarettes on the corner, it was deserted outside.

  I sucked in a breath of warm night air. Even though it was balmy outside, I shivered.

  Dillon looked down at me with concern. He squeezed my hand and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Stay right here and give me a second.”

  My teeth chattered and found it difficult to form a complete sentence. “Dillon…please…what…?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he insisted. “Just stay here and get some fresh air. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  I should have panicked. Dillon was leaving me outside by myself. In a strange place. In the middle of the night. Where there were hoards of people a room away, waiting to devour me and shred me to bits.

  But I didn’t panic. The calm and confident way he spoke to me told me everything was going to be all right. His comforting tone put my mind to rest. He wouldn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t throw me to the wolves. Everything was going to be okay. He had promised.

  Dillon walked over and said something to the parking valet and then went back inside the dealership. I watched him through the windows as he made a beeline to Cornelia. They exchanged a few words, he kissed her on the cheek and he came back outside to me.

  He came back to me just like he said he would. Just like he promised.

  Cornelia caught my eye through the window, smiled and waved. I gave her a somewhat shaky wave back, but didn’t smile.

  Our driver pulled up with the car at the same time Dillon came outside of the building. He ushered me inside the limo without a word and settled in next to me. A protective arm came around me and I felt myself snuggling into his warmth.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally mumbled, breaking the silence.

  “Sshhh. It’s okay, Livi.” He rubbed my arm and I welcomed the soothing touch.

  I leaned my face against his rock-hard chest and felt tears burn behind my eyes. It had been so horrible. There had been so many people. So many eyes.

  “I got overwhelmed,” I explained in a broken whisper. He had to know. I had to make him understand.

  “I know,” he said softly. “There were a lot of people in there.” He took my hand and made small circles over my wrist with his thumb. I focused on the steady movement and it helped me to relax.

  Dillon was touching me and I wasn’t freaked out by it. He had even kissed my forehead and I only felt tenderness.

  He was silent for a minute before saying, “Everyone loved your painting, though. I think they just got a little too excited when they heard you were the artist.”

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that they weren’t laughing at me. I also wanted to believe that I wouldn’t be like this for the rest of my life.

  “Thank you,” I said in a weak voice.

  “No problem. You sure you don’t wanna hit a few clubs? That dress is really smokin’ hot.”

  I opened my mouth to protest and I ended up laughing at the mischievous look on his face. He was joking and I had to give him credit. Somehow, he had a way of making me feel better, calmer.

  “So, are we still on for that popcorn?” he asked.

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I yelled from inside the kitchen. I had changed out of my dress and into a tee shirt and cotton pants. The change of clothes helped me just as much as being back in my own element.

  “It was my idea, wasn’t it?” Dillon answered back.

  “Well, technically, it was mine.” I pulled a package of extra buttery movie theater style popcorn from the cupboard and
shoved it in the microwave. I could hear Dillon turn the TV on in the bedroom, not the living room.

  I had overreacted at the dealership but he didn’t judge me or try to make me feel like a fool. Instead, he had taken control of the situation and helped me out of it. I owed him a lot more than popcorn.

  A few minutes later, I came out with the popcorn and Dillon was flipping through the channels. He had taken off his jacket, tie and shoes and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. I looked at the exposed skin there and wished I could see more of it. I wanted to feel the skin on his chest to see if it was as warm as his hands.

  I popped a piece of popcorn in my mouth. “Did you notice that one model serving champagne?”

  “Which one?” he asked, half paying attention to the television.

  “You know, the one with boobs out to here.”

  Dillon looked at me and shook his head. “No, I must’ve missed her.”

  “How could you miss her?” I scolded. “She wasn’t hard to miss.”

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “What about her?”

  “Well, I think she was the same one Mr. D had his hands all over at the charity dinner.”

  “Really? I must have been distracted by all that horsepower.”

  I cocked my head to the side and studied him. “So, did you have fun? I mean, before I had a meltdown.”

  “Yeah. We got to sit in a Conan’s Egg. It’s not every day you can say that, right?”

  I giggled. “That was pretty exciting.”

  Dillon took the bowl of popcorn from me and set it down on the nightstand. “Come here.”

  He gave me the same look he’d given me the other night when I thought he was going to try to kiss me. He didn’t this time, but put his hands on my shoulders instead.

  My stomach fluttered and then the look in his eyes disappeared. Disappointment replaced the butterflies when I realized I wanted him to kiss me this time.

  Dillon moved his hands over my shoulders and his brows knit together. “Jeez, Livi, you’re tense.”

  I couldn’t argue. There was six years’ worth of tension in those shoulders.

  He muted the television and focused all of his attention on me.

  I should have shrugged away. I shouldn’t have let him put his hands on me. I should have run far, far away. But I was having a difficult time convincing my body of that.

  He steered me to the bed where I sat down. He sat sideways next to me, working his hands over my shoulders, his touch not too firm, not too gentle. The perfect pressure was enough to make me purr in my throat. We rocked together with the rhythm of his hands and I nearly slid off the bed.

  When his hands moved up and he paid special attention to the sensitive column of my neck, I nearly lost control. The tension there slowly started to disintegrate. I know he didn’t mean for it to be sensual, but the feel of his hands on my neck and shoulders caused a stirring sensation between my legs.

  “Here, lay down on your stomach.” he said gently.

  Oh, there was going to be more? I wasn’t sure I could take any more. Those hands were trouble and I was helpless against their power.

  I did as he told me and then immediately felt foolish. My butt was probably sticking up and I had no idea where to put my hands. This was ridiculous. But Dillon didn’t seem to mind.

  He knelt next to me, his knee nudged next to my hip. Then those warm hands were on me again, kneading my shoulders and back and I forget everything but his touch. He worked my aching muscles until his heat radiated through my thin shirt. It felt as good as a dream.

  He didn’t say anything else so I remained quiet too. Where silence between people usually frightened me or made me uncomfortable, Dillon wasn’t afraid of it. He didn’t feel the need to fill the gaps with mindless chatter like I sometimes did.

  At first, the years of knots in my back resisted him, clinging hard and coiled under my flesh. But the more Dillon rubbed, the more everything loosened up.

  And I mean everything. Everywhere he touched, his heat burned me. Even places he didn’t touch warmed and flushed with longing. I shifted, trying to ease the pulsing below my waist and Dillon remained oblivious of my longing.

  He placed his thumbs on either side of the base of my neck and moved down, igniting small fires as he went. It was pleasure and pain rolled into one and I had to work hard to keep myself from moaning.

  Then, he pressed the heels of his hands on each side of my spine. Using firm pressure, he slid both hands outward. Then he started again an inch higher and repeated this until he reached my shoulders and then worked his way back down again.

  Methodically, magically, his hands moved down by back to my waist and back up again. Then they kneaded their way back down. He stopped at my lower back and I was relieved he didn’t move any lower. He must have known I wouldn’t be comfortable with that. I might be ready for a kiss, but I wasn’t ready for that.

  Part of me wanted him to go lower, though, I think. To touch me in the places I hadn’t been touched in so long. It wouldn’t be difficult to imagine us rolling around on the bed, our bodies slick with massage oil, with no clothing to separate us. Kissing and nibbling and exploring…

  I swallowed and tried to let my body relax under his big hands. This wasn’t the time for my overactive imagination to run away with me. I had to keep a clear head no matter what kind of dormant thoughts he was awakening inside.

  After a while, with only the voices in my head tormenting me, I couldn’t endure the silence. The only noise in the room was the crinkling of my shirt as he moved his hands over it. There were too many damn clothes in the way. But they would stay there. I needed them to.

  “God, that feels good,” I murmured aloud, barely recognizing my own voice. His kneading and rubbing had coaxed languid words from me.

  “Good.”

  “Thank you for this.”

  “You’re welcome.” He kneaded his way up to my shoulders again. “When’s the last time you had a massage?”

  I made a strangled laughing sound. This guy was hilarious. I hadn’t let anyone put their hands on me in over six years. “It’s been a while,” was all I said.

  When his movements slowed, I stretched and sat up. Dillon had worked his spell on me and I hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long, long time.

  “I really appreciate what you did for me tonight,” I told him, avoiding those blue eyes.

  “It was no problem, Livi.” He reached for my hand and kneaded it softly, his thumb gliding between my knuckles.

  Silence again.

  After a few minutes, Dillon sat back and broke the silence this time. “She was the girl from the lobby, huh?” he said thoughtfully. “Princess?”

  Seeing as he must see all kinds of people out in the world on a daily basis, I was surprised he even remembered her.

  “Yes.”

  “It looked just like her,” he said, sounding astonished. “Like you painted over a photo of her or something. You really are talented.”

  Was he just saying that because I was paying him to?

  “Thank you.”

  “You gave her so much detail,” he continued. “It was like she was asleep and could wake up and move at any moment.” His eyes lit up when he talked about my work and I envied him.

  “Can you stay with me tonight?” I asked so softly I was almost afraid he wouldn’t hear me.

  “That was my plan, all along, Livi.”

  Chapter Eight

  When I woke up the next morning, Dillon was gone. Last night he had just lain next to me with his arm around me, but it was what I needed. There was no reason to be surprised that he was gone, but I was just the same. And a little disappointed, too.

  I shook off the ridiculous feeling and padded into the kitchen to make coffee. I called room service to order breakfast and when I walked through the living room, I noticed Dillon’s keys on the table by the door. They were sitting on top of his envelope. I frowned. Why did he leave his money? He wouldn’t h
ave left without the keys to his house, his car. How did he get home? Or maybe he was so repulsed by me that he couldn’t get away fast enough and threw caution to the wind. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I picked up the keys and jingled them lightly in my hand. There were three keys on a small silver key ring. One looked like a house key. A smaller one must have belonged to his mailbox. And the one with the Escalade symbol would be to his car.

  I neatly set the keys back down on the envelope and numbly went to take a shower.

  I didn’t know where Dillon was or why he’d left behind his envelope and keys. Just in case I’d missed him somehow, like that was even possible, I walked through the suite and checked each room. Like a fool, I even checked inside the coat closet and my walk-in. This wasn’t hide-and-go-seek, I chided myself.

  Maybe he had gone out for coffee or breakfast. Lord knew why. I had a coffee pot and room service had a trusty cart to wheel food right up to the room.

  Whatever the reason, Dillon was gone. I tried to push him out of my mind long enough to get a shower.

  After I wrapped myself in a towel and got dressed, the knock at the door indicated my breakfast had arrived. Just as I was shoveling in a mouthful of eggs, the front door opened and Dillon sauntered in like he owned the place. He was wearing mesh athletic shorts and shirt and was glistening with sweat. He looked a heck of a lot more tasty than the veggie omelet on my plate and my pulse quickened at the thought of having Dillon for breakfast instead.

  “Mornin’,” he said before helping himself to a piece of my toast.

  I just stared at him speechless, the omelet turning into a brick in my stomach.

  “Mmm,” he said through a mouthful. “Good toast.”

  He plopped down in the chair next to me and I felt my blood pressure go up a few notches. He smelled like sweat and pure man. “It’s sourdough.” I folded my hands neatly in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “I thought you left.”

  “Nah. I got up early and thought I’d check out the gym like your Dad said. He left a guest pass for me downstairs with Frank.”

  “That was nice of him.”