by Julie Cannon
It had been almost three years since she had even looked at a woman, and longer than that since she had felt a woman’s touch. Her senses awakened in an explosion that surprised her. She took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart and grabbed her red shawl for both warmth and a splash of color.
Meanwhile, Dillon gravitated toward the paintings mounted on the wall on either side of the fireplace. They were bright and vibrant, filled with color and light. She preferred impressionist art such as this because she could see something entirely new each time she looked at it. These were good, very good. She leaned closer to see the artist’s name and shot her eyebrows up.
“I’m ready.”
“Is this you?” Dillon pointed at the signature on the painting.
“Yes. I dabble a little here and there, though I haven’t touched a paintbrush recently.”
“I’d say this is more than just dabbling. This is good. Really good.” Dillon wasn’t a connoisseur of art but she knew what she liked, and she liked this. She wondered if Callie had any more.
“Thanks,” Callie replied, and hung her head, as if she was embarrassed.
“No, I mean it. Do you have any on display? Do you sell?” Dillon was uncharacteristically rambling.
“I’ve given a few to my friends, but it’s just a hobby. Another outlet for my creative juices.” She was starting to look uncomfortable with the way Dillon was admiring her work. “I’m ready.”
If Callie weren’t so beautiful, Dillon could look at these paintings for hours. They created a sense of peacefulness she hadn’t felt in some time. When she was a child her mother took her to the art museum twice a week for their summer program, and Dillon begged her to let her go every day. Her father thought the lessons were a waste of time and money, and said as much on more than one occasion, calling painting frivolous and not a respectable profession, but her mother took her anyway. At one time she wanted to go to art school but knew she would never be able to afford to live if she did. She had no desire to be a starving artist. Architecture was a close second.
The drive to Westwood Estates took twenty minutes and Dillon’s car was more than comfortable. Callie had never been in a BMW, let alone a 750 series, and she added this car to the list of what she would buy if and when she won the lottery.
“You didn’t tell me you were the Dillon Matthews.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re impressed.”
“Are you trying to impress me?”
“If I were trying to, I would have told you who I was the first time we met. I would have taken you to the Cedars for coffee and picked you up tonight in my Hummer.”
“You have a Hummer?” Callie was more interested in the gas-guzzling vehicle than the most expensive restaurant in the city.
“Of course I do. I’m a lesbian and I’m rich. What else would I have?”
“A Jaguar,” Callie threw out jokingly. She was surprised at the expression on Dillon’s face. “You have a Hummer and a Jaguar?” Callie wondered again just how and why she was sitting next to a woman who spent more money on one car than Callie made in a year, maybe two.
“If I say yes, will you count it against me?”
“What color is it?” Callie asked mischievously.
“Emerald fire,” Dillon answered without hesitation.
“Emerald fire?” Callie laughed. “So what color is it really?”
“Green.”
Callie nodded. “Good Lord. Why is it that the more expensive the car, the more ridiculous the names of the color? I mean, how many shades of green are there?”
She stopped, suddenly aware that what she said might offend Dillon. She tried to think of something to smooth over her critical comment but came up empty.
Dillon felt the tension in the air as the car turned into the drive of the luxury community. Normally she would have snapped back a retort that would have put anyone who dared talk to her like that in their place. But as the guard stepped out of the large building that separated the residents of Westwood Estates from the commoners, Dillon calmed down. She needed Callie tonight, and it would not be in her best interest if they arrived on the Franklins’ doorstep arguing.
“Emerald fire does sound a bit pompous, doesn’t it?” The tension left the car as Dillon rolled down her window and gave the guard her name. As he checked his clipboard and retreated inside the building, Dillon thought of the care she’d taken not to try to impress Callie when they first met. Too many people sucked up to her when they found out who she was, and Dillon wanted things to be different with Callie. Well, I certainly got my wish. Within seconds, the gate opened and Dillon roused from her reverie and drove through.
Callie had never seen houses as large as the ones they passed on the tree-lined streets. Each one sat back from the street far enough for the occupants not to hear any noise from traffic but not too far to be hidden from view. The soft voice of the navigation system directed them around the next corner and told them the address they were looking for was one hundred feet ahead on their right. Dillon turned into a wide driveway, the BMW’s suspension absorbing the shock of the brick-laid surface. She pulled to a stop near the front door and turned off the engine. Leaning forward, she tilted her head and looked at the mansion through the windshield.
“Nice digs.”
“I’ll say.”
Callie was shocked at the size of the house and nervous that she was going to a party inside it. What did she have in common with these people? Nothing, other than the fact that she might have designed a floral arrangement that had been delivered here. But this was not the clientele that Crane Florist typically serviced.
Dillon must have sensed her apprehension because her hand was suddenly covered by a large warm one. “You’ll be fine. You look great. One glance and everyone will be gaga over you. If you run out of things to say, give me the high sign and I’ll come rescue you. Better yet, stay beside me. That way you won’t have to worry, and I’ll have the prettiest woman in the room on my arm.”
Callie froze. “Dillon, do these people know you’re a lesbian?”
Dillon squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Yes, they do. Bill Franklin specifically asked me to bring a date. As a matter of fact, he almost insisted on it. Don’t worry. He wants this deal as much as I do. He won’t do anything to jeopardize it.” Dillon let go of her hand, and Callie faintly noticed how cold and empty it felt.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.” Dillon reached for the door knocker.
*
Dillon was used to houses as elegant as Bill Franklin’s and recognized the work of a few familiar artists hanging on the walls surrounding them. A man clad in a tuxedo had answered the door and promptly welcomed them inside, and their footsteps echoed in the large foyer.
She hesitated in the doorway to the gigantic living room, preferring to get the lay of the land, so to speak, before venturing any farther. Naturally guarded, Dillon used the opportunity to put names to faces she recognized. She knew a few of them, but most she did not. She reviewed a mental checklist of what she needed to accomplish tonight. Her top priority was to get Bill Franklin to sign over his property to her. Simple. Piece of cake. She would have him in her back pocket before the night was half over. She grasped Callie’s hand and stepped forward, then stopped abruptly.
“Dillon, I’m Bill Franklin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Mr. Frank…” Dillon stopped and corrected herself as she accepted the hand offered to her. “Bill, yes, it is a pleasure.”
“This is my wife, Phyllis.”
Dillon dropped his hand and extended hers to the woman who was at least five inches taller than her husband. “Phyllis, you have a lovely home.”
“Thank you, Dillon. It’s a bit much for me, but I’ll pass your compliment on to my decorator.”
Dillon detected a sadness in Phyllis Franklin’s eyes that for some reason troubled her. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what might have caused it, but of course she had just met the woman. Brushing it
off, she turned to bring Callie closer to her side. “May I introduce Callie Sheffield.”
Callie was grateful for Dillon’s lead. The opulence in the room overwhelmed her so completely she had been unsure if she could put one foot in front of the other on her own. Everywhere she looked, the furnishings screamed money. Her shoes sank in carpet so thick she was tempted to remove them and confirm she was indeed standing on clouds.
Bill greeted her first. “Callie, I’m glad you could join us. My wife and I have been looking forward to this evening all week.”
His hand was warm and strong, and Callie felt immediately at home. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Franklin.” She was cut off by their host insisting she call him Bill. “And Phyllis, thank you for having me as well.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear. We see the same old people party after party. Bill so seldom invites anyone of interest. It’s good to see new faces in the house.”
“Come in, ladies. What can I get you to drink?” Bill asked.
They placed their drink order and Phyllis immediately began to introduce them to the rest of the guests. By the time dinner was served, Dillon had met two investment bankers, an attorney, two bored wives, and one half-drunk husband who couldn’t keep his eyes off Callie.
Callie had kept up her share of the conversation and Dillon was impressed with how easily she talked with people. Even though Callie stayed near her, it appeared to Dillon that her nervousness had disappeared and she was enjoying herself.
At the table, Callie sat on Dillon’s left with Phyllis on her right. The leering husband was directly across from Callie and his eyes were permanently affixed to her chest. Callie didn’t indicate she was aware of the attention. In fact, she tried to engage the man in conversation but stopped when it was apparent he had nothing to say. Phyllis dominated most of the conversation and at one point asked, “So, Callie, how long have you and Dillon been seeing each other?”
Callie almost dropped her fork, and Dillon tensed and waited anxiously for Callie’s response. Even though this was technically their first date, she didn’t want to share that piece of information with anyone.
“For a while now,” Callie answered vaguely.
Dillon had nearly choked on the bite of broccoli she was chewing but, somewhat relieved, she resumed eating. She hadn’t considered that the conversation might go down this path. She had been to so many of these business dinners masked as social events that she hadn’t even assumed this one was anything different. She hadn’t told Callie much about the situation, and it would have been embarrassing if the Franklins discovered they were practically strangers. She searched Callie’s face for some sign of what she was up to, and when she found nothing she frowned. Why was she making her look good?
“Come on, you two, don’t be shy. After all these years I remember the first time I saw Bill like it was yesterday. Where did you meet?” Phyllis directed her question again to Callie.
“At a dance,” Callie replied smoothly. “I was waiting for a friend and Dillon asked me to dance.”
“And what did you think when she asked?” Phyllis inquired.
Callie hesitated. “Well, actually,” Callie cast a knowing glance at Dillon, “I thought she was hitting on me.”
“I was not,” Dillon interjected in her defense, even though that was exactly her intention.
“You were too,” Callie replied, as if she could read Dillon’s mind.
“I can understand that, Dillon,” Phyllis said. “Callie is a beautiful woman.”
Dillon wasn’t sure where this conversation was going so she remained cautious. This was unlike any other table talk she’d experienced. “Yes, Phyllis, I couldn’t agree with you more. But I wasn’t hitting on her.”
“Uh-huh,” Phyllis added. “You’re a scoundrel, Dillon Matthews. I read the papers.”
Dillon couldn’t help but laugh at the characterization. “A scoundrel?”
Phyllis sipped her coffee. “Yes. A scoundrel, a rogue, you know. My Bill was exactly like you forty years ago. You even have the look, with those dark eyes and brooding expression. You probably have the girls eating out of your hand.” Phyllis chuckled.
Callie chimed in. “Not anymore. She’s the perfect lady. Never even looks at another woman when we’re together.” She shifted slightly in her chair, pressing her leg against Dillon’s. The contact was meant to signal to Dillon she was teasing, but at the first touch, a wash of heat shot through Callie. This time she did drop her fork. As she watched Dillon out of the corner of her eye, the wash of heat became a wave.
“Very admirable, Dillon. I guess you’re not that bad after all. Bill stopped his shenanigans after he met me too.”
Callie was caught up in the light teasing and couldn’t help but say, “Obviously, Phyllis, we know what it takes to keep our men and women happy.”
Phyllis was clearly hip to the fact that she and Dillon were lesbians and was asking leading questions, so Callie relaxed. But when she considered what she had just said, her mouth suddenly became dry at the thought of keeping Dillon happy. The sex would be intense and powerful. She wanted to know just how intense.
“Amen to that, sister.”
Dillon sat in stunned silence. How had the conversation gotten this personal so fast? The way Callie and Phyllis were talking like sorority sisters and glancing at each other like they shared a secret was making her nervous. It was as if they had been having dinner with Phyllis for years, not an hour. Phyllis had a way of making people feel comfortable, as if they were talking to their grandmother or great-aunt. They had known each other for only a few hours, but Dillon felt as if she could tell this woman anything, totally unlike her relationship with her own mother.
“You’re awfully quiet, Dillon,” Phyllis commented, then added, “It appears as though your woman here has you right where you want to be.”
Finally able to say something, Dillon wasn’t sure what it should be. If she refuted what Callie had said, then she might damage her chance to close the deal tonight. Shrugging, she replied, “What can I say, Phyllis? You’ve got me pegged. But please don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, you know. You said it yourself, you read the papers. Others do as well. A girl can’t be too careful.” Dillon winked at her as if it were their turn to share a secret.
“Yes, I do. We women keep a few secrets hidden under our skirts.”
Dillon choked on her wine and grabbed her napkin before the red liquid could spill out onto the tablecloth and, most likely, all over her as well. “Very well put, Phyllis. I happen to like what some women hide under their skirts,” she murmured under her breath.
Dinner over, they adjourned to the den for dessert and coffee. Phyllis mingled with her other guests but spent most of the evening talking with Callie. Dillon tried on several occasions to pin Bill down, but he kept sidestepping her attempts to talk business.
“Dillon, Callie is absolutely charming.”
Dillon sipped her brandy as she and Bill walked through the French door onto the patio. “Thank you. She and Phyllis seem to be hitting it off rather well. They’ve been inseparable ever since we got here.”
“That’s what scares me. God knows what we’re up against when two women get together.”
Bill was talking to her as if they were two men discussing their wives. Well, weren’t they? Other than the fact that she barely knew Callie’s last name, wasn’t that what this was all about?
“I hope my wife’s forwardness didn’t upset you or Callie. She has yet to master the art of subtle small talk.” Bill looked at Dillon as if to say, “You know what I mean.”
“I prefer the direct approach. Fortunately, it has served me well in business. Why beat around the bush and waste everybody’s time? Why not just come out and say exactly what you want?” This was the perfect opening for her to again approach their business deal. “Bill,” she said.
Something in her tone must have indicated business because he immediately deflected her. “I couldn’t agree mor
e, Dillon. I like you, and Phyllis is definitely smitten by Callie. We’re going to our house on Paradise Island next weekend. I know Phyllis would love it if you two would join us. And if I know my wife, she’s probably already asked Callie.”
Dillon kept her irritation at the old man to herself. What would it take to get him to discuss her offer, let alone sign the papers? He was a much more formidable businessman than she had been led to believe. She made a mental note to discuss her realization with Greg and the rest of her staff. This would not happen again.
“That sounds wonderful, Bill, but I’ll have to talk to Callie. I’m not sure what her plans are.” Dillon looked through the doorway and saw Callie and Phyllis laughing. Warmth infused her at the thought of spending more time with Callie, but was almost cooled by her impatience to get her project going. She was losing money every day the equipment to start phase one of Gateway sat idle in a rented lot on the other side of town.
“Excellent,” Bill said enthusiastically. “I’ll have my assistant call yours and they can work out the details. You’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you will next week.”
Dillon was gazing at Callie, and an image of her lying half naked on the beach filled her brain. Her stomach jumped a little and she had to swallow a lump in her throat that came out of nowhere. “You’re probably right.”
Chapter Seven
Despite being nervous, Callie had enjoyed herself this evening, and she had enjoyed watching Dillon even more. Several times throughout the evening she had covertly studied her. Dillon wasn’t overly tall, but she carried herself with a sense of authority that came with self-made success. Her body language was the same whether she was talking to a group of men or women. She seemed to respect the opinions of each group and didn’t shy away from one or the other. Callie had known a few lesbians who were either intimidated by straight women or wanted to dominate them. Dillon was definitely not one of them, Callie thought as she buckled her seat belt.