Submersed (11 page)

             
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 have 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.”

             
“Yeah.”

             
“So, was it satisfactory?” I asked, taking a sip of coffee.
“The gym?”

             
“Yeah.
Probably one of the nicest I’ve seen. That’s how I want mine to be.
Swanky locker room, sauna, spa.
All that stuff.”

             
“You’re opening your own gym?”

             
“Someday.”

             
He caught me looking at his chest and smiled. “Frank set me up with some workout duds. That guy is amazing. Is there anything he
can’t
get?”

             
“
Poisson Cru,
” I answered, naming my favorite French Polynesian dish.

             
Dillon gave me a puzzled look.

             
“Well, he can have the
ahi
tuna shipped, but it isn’t as good when it’s imported,” I explained.

             
Dillon shrugged, swallowed the last of his second piece of my toast and stood up.
“Time for a shower.”

             
“You could have showered at the gym,” I pointed out.

             
“Eh,” he shrugged. “Yours is much more appealing to me.” He eyed me as hungrily as he’d eyed my toast just a few minutes earlier.

             
I nervously smoothed my still wet hair. “I’ve already had mine.”

             
“Too bad,” he said with a wink.
“Could’ve been fun.”
His grin was confident and his smile dangerous.

             
I blushed and pushed my plate away. There was no way I could eat another bite as long as my stomach was doing cartwheels.

             
Dillon took off his shirt and tossed it on the chair.

             
I felt my eyes bulge out of my head at the sight of his bare chest. He was Adonis or Atlas or Zeus. He was chiseled and sculpted like a marble statue of Hercules. But he wasn’t cold stone or lifeless rock or a mythological being. He was tan flesh and warm-blooded man.
Pure man.
And he was leaning against the doorjamb watching me have my fill of him with my eyes.

             
I blushed the color of the raspberry jam I
’
d put on my toast. Quickly, I gripped my hands together under the table for fear they’d try to reach out and touch him. My willpower was crumbling like feta cheese.

             
“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” he asked, tucking his thumbs under the elastic at his waist.

             
“Maybe…maybe some other time,” I croaked, blinking rapidly.

             
There. That should buy me some time.

             
He winked at me and strode into the bathroom, his bare back eliciting a groan from my throat.

Chapter Nine

             
Later after Dillon had gone and I lay in bed alone, I pondered my thoughts about that morning. Secretly, I had really hoped Dillon would still be there lying next to me when I woke up. What difference did it make whether he was in my bed or not? It wasn’t like I would have done anything about it. Sure, several scenarios crossed my mind, but this was Olivia Sharpe I was talking about, not Raquel Welch or Jane Russell, or Ann
freakin
’ Margaret.

             
My arms broke out in goose bumps at the thought of those scenarios. There were plenty of them and they all included me uninhibited and Dillon stark naked. In a moment of boldness, I forced myself to play out one of them in my mind. A little harmless fantasizing couldn’t hurt.

             
I would wake feeling refreshed and find Dillon’s arm protectively draped over my waist. He would moan when he felt me stirring and he’d open those devastatingly blue eyes to meet mine. He would look rumpled from sleep and sexy as hell. We would exchange murmured greetings and he would kiss me good morning. It would be a lazy, sultry kiss and he would run his hands up under my shirt and stir up feelings deep within me that had lain dormant for so long.

             
My body would awaken at his touch and I’d return the favor by sliding my hands over his warm chest and back. I would feel his erection hard and pulsing against my belly. In a husky voice, he would say my name. I would bury my fingers in his thick, silky hair and gently tug it when he slid into my moist heat. The sheets would bunch as I arched for him, giving myself to him. He would bring me to ecstasy before emptying himself into me with a shudder.

             
My breath hitched and I found myself clenching my thighs together. A quivering sensation coiled between my legs. Gradually, I
g
ave into the feeling. If I was ever going to be comfortable enough to have sex with Dillon, I was going to have to be comfortable enough to do it with myself.

             
I curled my body against my pillow, wishing it were flesh and warm skin and could hold me back. I squeezed my legs around
it,
my panties bunched up and rubbed along my slit. I wished I wasn’t the only one in my bed, throbbing and yearning.

             
I pictured Dillon’s eyes roving over my naked body. I saw his bare chest, the muscles rippling in his arms, shoulders and stomach. I imagined how his bare skin would taste, salty and warm on my tongue. I yearned to feel his nipples pebble under my fingertips and his cock harden in my hand.

             
I lifted my tee shirt and my nipples puckered when the cool air from the A/C caressed them. I ran my hands over each breast and squeezed their hard peaks.
Gently at first, then harder and tighter.
I wished someone were there to suckle my heavy breasts and cool my burning nipples with their mouth and tease them with their tongue. I couldn’t do it myself. I couldn’t reach all the places by body needed me to. I needed him. I needed Dillon.

             
Writhing against the sheets, my body screamed for release. I rubbed and stroked and probed but nothing came of it except for more frustration.

             
I collapsed into my pillow, exhausted and still wound up as tight as before I started.

             
If I couldn’t make it happen for myself, then what hope did I have of a man figuring it out?

             
When I touched myself, it felt amazing, but I never experienced that wave of release or whatever it was that books and magazines claimed it to be. Maybe it wasn’t something I could do for myself. Like how a person couldn’t tickle themselves. Yeah, that was it. I was going to stick with that theory until something better came along.