Submersed (15 page)

             
I was quiet for a minute before asking, “Have you ever had a client you weren’t attracted to?”

             
“Sure, initially.
But it’s usually pretty easy to find something appealing in every woman.”

             
“Do you find me attractive?” I asked, ducking my head so he couldn’t see me blush.

             
“Yes,” he answered without missing a beat. He tilted my chin up until our eyes met. “Do you find
me
attractive?”

             
I let out the nervous laugh bubbling up inside me. “Yes. That’s kind of like asking if I need oxygen to breathe.”

             
“Well, I’m glad we got that all out on the table,” he said with a dramatic sigh of relief.

             
“Do your parents know what you do for a living?”

             
He whistled. “Wow, I tell her I’m attracted to her and she’s already asking about the parents.”

             
I laughed and gave him a good poke in the ribs.

             
“No, my parents don
’
t know. They think I work in a casino.”

             
“Really?”
That one surprised me. With the way Dillon was so open and casual about things, I was surprised to hear that he kept his occupation a secret from his family.

             
“Yeah.
It’s just not something my mom could understand.”

             
Fair enough. “So, what would you do if you weren’t an escort?”

             
“Well, like I told you before, my dream is to open my own gym. Mike and I are going to be business partners and we almost have enough to make the dream a reality.”

             
“That’s wonderful, Dillon.”

             
He looked at me like he had been expecting a different reaction. “Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.”

             
“Are you nervous about it? Opening your own gym?”

             
“Yeah, a little.
Sometimes I worry that it won’t work out and I’ll lose everything. But then I remind myself that this is my dream and I get excited about it all over again. There’s a certain amount of risk to everything,
Livi
. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

             
They were words to live by and I envied Dillon for being so sensible about everything.

             
“Dillon?”

             
“
Livi
?”

             
“Thanks for the music recommendation. It‘s a great album.”

             
“You
’
r
e
welcome.” And then after a minute, “Is that what you were listening to? When you were dancing?”

             
“Yeah,” I answered sheepishly.

             
“I’m glad you liked it.”

             
“I bought it.
Downloaded it, I mean.”

             
“The whole album?”

             
“Yes. And all the other bands iTunes recommended in that genre.”

             
He raised an eyebrow. “All of ‘
em
?”

             
“Oh, about a thousand songs.”

             
He whistled again. “That’s a pretty pricey afternoon.”

             
“I have my own money, Dillon,” I said, sitting up cross-legged style. “I don’t mooch off my father.”

             
He sat up too and put his hands up between us. “That’s not what I meant. Besides, it’s none of my business.”

             
“No, I want you to know.” I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. “I don’t want you thinking of me as some spoiled rich girl who
’s
Daddy takes care of. I sold dozens of my paintings in Paris. I just want you to know I earn my own way.” For some reason, it was important to me that Dillon understood that.

             
“That’s great,
Livi
. When you sell the mermaid you can download the entire genre of rock.”

Chapter Thirteen

             
The next morning when I woke up, I immediately became aware of Dillon’s warm body next to mine. He was in a deep sleep lying sprawled out on his stomach, his breath a steady whoosh in and out of his lips. He was shirtless with his right arm jutting up above his head and the left spread out to the side almost on the verge of dangling off the bed. His head rested on the edge of the pillow and the sheet lay bunched up tantalizingly low on his waist.

             
Ever so slowly, I scooted out of the bed, careful not to wake him.

             
For a few minutes, I stood at the foot of the bed looking at him lying there. He was so calm and peaceful. It was just like a painting.

             
I hurried into my studio to grab a pencil and sketchpad. I had many images of Dillon burned into my brain throughout the last few weeks, but I had yet to capture him in this peaceful moment of slumber.

             
I sat in the chair next to the bed, pulled my feet up and rested the pad on my knees. First, I studied him.
The way his broad shoulders gave way to muscle-defined biceps.
The way his back curved along his spine. The way his lower back sloped down before it met his buttocks.

             
Even in a relaxed state, Dillon’s muscle tone was impressive.

             
My pencil flew over the page, sketching, drawing, shading in the contours.
Of the defined muscles in his back, powerful shoulders, strong arms.
Disheveled hair, parted lips, long thick eyelashes.

             
I was so engrossed in the page that I almost didn’t notice him stirring. When I looked up, he was looking over at me with a curious expression. I bit down on my bottom lip and tried to inconspicuously hide the sketch with my hand.

             
“Are you drawing me?” he
asked,
his voice husky from sleep. It sounded like pure sex.

             
My body gave an involuntary shudder. I tilted my head and looked at him. “I suppose you could say you were my inspiration,” I answered coyly.

             
He sat up and scratched lazily at his chest. “Let me see.”

             
I pulled the pad close to my chest and wrapped my arms around it. “Sorry, I don’t let anyone see my work.”

             
Obviously, he took that as a challenge.

             
I scrambled out of the chair, but before I could flee the scene, I was blocked by the broad expanse of his bare chest.

             
“Let me see,
Livi
,” he
pleaded,
his voice low. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. He was rumpled and his boxer shorts were wrinkled. It would be humanly impossible for him to look any sexier.

             
“No.” I gripped the pad for dear life.

             
He searched my face and leaned in close. In a whisper of a movement, his lips touched mine in what was quite possibly the sweetest, most tender kiss I’d ever experienced. It happened so fast that if I had blinked, I would have thought I imagined it, conjured it up like so much wishful thinking.

             
As soon as I could suck in a breath, he was pulling away and had slipped the pad from my trembling fingers and was studying the sketch.

             
He turned the page from side to side, looking at it from every angle and grinned. “Is that what my back really looks life?” he asked, amazement flickering in his eyes.

             
Dazed and breathless, I nodded.

             
His grin grew wider and reached from ear to the other. “Wow, all those pull-ups and resistance training really does pay off.”

             
“Yes. It’s very…sturdy,” I said, still bewildered by the fleeting kiss. I wasn’t scared, just shocked at how unexpected it was. Even though we hadn’t used our tongues, the whisper-soft kiss still thrilled me to the core. Dillon had kissed me.

             
Dillon’s head shot up and his brows drew together. “
Sturdy
? Is that how you’d describe me?” He tossed the pad on the bedside table where it landed with a thud.

             
I flinched at the sound and whispered, “You tricked me.” But I wasn’t mad. I was too busy trying to analyze the feel of his lips brushing over mine. I was too busy trying to read his expression. He was trying to look serious but a smile was tugging at those lips.

             
“You called me
sturdy
!”

             
“You’re strong as an ox,” I said, barely containing a giggle of my own.

             
He lunged for me then, grabbed me around the waist and carried me to the bed.

             
I shrieked and kicked in mock protest.

             
Dillon hauled me up onto the mattress, tossed me down and lay down, facing me.

             
“You kissed me,” I whispered. It was just as much for my benefit as it was his. I could still feel his heat on my lips.

             
“
Nah, that
was just a peck. Now this,
this
is a kiss.”

             
He leaned forward and touched his lips to mine again with such tenderness I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. I sighed and followed him into the kiss. This time I parted my lips and let his velvety tongue touch mine. I savored the taste of his lips and his tongue.

             
It was the kind of kiss I’d been waiting my whole life for.
First as a tormented young girl with no date to the dance and then as a shunned young woman plagued by demons.

             
A voice inside me wanted to devour him, to claw at his shirt until I reached his bare skin. To climb on top of him and do things to him I’d only read about. But, as always, that reckless voice was countered with its rival, telling me to put both hands on Dillon’s chest and push away with all my might. And run.

             
In the end, I did neither. I focused on his scent and his taste and how his tongue made my stomach flutter when he ran it over my bottom lip. I focused on how his hand hovered on the small of my back and the other caressed my cheek.
             

             
Dillon gave and then he took and I wondered exactly how much he was holding back.

             
Before long, Dillon pulled away just far enough so we could catch our breath and he rested his forehead against mine.

             
“You okay?” he asked, stroking my hair.

             
“Yeah,” I said through swollen lips.

             
Dillon had kissed me and I was okay.

Chapter Fourteen

             
Two days later, Dillon answered his phone on the second ring.

             
“Hi, it’s Olivia.”

             
“Hey,
Livi
.
What’s up?” he said enthusiastically.

             
Dillon’s enthusiasm was contagious and I found myself smiling into the phone. “I need to see you.”

             
His tone changed abruptly into concern. “Is everything okay?”

             
“Yeah.
Everything is fine,” I rushed to reassure him. “I just thought we could start on your painting.”

             
Dillon had been over twice since I “propositioned” him and I hadn’t even started on his portrait yet. I should have at least finished the sketch by now, but I hadn
’
t done that either. Drawing him the one time wh
ile
he was sleeping didn’t count. Each time he’d came over we’d somehow get distracted by watching movies, dancing or talking and now kissing.

             
Although painting him had only been an excuse to call him the third time, I really just wanted to kiss him again.