Submersed (4 page)

             
Why had I called him? That was a very good question.
One that I could answer.

             
“My father is having this charity dinner and I…I need a date.”

             
He leaned back on his heels and I could smell his skin. He smelled like the Nevada sunshine and something sporty I couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was his cologne or his deodorant. Either way, it was wreaking havoc on my reasoning.

             
“Well that seems simple enough.”

             
Nothing was simple in my world. It took me hours of pumping myself up just to make a simple phone call or leave the hotel. The outside world was not a friendly place and I preferred to avoid it at all costs. There was nothing simple about hiring a man to pretend he liked me.

             
“Not quite that simple,” I replied. “See, I told my father I had a date and that we’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.” I cringed at my own confession. It sounded horrible to hear the words out loud. I had lied to my father. “I need you to make it seem like we
’
re dating.” I was a horrible person.

             
Dillon nodded calmly.
“The boyfriend experience.
I can do that.”

             
Oh jeez, he even had a name for it. Well, at least that meant I wasn’t the first person to come up with the ridiculous idea.

             
“So when is this dinner?”

             
Damn it. That was something I should have asked on the phone. What if he wasn’t available? What if I’d had him come here for no reason because he already had a “date” with some horny housewife?
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.

             
“It’s next Saturday at seven. Are you available?” I asked hopefully. There was no way I could start all over again with someone else. Maybe the Brad Pitt look-alike who loved the outdoors was available…

             
Dillon took out his cell phone and checked his calendar. “I sure am.”

             
I actually felt myself sigh with relief. “I really apologize for the short notice.”

             
“No problem. We’ll just have to get to know each other before the dinner.”

             
He sure had a way of simplifying things. Nothing in my life was this easy.

             
I cleared my throat and tested my legs to see if they were capable of walking me across the room. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

             
I needed to move my nervous breakdown out of the foyer.
Somewhere more comfortable.
Somewhere roomier where I wouldn’t be engulfed by Dillon’s enticing smell and his warmth and his size.

             
I sat in the middle of the sofa, tucked my legs underneath me to make myself as small as possible and hugged a brocade throw pillow in front of me.

             
Shield in place. All systems go.

             
Dillon chose a chair across from the sofa facing the windows. He settled in and comfortably spread out his long legs.

             
I took a second to look him over again. Sheesh, how did someone become so self-assured? It was like he didn’t have a care in the world. Here I was on pins and needles and he was lounging in my chair like it was nothing. And this was
my
room. He was the guest here but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least.

             
I plucked at a loose thread on the pillow. “This isn’t going to work. It’s not believable that
you
would be with
me
. You’re too…perfect,” I added quietly.

             
A half laugh rumbled out of his perfect chest. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

             
I avoided the mirror whenever possible. “I don’t--”

             
He waved a hand as if to dismiss my nonsense. “You could have any man you want. But that’s not the point. In order to pull this off,” he said, getting straight down to business, “we need to catch up on two weeks of each other.”

             
My mind started calculating. Then the panic rolled in. If we’d been dating for two weeks, would we have kissed by now? Fear gripped my throat. Would we have already had sex? Oh, God,
no!
I wasn’t some horny slut who gave it away after just a few dates, was I? Wait, maybe that’s what women
did
. They certainly hired men to have sex with them after knowing each other for exactly two minutes.

             
I clutched the pillow for dear life.

             
Dillon must have sensed my distress because he leaned forward, rested his hands on his knees and looked at me affectionately. “So, what is it that you do?”

             
I swallowed. These were just normal, run of the mill preliminary questions. People exchanged them all the time.
At coffee shops, bars and restaurants all around the world.

             
Or so I assumed. How the hell would I know? I didn’t go to those places. I didn’t go
anywhere
.

             
“I…I’m an artist,” I stammered.

             
This seemed to intrigue him.
“Oh, what kind of art?
Sculpture…?”

             
“I paint.
Landscapes mostly.
Sometimes still life and figures.”

             
He glanced around the room at the generic decorative botanical prints on the walls. “Are these yours?”

             
“No.” I didn’t display my art. I kept it locked away in my studio turned facing the wall where no one could look at with harsh, judging eyes. “I…I don’t like to talk about my work.”

             
“Okay.
Fair enough.”
He swallowed and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

             
“What is your full name, Dillon?”

             
“I go by Dillon Milan.”

             
I grimaced. “We’re going to have to do something about your name. My father will never buy it. It sounds like you’re one of those Chippendale dancers or something.”

             
“Okay, what should my new name be? Deuce
Bigalow
?” he suggested, laughing.

             
When Dillon laughed, his lips parted, revealing a row of blindingly white, straight, perfect teeth. He was beautiful. He was perfect. I was entranced.

             
“Very funny.”
I eased up on my pillow and set it flat on my lap. The shield didn’t seem necessary any more with someone so agreeable and…nice. “No, something more…” Sophisticated? No, I didn’t want to offend the poor guy. I chewed on my bottom lip and thought about it. “No, that won’t work if he decides to run a background check. We‘ll need to use your real name.”

             
“Actually, Dillon
is
my real name.”

             
“I’m so sorry.” I jerked the pillow up to cover my humiliation. I wanted to wither away and die. “Now I’ve insulted you,” I whimpered from behind the pillow.

             
“My last name is really Milano if that helps any.”

             
I squeezed my eyes shut. “That’s not any better. It just makes me think of cookies,” I said into the pillow.

             
I heard his clothes rustle and waited for the sound of the door opening and closing because I was sure he had decided to leave by now.

             
But I didn’t hear it. Instead, I felt the couch cushion dip as he sat down next to me.

             
“Well, it could be worse,” he said, his voice close to my ear. “My roommate goes by the name of Mike Hawk.”

             
It took me a second to get it and when I did, I peeked out from behind my pillow and offered him a smile. “Was Mike Hunt already taken?” I jerked my hand up to cover my mouth. There was no way I’d just said that out loud. And yet I did. I could tell by Dillon’s amused smile.

             
“She’s got a sense of humor,” he said, laughing again.

             
“Yeah, well I’m going to need it to get through this…ordeal,” I finished lamely.

             
“It’s no big deal,” he said reasonably. “We’re just going to dinner together, right?”

             
“Yeah, with my father, his girlfriend and the rest of Vegas’ elite.”
The panic came back with a gush. “I don’t think I can do this and I’m so sorry I wasted your time and had you come all the way up here.”

             
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

             
The little voice in my head told me I could trust him, but I ignored it. No man could be trusted. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

             
“How ‘bout a drink?”

             
Great, I’d left him with no other choice but to liquor me up.

             
“Okay.”

             
He went to the wet bar, giving me another mouthwatering view of his backside and brought back a glass of brandy. He put the glass in my hands and I jumped at the electric shock his touch sent through my frazzled system.

             
He tenderly tilted the glass to my lips and I drank a sip. The warm liquid slid easily down my throat.

             
He sat back down beside me, a little closer this time, and I resisted the impulse to scoot away to put some distance between us. Casually, he draped his arm behind me on the back of the sofa.

             
I felt his fingers making lazy circles on my shoulder and I automatically stiffened. “Can you please not do that?”

             
“Sure.” He put his arm back down, folded his hands in his lap and I immediately felt bad.

             
It wasn’t that I didn’t want his hands on me, I’m sure they would feel very nice all over my skin, but there was no way I was letting that happen.

             
“Okay, so what’s your father’s name?” he asked.

             
I looked at him like he was asking for my social security or PIN number.

             
“If we’re supposed to be dating that’s probably something I’d know,” he clarified.

             
“Right, you’re right.” Of course he was. He wasn’t the one thinking with a neurotic mind. “Ronald Sharpe,” I answered.

             
He raised an eyebrow.
“As in Sharpe Hotel?”

             
“Yes.
And Sharpe Enterprises.”

             
Oh, great. Daddy was a powerful man and here I was tarnishing his reputation by hiring a gigolo. What had I done? I buried my face in my hands.

             
“Impressive.”

             
“Please,” I lifted my head and said, “I would appreciate your utmost discretion. If anyone found out that Ronald Sharpe’s daughter hired a…
you know
.” It wasn’t like my father was running for political office or anything, but
still
.

             
“I understand. Your secret is safe with me,
Livi
.”

             
No one had ever called me anything besides Olivia before.
Or Miss Sharpe.
Or Miss Olivia.

             
I kind of liked it.

             
In fact, I liked it a little too much.

             
“Thank you,” I mumbled. “So, what are we going to say you do for a living? I can’t believe I didn’t think about any of this ahead of time.”

             
In fact, I usually overanalyzed every little detail in my life right down to the molecule. This time, when it actually would have come in handy, all I’d thought about was the curious concept of sex in exchange for money.

             
“I’m a personal trainer,” he answered.

             
I mulled it over. “Okay. That sounds believable.”

             
“Good, because that’s actually what I do on the side.”

             
He had sex with women for a living
and
he trained people at the gym on the side? What was the world coming to when prostitution wasn’t enough to pay the bills?