Submersed (6 page)

             
Gwendolyn graciously gave a short speech about the foundation’s purpose of “cultivating and promoting art, music and culture in the greater Las Vegas area.”

             
Finally, dinner was served and small talk flowed as freely as the champagne.

             
Dillon seemed to know a little bit about everything and was well versed in current events, which allowed him to move seamlessly from conversation to conversation. It was more than I could say for myself and I was impressed.

             
As Cornelia rattled on about her preference of zinfandel over pinot noir, I wondered how deep I’d gotten myself into this charade.

             
“Oh, Dillon, will you be attending our cocktail event next week?” Cornelia asked, with a flutter of her long, spidery eyelashes.

             
“I’m sure Dillon’s schedule is far too full,” I said quickly.

             
Cornelia frowned, her mouth turning down into a ridiculous pout. “That’s unfortunate.”

             
“I’m sure I could move some things around,” Dillon said. “It sounds like fun.” He gave me a wink.

             
“Splendid!” Cornelia brightened and clapped her hands together, sending her gaudy dangling earrings into a tizzy. “So,” she drawled, “what is it that you do, young Mr. Milano?”

             
Carefully, I swallowed a mouthful of smoked salmon and started to speak for him.

             
“I’m a personal trainer,” Dillon answered for himself.

             
I supposed if Dillon really wasn’t a personal trainer like he
’
d said, that what he really did was sort of like being a personal trainer when you really thought about it.
Yeah, a trainer of sex.
Oh, God. I couldn’t believe I was actually going through with this.

             
“Oh.” Cornelia’s eyes widened at Dillon
’
s answer. “That sounds interesting and…quite rigorous, I imagine.”

             
I choked on my wine and Dillon patted me on the back.

             
“You okay, sweetie?” he asked sweetly.

             
“Yes.
Quite all right.”
I dabbed my napkin to my lips.

             
“So, Dillon,” my father put in, “have you had the opportunity to use the gym at the hotel? The manager assures me it has all the state-of-the-art equipment, but it would be nice to have the unbiased opinion of an expert like
yourself
.”

             
“No, I can’t say I’ve had a chance to check it out.”

             
“Well, you
’
re welcome to anytime.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
“I’m curious,” my father said scrunching his eyebrows together. “How did the two of you meet?”

             
I took a sip of wine and a steadying breath. “Dillon was admiring the Monet down at the gallery,” I answered, sticking to the game plan.

             
“Actually,” Dillon chimed in, “I was admiring Olivia’s painting
Submersed
.”

             
Now how did Dillon know about my piece in the gallery?

             
Ah, of course. He had done his homework.
That rascal.

             
Submersed
was an ethereal painting of a woman underwater, her hair swirling around her, shrouding her
face.
There had been some debate about who or what the woman was, but only I knew the truth behind what I’d painted.

             
Cornelia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Now is that the one of the woman drowning?”

             
I opened my mouth to explain, but Dillon spoke first. “I believe she’s a mermaid. Is that right,
Livi
?”

             
I looked at Dillon and narrowed my eyes. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. No one
ever
saw the mermaid in that painting. They only ever noticed how she was floating underwater. The women’s hair covered up the haunting loneliness of her face and her dress swirled around her ankles, ambiguously hiding her feet.

             
Cornelia shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Either way, it’s a beautiful piece.”

             
“Yes, she’s exquisite,” Dillon said.

             
I blushed. “You’re kind to flatter my work, Dillon.”

             
“I wasn’t referring to your art, although it is too. I was talking about you.”

             
I felt my cheeks burning. God, this guy was good.

             
“I still can’t believe I persuaded you to part with it,” my father commented, sounding proud of
himself
.

             
“It was more like you twisted my arm,” I replied.

             
“Oh, Olivia.
It belongs out where people can see it and admire it. It’s just unfortunate you decided to put such a steep price tag on it.”

             
I gave my father my best stubborn smile. “You only said you wanted it in the gallery. You never specified a price.”

             
We both knew I didn’t want to part with the piece and was doing everything I could not to have to. That included putting a hefty price on it out of spite. Someone would have to be crazy to pay that kind of money for an original Olivia Sharpe. My mysterious underwater lady wasn’t going anywhere.

             
Cornelia frowned. “Elaine was most disappointed you didn’t choose her gallery for it. Speaking of which, when are you going to let her arrange a showing of your work?”

             
Elaine was Cornelia’s sister. She owned a gallery in Los Angeles and had been trying to talk me into an exhibition for years.

             
I took a sip of wine and watched as my hand shook the glass. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” I managed to say, setting down the glass. This conversation was long overdue for a topic change.

             
“Oh sure you are,” Cornelia insisted. “I’m sure you have a whole collection of pieces up there in that room of yours.”

             
My father shot Cornelia a warning look and my gut twisted into knots. Not talking about my reclusive lifestyle was an unwritten rule.

             
Cornelia huffed and waved my father off. “Your daughter is one of the most talented artists of her generation, Ronald. Her work should be on display for
all the
world to see,” she declared, making a grand gesture with her arms.

             
“Speaking of display,” Dillon added. “
Livi
, would you like to dance?”

             
I could have kissed Dillon for jumping in to take the heat off me, but instead my throat tightened. I had to bite back my automatic negative response. There had to be hundreds of people on the dance floor already. It was hard enough being in the same room with this many people much less dancing right in the middle of them.

             
If I said no, I’d surely be revealed in the sham of my own making. If I said yes, I’d be thrusting myself into an incredibly awkward position. Then again, I’d done it to myself the minute I called Dillon Milano to participate in this ridiculous hoax
in the first place
.

             
Dillon stood up and was looking at me with hopeful eyes, holding out his hand. He was playing his part and I had no choice but to play mine.

             
“Sure,” I said, pasting a smile on my face.

             
I took his hand and he led me over to the dance floor. His hand was warm and pulsed over mine. He was so strong and powerful. I envied his strength and his self-confidence. When the product you were selling was yourself, I guess it helped to have confidence in said product.

             
We waded through the couples and suddenly, Dillon pulled me close with a hand at the small of my back.

             
My first instinct was to protest. I had no idea where I was supposed to put my hands. What about my feet? How did he want me to dance with him? What was I supposed to do?

             
I didn’t need to worry about it because he was already holding one of my hands and I let the other rest at his shoulder. His skin was hot through the fabric of his jacket. Gradually, I molded myself to him and swayed to the music. After a while, it wasn’t difficult letting him lead me, letting my mind go blank except for the sound of the music and the feel of the warmth of his body against my own.

             
He kept one hand clasped with mine and the other at the small of my back. His chiseled chest was like marble. Again, I could feel heat radiating from his skin.

             
He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “So, how am I doing?” His breath tickled the sensitive lobe.

             
I forced a smile and tried to concentrate on where I was moving my feet. “Great,” I answered. “Everyone loves you. And I think Cornelia wants to take you home with her.”

             
As he chuckled, his chest rumbled against mine. The sound was deep and warm. Instead of soothing me like it should have, it made me tense up, reminding me of just how close his body was to mine. Too close.

             
“Too bad I have to disappoint her,” he said softly. “Because you’re the one I’m going home with.”

             
That did me in and I nearly collapsed right there in the middle of the dance floor.

             
He flashed a wicked smile and my eyes darted everywhere but his face. To my dismay, I hadn’t thought that far into the evening. I had just assumed we’d part ways after dinner, I’d never see him again and I’d make up some story for my father of how we’d broken up. And that would be the end of Olivia Sharpe’s summer “romance.”

             
My panic attack was interrupted by my father cutting in.

             
“Dillon, would you mind terribly if I had a dance with my daughter?”

             
“No, not at all.”

             
I was passed off between the men and I took comfort in my father’s strong grip.

             
“I’m glad you came tonight, Olivia.”

             
“I know it’s important to you.”

             
“Dillon sure is charming.”

             
“Yes.” I had to agree. Charm oozed from Dillon like lava from a volcano.

             
“I’m surprised you didn’t mention him before.”

             
I sighed to keep from stiffening up and giving myself away. Did my father suspect I was a phony?

             
“Daddy, it’s not serious or anything. We haven’t known each other for very long.” And that was the truth.

             
“Well, I’m glad you met someone, Olivia.”

             
I was glad it made my father happy even though he was oblivious to the dirty trick I was playing on him and everyone else.

             
“Cornelia seems to have taken to him,” I pointed out.

             
I glanced over to where Dillon and Cornelia were dancing, or more like Cornelia was
groping
, but Dillon was looking at me instead of his sticky-handed dance partner. It occurred to me that if I really
did
have a boyfriend, it would be smart to keep him away from Cornelia Davenport.

             
“She’s not who he has his eye on,” my father remarked.

             
I looked back at Dillon and he winked at me. I quickly looked away and focused on not tripping over my feet.

             
When the orchestra switched to a new song, Dillon was at my side like he
’
d never left. Somehow, he’d managed to peel himself away from Cornelia and her roving paws. My father went to dance with Gwendolyn and Dillon brought me close to his chest again.

             
“Mrs. Davenport sure likes you,” I commented dryly.

             
“She’s just trying to get Mr. D’s attention.”

             
I glanced over at Howard dancing the tango with the wannabe supermodel. “Too bad Mr. D has his attention glued firmly to that poor girl’s cleavage.”