Submersed (21 page)

             
“What if I promise it’ll just be me and you?”

             
I didn’t think that was possible, but I was willing to test his promise. I owed him that much at least. “Okay.”

             
“Okay?”

             
“I’ll have dinner with you tonight if you promise it’ll just be the two of us.”
And your glorious muscles.

             
Dillon pulled me close and planted a kiss square on my lips.

             
Even though we were in plain sight of everyone else at the gym, I didn’t shy away and pull out of the kiss. I forced myself to stand my ground to prove to him that I could do it. I’d come this far. I’d ventured from my room out into the frightening city. I’d apologized. I could do anything.

             
Within reason.

             
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Chapter Eighteen

             
It was a little strange seeing Dillon when there was no envelope involved. It had always been there to define our relationship and now it wasn
’
t. But it kind of felt nice, too.
More…normal somehow.

             
We rode most of the way to his house in silence.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I was getting used to Dillon’s comfortable silences. Even though I was at ease with him, I was still nervous about going to his house. Would this change our relationship somehow? I knew the answer to that question the same way I knew Dillon never brought clients to his home.

             
Dillon’s neighborhood, where all the streets had clever nature-themed names like Whistling Brook, Swan’s Nest and Hawk Haven, was filled with two-story stucco houses that all looked the same.

             
After navigating through a maze of cul-de-sacs, Dillon pulled into the driveway of a white house with a tan tile roof.
With a click of a remote, opened the garage door.

             
“This is your house?” I asked stupidly. Of course it was his house. Damn these nerves of mine.

             
“Yup.”

             
“It’s nice.”

             
“Thanks,” he said, pulling into the garage.

             
I couldn’t breathe. My lungs weren’t working and I froze up. He was leading me into some kind of trap and people were going to jump out at me, pointing and laughing.

             
“No one else is here?” I asked, twiddling with the hem of my dress. “I thought you had a roommate.”

             
“
Livi
.”
He shifted into park and put a hand over mine and its warmth soothed me. “What’d I tell you? It’s just us. Mike is out of town for a couple of days with a client.”

             
I nodded and followed him into the house.

             
The second Dillon opened the door leading from the garage into the
kitchen,
the most wonderful aroma greeted us. My tummy growled and my mouth watered. “It smells delicious.”

             
“I hope you like Mexican food. I made enchiladas.”

             
“You made enchiladas?”

             
“And not the frozen kind either. This is the real thing.”

             
“Wow, Dillon. I’m impressed.”

             
He went over to the oven to peek inside. Red sauce bubbled up and the cheese on top was starting to brown. It looked delicious.

             
“Almost ready,” he announced. “How ‘bout I give you a tour of the house while we wait?”

             
“I’d love that.”

             
Connecting to the kitchen, the living room was plain and simple with vaulted ceilings that gave it an airy feel. The furnishings were sparse, but what he had looked comfortable.
A cozy looking brown leather couch, big screen TV, a pair of end tables.
Nothing hung on the walls, no art and no photographs, and I found that ironic.

             
A small patio was off the living room that opened to a small backyard. The view from the patio was spectacular. You could see the entire city in the distance. “Wow, look at you. You have an incredible view of the city and where I
live,
I’m smack dab in the middle of it.”

             
“Yeah,” he said from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I leaned back into his rocklike chest and he briefly rested his chin on my head. “Come on,” he said, taking my hand.

             
Next, Dillon took me down a short hallway that led to the bedrooms. One of the spare bedrooms was being used as a home office.

             
“That’s Mike’s room.” Dillon pointed to the master bedroom and quickly shut the door. “He’s a slob.”

             
I smiled and followed him to the room across the hall.
Dillon’s bedroom.

             
“This is my room.”

             
I felt a slight tingle as I walked in. It felt like I was being shown the Holy Grail or something. The furniture in Dillon’s bedroom was just like him.
Strong and masculine.

             
A huge king-sized sleigh bed in a cherry finish dominated the room. Two end tables and a matching dresser were the only other pieces of furniture. The bedspread was midnight blue, just like his eyes. It looked plush and when I ran my hand over the fabric, its velvety texture caressed my fingers.

             
So, this was where Dillon Milano slept.
At least when he wasn’t entertaining a client.
I tried very hard not to think about that. Instead, I thought of it as the place he slept when he wasn’t in my bed.

             
“Do you ever bring your clients here?” I asked boldly.

             
“No. We meet at their place or a hotel,” he answered softly.

             
I looked at the bed and suddenly felt brazen. I felt safe here in Dillon’s bedroom. I felt like I could finally say and do all the things I‘d been too afraid to say before. Maybe it was because I was in new and exciting surroundings out of my comfort zone. Maybe it was because Dillon was showing me his house, his room.
His bed.

             
“What would you say if I told you I wanted you to fuck me on your bed?” I asked in a voice that didn’t sound like mine.

             
“That’s not what you want.” Dillon said, his eyes searching my face. “I think you’re just trying out the word to see how it feels on your tongue.”

             
I rolled my tongue around my mouth. Maybe I was starting to get tired of just words in my mouth.

             
Everything tingled below my waist. It felt like my vagina was going to fall out of my body and flounder around on his plush tan carpet.

             
He knew I was bluffing.

             
“So you don’t want to fuck me?” The word still felt strange when I said it. Maybe I wasn’t cut
out for this.

             
“Oh, I didn’t say
that
.” He shook his head, but his eyes remained locked with mine. “I do. Believe me, I do,” he said tightly. “That’s just not how it’s going down the first time. When we do finally have sex, I’m going to make love to you until your mind is so blown you won’t be able to remember your own name much less all of the bullshit you worry about.”

             
My knees weakened and my breath whooshed out of my lungs. I felt myself smirking at the prospect.
“Promise?”

             
“You bet.” He smiled back and took a step toward me. “There is something I want to do right now, though.”

             
“What’s that?” I asked on a sigh.

             
Dillon closed the distance between us, cupped his hand behind my neck and pulled my mouth to his. My breasts crushed against his chest and I grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

             
It was an aggressive kiss, full of need and heat. He ravaged my mouth and plundered my tongue with his. If fucking were kissing, then this would have been it. He took and took until I was breathless.  The more he took, the more I wanted him to take.

             
When I groaned and reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, he abruptly pulled away. His face and neck were flushed and, I’m sure, hot to the touch. His eyes were wild like I’d never seen before.
Darker.
Full of desire and want.

             
I pressed my lips together and they were swollen, just like another part of my body. I hadn’t wanted him to stop. If he wouldn’t have ripped himself away, I probably would have fucked him right there on the floor. A part of me was glad he’d stopped it before it got out of hand, because no matter how much I wanted him that wasn’t
how
I wanted him. Eventually, sure, just like he’d said, but not for the first time.

             
Another part of me, the part that was foggy and swirling and throbbing from his kiss wished he would have thrown me on that bed and had his way with me. Hair pulling, scratches down the back kind of sex.

             
The timer on the oven beeped, shattering my thoughts.

             
Dillon blinked and turned to the door. “Dinner’s ready.”

             
A small round bistro-style table sat in the dining room off the kitchen. It was already set for two with napkins and silverware. Dillon put his hand to the small of my back and led me to a chair. After insisting I sit down, he went into the kitchen to serve dinner. He pulled the steaming tray of enchiladas out of the oven and I watched as his muscles bunched and quivered as he lifted the dish onto the stove. I watched him move around the kitchen, pulling plates out of the cabinet and dishing out food. I watched him take margarita mix out of the
refrigerator,
pour it and some ice into the blender.

             
When he brought me a margarita, I sipped it and savored the salty sweetness. Next, he brought over two steaming plates of enchiladas. I was delighted to discover that he’d even made rice and beans. He’d thought of everything.

             
“Where’d you learn to cook like this?” I asked through a mouthful of heaven.

             
“I took a cooking class. I’m limited to just a couple dishes.”

             
Instantly, I imagined him naked underneath an apron that said, “Kiss the Cook”. I cocked my head to the side and studied him over my margarita. “I can’t really picture you at a cooking class.
Voluntarily anyway.”

             
He looked at me in that way that told me he was debating something in his head. “I had a client who wanted to take a class and needed
a partner
.”

             
“Oh, that explains it.” And that explained why he hesitated to elaborate. I didn’t want to picture Dillon cooking with another woman.
Or worse, “partnering” with anyone else.
So I changed the subject. “So, if you’re not busy tomorrow, I was wondering if you’d like to come over and sit for me. I’d like to start on the sketch, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”

             
“Sounds good.
I’m free all day tomorrow.”

             
“Dillon, this really is delicious,” I said around another mouthful. It was so
scrumptious,
I all but licked my plate clean.

             
“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

             
“No one’s ever made me dinner before,” I said thoughtfully. “I mean, besides the chef at the hotel, of course.”

             
Dillon
’
s eye glazed over as he watched me take another bite. “God, I love to watch you eat,” he groaned.

             
“Dillon, don’t embarrass me!” I whined and shoved my empty plate away.

             
He ignored me, reached over and pulled my leg up to rest on his lap. “I get hard just watching you enjoy yourself.”

             
I swallowed and took another sip of my drink. It did nothing to settle my nerves and I gripped the edge of my chair.

             
Slowly, Dillon ran his hand over my ankle and up to massage my calf. I gasped when his fingers grazed the sensitive skin on the back of my knee. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip and I watched as his eyes darkened with lust. The way his gaze bore into me and his hands worked over my leg made me want to take him right there on the table.