Submersed (9 page)

             
Inside the limousine, I tried to relax. Somehow, I’d talked myself into
another
stressful situation. That was two in the last two weeks. It must have been a full moon or a solar solstice or something. Or
maybe
I
was
even more out of my mind than I originally thought.

             
Dillon scooted close to me on the seat and I could feel his thigh touching mine. Warmth leapt from his body and through my thin dress.

             
“Do you
wanna
make out on the way there?” he
asked,
his voice low and sexy.

             
“No!” I squeaked.

             
His grin was contagious and I elbowed him.

             
“Have you ever made out in a limo before?” I asked, immediately regretting the stupid question.

             
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“Lots of times.”

             
Then it dawned on me that he’d probably done a lot more than kiss in a limo. I tried to imagine myself as the type of woman who could have sex in a car. I couldn’t.

             
He eyed me and then winked. “You haven’t lived until you’ve made out in a moving vehicle.”

             
Davenport Imports of Las Vegas had literally rolled out the red carpet for the Cocktails and Cars for a Cure event. The atmosphere was more in keeping with a Hollywood film premiere than a charity event.

             
The front of the dealership was floor to ceiling gleaming windows and through them, the bright lights of the showroom illuminated the shiny colorful cars.

             
Female models as exotic and beautiful as the cars themselves circulated with trays of sparkling champagne. The skinny models had sleek hair and short clingy dresses. The supercars were extraordinary and exorbitantly expensive.

             
Howard Davenport greeted us warmly at the door and even remembered Dillon from the charity dinner the week before.

             
Once inside, Dillon and I perused the massive showroom. It was laid out in museum fashion with interactive touch screens to learn more about the cars. There were over forty cars on display in the veritable shrine to high-end luxury vehicles.

             
As an artist, I could appreciate the sleek lines, mechanical engineering and sexy aesthetic designs, but cars weren’t really my thing. Dillon, on the other hand, was like a kid in a candy store.

             
I couldn’t necessarily blame him. The cars did have the ability to notch up your heart rate without even starting the engine. They had the power to make you feel the wind in your hair and feel the rumble of the finely tuned engine just by looking at them. It was a strangely erotic experience and I was glad to be sharing it with Dillon.

             
We saw a yellow Lamborghini
Murcielago
with its upswing scissor doors. A Lamborghini
Reventon
painted an eerie flat black. It looked like a cross between a stealth bomber jet and a concept car from the future. Of course, there was a sexy classic red Ferrari 458. A Porsche 911 GT3, an Audi R8, an Aston Martin Vantage v12 and a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren.

             
There were so many makes, models and numbers I didn’t know how car enthusiasts kept them all straight.

             
There were also cars I’d never even heard of like a Bugatti Veyron, a
Pagani
Zonda
and something called a
Koenigsegg
.

             
Howard caught up to us as Dillon and I stood admiring the silver
Koenigsegg
.

             
“This is the
Koenigsegg
CCX,” he said.

             
I stifled a giggle and Dillon looked at me with a frown. “What’s so funny?”

             
“It sounded like you said Conan’s Egg,” I said to Howard.

             
“It is an unusual name. It’s Swedish for ‘knife’s edge
’
.”

             
“It’s incredible.” Dillon sighed.

             
Howard agreed. “CCX stands for Competition Coupe X. It has a supercharged V8 engine and can reach from zero-60 in 3.2 seconds. This baby has a top speed of 245 mph.”

             
Dillon whistled and I silently wondered why anyone would ever have the need to go that fast.

             
Howard opened the driver’s side door. It opened in the same sort of scissor-like way a Lamborghini’s doors opened, but not really the same at all. The doors rotated vertically in a unique way I‘d never seen before. This thing really was as much a piece of art as it was a car.

             
“It has dihedral
synchro
-helix actuation doors,” Howard explained. “It’s just a fancy way of saying the doors pull out,
then
up.”

             
“Very cool,” Dillon purred.

             
“Would you like to get behind the wheel?”

             
Dillon’s face lit up like a child being given a balloon and cotton candy at the county fair. “Sure.”

             
I looked around and didn’t see any of the other guests being allowed to sit in the cars, or even touch them for that matter. It must have been Dillon’s charm. Either that or my father had instructed Howard to dote on my “boyfriend” and me.

             
After Howard opened the equally incredible and extraordinary passenger door, I slid into the belly of the beast to join Dillon. Inside, it smelled like a million dollars wrapped in leather.
Which wasn’t too far off.

             
Howard closed the door and left Dillon and me alone.

             
Dillon gripped the wheel and looked over at me with a goofy grin. “This is
awe
some!”

             
“This car looks good on you,” I told him.

             
He didn’t say anything in return
;
he just looked at me with that smile and ran his hands over the steering wheel, almost caressing it.

             
I imagined us as a couple on holiday driving through the English countryside in the spring. The car’s powerful engine would rumble beneath us. Dillon would pull over on the side of the road near the cliffs and we’d get frisky while the salty air blew in from the ocean. It would be tough to maneuver around the steering wheel and center console, but I’d manage to straddle him so our bodies could mesh together, hot and throbbing. Need would overtake us and we wouldn’t care about cars passing by on the road. Dillon would grab a fistful of my hair as I lowered onto his---

             
“
Livi
?”
Dillon was asking.

             
“Huh?” I shook away the daydream and focused on Dillon’s beautiful face.

             
“I asked if you wanted to walk around some more.”

             
“Oh, yeah.
Sure.” It was getting too hot inside the car anyway.

             
The image of us writhing together in the seat fogged up my mind and I walked around the rest of the cars in a bit of a daze.

             
After we’d seen every car there was to see, I started to get restless. I put my hand up to the side of my mouth to shield it from any nearby lip readers. “This is getting boring,” I whispered.
             

             
“What would you rather be doing?” Dillon asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

             
I looked at him over my champagne glass, deciding which answer to give him.
My body’s answer or my mind’s
?
I went with the safest. “Honestly? I’d rather be up in my room watching a movie and eating microwave popcorn.”

             
“Well let’s go then,” he said, starting for the door.

             
“We can’t leave now,” I insisted with a sigh, pulling him back.

             
“Why not?
Is there some rule that says we have to stay?”

             
“I guess not,” I answered, feeling like an eighth grader being coerced into cutting class.

             
“We made our appearance. And you’re stuck with me for the rest of the night anyway.”

             
“Oh, poor me.”

             
The idea of being “stuck” in my room with Dillon didn’t sound so bad at all. I looked around for the exit.

             
“There you two are!” Just then, Cornelia Davenport sauntered up to us with a sticky sweet smile and fused herself to Dillon’s side. “It’s so wonderful to see you made it. Have you had a chance to visit the auction area?”

             
“No, we haven’t,” Dillon replied.

             
If we had been sitting at a table, I would’ve kicked Dillon underneath it.

             
“Come on, I’ll walk over with you.” Cornelia possessively weaved her arm through Dillon’s.

             
We had no choice but to follow her.

             
“Let’s just look around for a few minutes,” Dillon coaxed me under his breath.

             
Cornelia jabbered on about the auction and all I could think about was how I was going to get out of going into that room.

             
“All proceeds are going to the Speedy Recovery Foundation,” Cornelia was saying. “It’s a great organization, Olivia. We help provide medical care for children who have leukemia.”

             
I nodded, already knowing that. That was why I decided to part with
Princess
in the first place.

             
The auction items were displayed in a large room off to the side of the main showroom.
I knew what was beyond those glass doors and I felt myself start to shake. My painting would be on display for everyone to see. And laugh at.

             
Besides that, I had no interest in an overpriced trip to Hong Kong or an original handcrafted locally made paperweight.
Even if it was for charity.

             
“We’re getting an overwhelming amount of interest in your painting, Olivia,” Cornelia pointed out. “It
’
s absolutely
precious
. My sister Elaine will be ecstatic when I tell her about it.”

             
Dillon cocked his head to the side and smiled at me. “You didn’t tell me you donated a painting for tonight.”

             
“No…yeah. It was a last minute sort of thing,” I said tightly.

             
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “You really don’t like talking about your art, do you?”

             
“Not really.” I whispered back. I hurried to add, “It’s complicated,” before he could ask why.

             
“Come on, Olivia. There are some people I want you to meet.” Cornelia detached herself from Dillon and sashayed into the room ahead of us.

             
I froze in the doorway.

             
Dillon squeezed my hand and after what seemed like hours, I reluctantly followed Cornelia, only because there were people behind me waiting to get through the door.

             
Cornelia cheerily ushered us over to a group of people assessing my painting.

             
My
Princess
was hanging on the wall and was lit in a way that made the little girl positively glow. The bangs of her golden blonde hair h
u
ng nearly to her eyes. If she blinked, her hair might have moved. She had big blue eyes, a perfect button nose and plump pink lips that looked like they could instantaneously thrust out in a pout if she didn’t get her way.

             
Princess
captured the dreamlike innocence of youth and I immediately fell in love with the painting all over again.

             
I thought I should have named her
Angel
because she looked like she could sprout wings and flutter right out of the room. Too bad I couldn’t do the same.

             
“Everyone, this is Olivia Sharpe, the artist,” Cornelia announced.