Talk Dirty to Me

Em’s hands folded and dropped in front of her. “No. I don’t know any more than the two of you know.”

It was clear Caine’s anger with Dixie hadn’t dulled after almost a decade, and he wanted her to know. Fair enough. “Then don’t stick around for the five W’s. Go back to Miami and sell some more million-dollar, oceanfront houses to leathery-skinned women who have pocketbook-size dogs. You don’t need the money. I do. You probably couldn’t handle the challenge anyway.” Dixie was methodically inviting him to try and best her. It was silly and childish and unlike the person she strove so hard to be, but gravy. Ten years was a long time to still feel this much hate coming from Caine.

The ripple of power Caine exuded reflected in his narrowed eyes. “Are you suggesting I let you have everything?”

“I’m suggesting you go home and admit defeat. Because, as you’ve mentioned, you don’t need the money.”

“And how is it that you’ve come to the conclusion I’ll end up the loser?”

“It’s simple logic. Me—woman—with a hot voice, if all the compliments I’ve been getting all these years are any indication. You—man, probably not a key component when attempting to arouse a male who wants to be called Daddy by his little girl.” Dixie had to fight the shudder those words evoked. That was most definitely not going to be her persona’s specialty.

“Ah, but you forget one little thing, Mistress Leather,” Caine baited, gracing her with a smile full of white teeth.

“What’s that, Candy Caine?” Her eyebrow rose with total confidence. She hadn’t forgotten anything. She had him by a landslide just by virtue of her gender.

Caine leaned into her, the slightest hint of his cologne dousing her nostrils before she took an unsteady step back. “You’re forgetting ‘Bond. James Bond.’”

The tip of Em’s index finger went directly into her mouth. She nibbled the chipped end of her nail, her brow furrowing, her eyes flashing danger zone signals at Dixie.

Oh, damn him and his Sean Connery bombs. Caine could create any persona he desired and melt the insides of millions of women into sticky goo. Dixie wanted to stamp her feet in frustration until she remembered one thing. Women didn’t call phone-sex lines, or if they did, they sure weren’t in the majority. Men were.

Hah!

Dixie was right back in high school when she said, “I think you’re forgetting one little thing, Boom-Boom, name one woman you know who calls a phone-sex operator. One.”

Caine’s lips flat-lined.

Uh-huh. “I bet you don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the men you know who’ve dialed a Mistress Leather, or variation thereof, do you, Caine Donovan?”

More flat-lining and nostril flaring.

She curtsied and winked. “Your serve.”

“Don’t be so quick to call me dead in the water. The women of today are empowered, unafraid of their sexuality, bolder about their needs and about expressing those needs. Add in Sean Connery, Johnny Depp, maybe a little Sam Elliott or for that matter, almost anyone they’d like to, uh...verbally play with, and I’m your man.” Then he grinned. Wide. Smug.

Her nostrils flared.

“So I’ll tell you what, Dixie Davis, you go right ahead and rev up your sexy, because I dare you to top that.”

He’d used the word dare. Such a bad, bad word. Resist, Dixie. Fight it. Fight hard.

Instead of reacting, Dixie gathered herself together, her body rigid enough to shoot an arrow and looked Caine Donovan square in the eye.

The second gauntlet of the day she threw down was again silent, metaphoric, but it was no less meaningful. “Then I guess this is Donovan versus Davis. See you here tomorrow at six. Don’t forget your thong and your flogging thingy.”

“Flogger,” Em corrected. “It’s just called a flogger.”

Dixie cocked her head at Em. “You know this how?”

Her face flushed red as she backed away from them. “I’m gonna go check on Hank and see if he’s found those keys,” she said over her shoulder, her embarrassment painfully obvious.

Caine rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his expression once again arrogant. “You bet I’ll be here, Dixie, and I’ll see your flogger and raise you some latex and hot candle wax,” he retorted, still so smug.

Okay, conscience, fair is fair. I’m trying to be the best person I know how to be. I’m trying to leave my baggage at the airport carousel. But c’mon. He’s baiting me. It’s plain as the nose on my face. You can’t expect me to take it and just lie down and die.

Her blood pressure soared. “Funny you should mention the word see, Caine.” Dixie paused, putting the tip of her nail between her lips, widening her eyes with mock exaggeration. “You know, I wonder if Landon’s company provides live video chats? I bet he does in this age of technology. So, I’ll see your ridiculous latex and raise you one hot Southern belle in a leather corset, fishnet stockings and some ruby-red stiletto heels. A real live Southern belle, not someone just pretendin’ to be a celebrity,” she sniped with a smirk.

Caine leaned down, pinning her with his gaze, as though he were transmitting every last hot, lust-filled second they’d spent together to her mind’s eye.

He trailed a finger along her cheek, making Dixie fight a whimper for the weak-kneed hunger his touch left in its wake.

It was all she could do to remain defiant rather than curl her jaw into the digit and sigh with years of pent-up yearning. His hand snaked around her waist, hauling her to him so their bodies were flush, his taut, hers softer but no less aware of the fire brewing beneath all that sinew.

Her clit throbbed in reaction to the rigid line beneath his trousers, aching with familiar need. Her leg begged her to allow it to wrap around his trim waist.

His hard fingers dug into her flesh, but Dixie didn’t flinch. Instead, she issued what she was sure, if Caine actually decided to take Landon’s offer, would be just one more of her many challenges. “What do you have to say for yourself now, Caine?”

Leaning in farther still, his lips stopped a mere breath from hers, creating an all-over tremble of awareness. The scent of his cologne, sharp and musky, lingered in her nose. “I say you look hot in leather, Dixie. Your ass was the finest in all of Plum Orchard at one time. Maybe even in the entire state of Georgia.” Caine emphasized that point by reaching around her and grabbing a handful of it, kneading it until she thought her lungs had stopped working altogether.

Sliding his free hand along her bare leg, he traced his silken-padded fingers upward until they were under her skirt and had reached the edge of her panties, allowing his knuckles to skim the tender flesh where her leg met the apex of her thighs.

Caine pulled away then, almost garnering a gasp of disappointment from her, only to run his index finger along her cleft, pressing the silk of her underwear against the heat of her achy clit.

Shivers of need, desperate and wanton, made everything else fall away. Though her arms remained at her side, the all-consuming desire to twine them around Caine was a war she fought with steely resolve. He let his silken tongue dab at her lips, before he added, “Know what else I say?”

Her breathing was choppy, there was no hiding it, but she was delighted to find, Caine’s was, too. “What else do you say?”

The delicious movement between her legs stopped as suddenly as it had started. He smirked down at her. “I say you don’t have the guts. That’s what I say.”

Just as Dixie was considering wiping the smirk off Caine’s face with a good right hook, Hank and Em’s footsteps sounded. She pushed at Caine, taking two unsteady steps away from the astounding effect he had on her body, away from the memory.

Em held up the gleaming keys and shook them.

Dixie snatched her set from Em and dangled them in Caine’s direction with quivering fingers, and melting kneecaps. “I’ll see you here tomorrow, Caine Donovan, and we’ll see who has guts. Bring your impersonations. Bring whatever you think will help you win this. Just be sure to bring it, big boy.”

Dixie rounded on her heel with such fluid grace she owed herself a pat on the back for not collapsing. “Good night, Hank. I’ll see you tomorrow at six sharp.” She sashayed out of the office with the invisible words I dare you written all over the back of her suit jacket.

When she reached the top of the stairwell, she had to grasp the banister to keep from pitching forward. The throb in her temple returned, matching the unmerciful throb between her thighs, beat for agonizing beat.

She’d just consented to sell sex over the phone so she could win a new way to make a living, and in order to do it, she’d have to beat Caine Donovan, the one and only man who’d ever made her so insane with primal, wanton need, she would have done anything he asked.

Crazy must have taken a global vacation, but not before making one pit stop in her small town in Georgia.

Em skidded out into the hall, hot on her heels. As she reached the top of the steep steps she panted, “Don’t do it, Dixie! I can barely afford to feed our dog, Dora the Explorer. I don’t know if I can take Mona and Lisa in, too. And seeing as you have nothing left in your 401K, you won’t be leavin’ me anything to help.”

Dixie finally giggled, releasing her nervous tension. “I wasn’t thinking about ending it all. I was just thinking about getting out of that room.”

“Where all that hot man sucks up every last ounce of air? I know. I get it. He’s like a vacuum packer—or at least, when you’re in the room he is.”

“That’s not it either.” The lie fell from her tongue like honey dripping from a bottle. “I was leaving before we ended up thumb wrestling till someone cried ‘uncle.’ You know what we were like, Em—always trying to one-up each other—fight to the death. That was years ago. I’ve grown up. So the last thing I want to do is engage in a pointless ‘he said, she said’ argument. I want to go back to my hotel and mull—plan—plot how in the world I’m going to pull this off.”

Em clucked her tongue. “First, we’re going back to Landon’s so you don’t break the rules he’s set forth and forfeit everything because you can’t resist being difficult. My mama has the boys for the night, and I’m free. I can dine on cold, leftover crab and artichoke dip in Landon’s hot tub, which runs at a warm ninety-eight degrees. And second, remember this—your voice is pretty sexy, Dixie. All raspy and Kathleen Turner-ish. No doubt, you’ve made a million foolish men fall at your feet without ever having seen you. All they needed to do was listen. Bet you could beat the pants off Caine Donovan in a phone-sex-off with a voice like that if you set your mind to it.”

If only his pants were the issue. Anxiety churned in Dixie’s stomach. “But he can create thousands of different personas with his impressions, Em. He can be whoever a woman wants him to be. How can I ever top Sean Connery?”

“I can’t even believe I’m sayin’ this. What do you think the ratio of male/female callers really is? Ignore the story Caine was sellin’ you and focus. You could beat him with your mouth taped shut with those odds. Women might be empowered these days, but the truth is, they don’t have to work as hard as men out in the real world.”

Good point. But... There was still Sam. “Have you heard his Sam Elliott impression?”

Em waffled, probably because she had. And it was a thigh-clencher. Still, she shook a stern finger at her. “Then you’ll just have to work harder.” She paused then, her smile ironic. “Funny, isn’t it? You actually workin’ for what you want instead of everyone doing the work for you? And besides all of the obvious, we don’t even know if Caine’ll take Landon up on this crazy endeavor I’m hereby callin’ ‘Survivor, the Porn Edition.’ So before you even consider feelin’ sorry for yourself, just remember your new mantra—outwit, outlast, outplay.”

Em’s words of encouragement warmed her. True enough. You didn’t become a successful real-estate mogul by taking two months off. “You think?”

Em nodded with a vehement dip of her head. “He has a successful real-estate business back in Miami, Dixie, employees and everything. He can’t just up and leave for a long period of time. So I’d lay bets by tomorrow, he’ll be on a plane back to the Sunshine State. Today was just him blusterin’ like men do when a woman has the nerve to call them on their game.”

Dixie stood rooted to the top of the stairs while the phrase, “What can Mistress Lana do for you tonight, unworthy one?” ran like a stampede of elephants in her brain.

Em roped an arm through Dixie’s. “You’re thinkin’ too much. I can see it. Let’s go to the big house and we’ll talk it over.” She stopped on the step for a moment, turning to Dixie, her eyes clouded with suspicion. “Wait a minute. Did Landon know what was going on with you financially? Did he know you were pushin’ your last dime just to get here to be with him?”

Tears began to flood her eyes again, but this time Dixie didn’t stop them, she let them drip down her face and hit the steel steps. “No,” she whispered. “I could never tell him....”

“Because the first thing he would have done was meddle, and the second would be to set about making the boo-boo all better, and naturally, you have your pride.”

“So you know what happened?” That last bit of her pride floated upward toward the ceiling.

“The grapevine is thicker than ever here, Dixie. Some took great pleasure in it when they read the papers and saw Dixie-Cup had gone belly up. Though I will tell you, I wasn’t one of them. Honest.” Facing Dixie, she held her right palm up.

“I didn’t want him to rescue me. I went in with my eyes wide open. I left Plum Orchard to open the restaurant with them wide open, too—definitely one of my more harebrained schemes. But I never told Landon a thing. I lied to him and told him everything was okay, because he was so sick and he had enough to worry about. I let him believe I walked away from all of my investors.”

“You’re doin’ this to pay back all those investors, aren’t you? Because most of those investors were Davis family connections.”

Shame and humiliation tinged Dixie’s gut, but she refused to let it dampen her determination. “If I have to sell an organ on Craigslist.”

Em let go of a heavy sigh. “That’s what I figured. But it isn’t like your mama’s friends couldn’t afford the investment, Dixie. They’ll just write it off as a loss. And isn’t that what bankruptcy is for anyway? So you don’t have to pay anyone back?”

Dixie shook her head sharply. No. That was the easy way out. No more easy. “It was the easiest way to keep the bank at bay, but I still owe a debt as far as I’m concerned. I’ll repay it.”

Em’s pretty blue eyes searched hers, a hint of admiration in them until they clouded back over with skepticism. “I just don’t know what to think of you anymore, Miss Dixie,” she said, her tone clear with conflict.

“Then think about other things. Like how uproariously, ironically funny it’ll be when everyone in town finds out Dixie Davis, reformed mean girl in deep financial debt, is selling sex.”

“You should’ve told Landon, Dixie. He’d have wanted to know. He loved you. He said that often to me durin’ his last month. He said if he’d been hitting for the other team, it would always be you.”

He had said that on a million occasions. He’d said it when he admired the color of her hair or what he called the sexy half curve of her lip when she was thinking. He’d said it when she was singing along with the radio, and her sultry voice made every song sound dirty.

Dixie smiled at the memory, and it grew wider. He’d said, The only person I’d change who I am for is you, Dixie Davis. You make this gay man pause from time to time. But then I remember I can’t change, and you love Caine Donovan. Nothing can change that, girlie.

Something had.

Dixie shuddered a breath from her lungs and began to descend the steps one at a time, taking Em with her.

Maybe it was Landon’s spirit. Maybe it was just desperation, but an ember of hope sparked, and if she fanned it just right... “But he didn’t know, and he didn’t hit for my team, and now here we are. So let’s go back to the big house and research phone sex, because I plan to be the best Lady Lana Call Girls has ever seen. Caine Donovan will rue the day he talks dirty to some lonely woman with Johnny Depp’s voice.”

The pound of footsteps from behind them startled the women. Caine flew down the stairs past them, ruffling Em’s hair on the way. “Race ya to the big house, ladies!” he yelled as none other than Christopher Walken, taking the steps two at a time as if he was twelve, and they were still walking the halls of Plum Orchard Middle School.

“So we have some work cut out for us,” Em squeaked.

Dixie’s eyebrow rose. “We? Won’t that cause trouble for you with Louella and the gang?” Louella was going to have a kitten if she found out Em was helping Dixie Davis—once girlfriend-code breaker extraordinaire, now sworn enemy.

Em flapped her hand, but her eyes wouldn’t meet Dixie’s. “Bah. They pay me little mind unless they need somethin’ legal, so I pay little mind back. It’s the same as it always was—just like high school. I wasn’t born a Mag, so I’ll never be a Mag. And since Clifton left me for that no-good woman in Atlanta, they only tolerate me because I can be of help from time to time in the legal area. I was always an outsider, Dixie. That’s still just as true as it ever was.”

Dixie grinned. Em was bucking the system even though Dixie knew the lack of acceptance from the reigning queens of popularity and prominence stung. “Then we can be outsiders together.” She tugged at her arm.

But Em hesitated. “Wait. Before we go any further, there’s one more thing.”

Dixie stiffened. “Now what? Oh, wait, I know. Landon owned a brothel, too, right? Is this the part where you tell me I have to get rid of my flannel pajamas for crotchless underwear, but you couldn’t tell me before because it was confidential?” She accented the word with a roll of her eyes.

Em’s hand fluttered to her neck. “Why, Dixie, I almost think that would be easier.”

Hackles rose on the back of Dixie’s neck. “Than?”

“Telling you about the court-slash-Landon-appointed mediator. Remember Hank mentioned that?” Em’s feet were suddenly moving down the steps at a rapid pace, the skirt of her dress flying behind her.

Dixie followed suit, pushing the exit door to hold it open. “Vaguely. I was a little caught up in the ‘oh, baby, I like it like that’ at that point.”

Em stepped around her and held her hand out with a grimace. “Meet your court-appointed mediator.”

Four

Dixie stood at the foot of the bed in her appointed room at Landon’s house. The house he’d bought, expanded and renovated from top to bottom. He had instructed she stay in the aptly dubbed Princess room, the room he’d always given her whenever she’d come back home during and after college to visit the big house.

Buttery lemon and pastel green leaves whispered across the wallpaper on the walls, surrounding the centerpiece of the room—a king-size canopy bed handcrafted in Italy of chestnut and ash and lacquered in a soft cream.

This was the bed where she and Caine had spent the nights just before their engagement party, wrapped in each other’s arms, contemplating their future.

Caine would spread her out on the cool sheets while the sky outside grew heavy with stars. He’d rise up above her, running his possessive hands along her skin, paying special detail to the dip where her waist met hip, leaning forward and nipping at it while his hair grazed her shivering, frantic flesh.

Her hands always rose to caress his thighs, loving the response he gave when he’d fall over her, taking her legs up around his neck and moaning the words with a rasp, You, Dixie. I need to lick you or I’ll damned well lose my mind.

Those decadent, raw sounds coming from his lips always made her press her hips upward, begging.

When his head finally dipped between her legs, it was almost a surprise how the wondrous lust filled her up.

Jesus, Dixie, you’re all I can think about day and night, were always the last words he spoke before he parted her cleft with his thumbs and slipped his tongue inside her, drawing long passes around her clit, making her beg him to capture the bud between his lips and suck the hard nub until she was thrashing her way toward insanity.

Rising up on his elbows, his glittering eyes held victory in them when they found hers. His raw power never failed to wrench the breath from her lungs when he demanded, Look at me, Dixie. Look at me when I—

“Dixie?”

The voice from over her shoulder jolted her with a yank from her memories and the indelible mark of Caine. Taking a shaky breath, she turned to find Sanjeev, Landon’s trusted assistant, at the door with Dixie’s lone suitcase.

She quickly took the opportunity to hide her embarrassment by gazing around the room she’d helped to decorate.

Her eyes scanned her surroundings and almost nothing had changed, from the thick carpet beneath her feet to the whimsical tea set on a corner table between the floor-to-ceiling windows, draped in shimmering silk, and overlooking the main house’s pool. Despite the big house’s lavish opulence, it was meant to enthrall those who stayed in it—not impress.

Landon had never cared what people thought about his outrageous spending. He’d only cared that, should they grace his doorstep, they grace it with the utmost comfort at their disposal.

Sanjeev, dressed in a traditional maroon kurta, put down her luggage then smiled at her. His olive-black eyes, set in flawless mahogany skin, gazed at her with warmth. “Landon said this should be your room for the remainder of your stay.” He held out his long, well-defined arms and embraced her. He tightened his grip, as if he knew a hug was in order.

She leaned back in his embrace so their eyes met, ruffling his thick thatch of midnight black hair with her fingers. “Yeah, about that, Sanjeev... Did Landon, that crazy prankster, say anything else about my stay?”

His smile beamed wide. “He said I was to cater to your every whim, keep you well-fed, well-rested, and make sure you didn’t spend wasted time mourning him.”

She gave him a look of admonishment, clucking her tongue. “Aw, come on, Sanjeev, you know what I mean, and it has nothing to do with your out-of-this-world lamb curry or your saffron rice or even your pillow fluffing skills. The phone-sex thing. You must’ve known.”

Sanjeev didn’t miss a beat, though an erratic pulse throbbed at the base of his neck. “Of course I knew. I was his assistant. I knew everything.”

Dixie tapped him on the shoulder with a chastising finger. “So you knew Caine would be here, too.” She didn’t ask.

His nod held no apology. “I did.”

“And a sneaky, late-night phone call, something along the lines of, ‘Hey, Dixie-Cup, that guy who stomped on your dreams of marital bliss like he was stomping out a campfire is going to stay in the big house with you while you call men naughty boys’ was totally out of the question?”

Sanjeev’s eyes twinkled. “First, I believe it was you who stomped first with that dreadful bet. And oh, no, it wasn’t out of the question.”

The bet. She never, ever wanted to talk about the bet. “But it was disloyal to Landon?” She sighed in understanding. “I can’t fault you for that, even if it wasn’t in my favor.”

His smile gleamed playfully. “As per Landon’s reminder, I was bound by the ‘I saved your life’ speech.”

Landon had found Sanjeev in the streets on one of his treks to India, dirty, infested with lice, homeless and alone at seventeen after he’d run away from an orphanage three years earlier. After living with Sanjeev for a year in India, Landon had acquired, via his multitude of connections, a visa for Sanjeev and brought him back to the States to live with him and manage the big house. That was eleven years ago, and never was there a better assistant to someone as whimsical and impulsive as Landon than Sanjeev.