Caine grinned, infuriatingly, cooing his question in the gravelly velvet whisper of Sam Elliott. “What’s that, Dixie?”
Heavens. That low, slow drawl left her almost as girlishly giddy as Sean Connery’s did. He knew how much she loved a rough cowboy who sold big, manly trucks.
Remain strong.
Dixie ran her hands along her arms to hide her goose bumps, keeping her tone even, she replied, “A chest plate. You’ll need it to protect you when I shoot that final arrow right through your heart, the one that leaves Landon’s Call Girls millions to me.” She made a face and used her forefinger to jab him in the ribs.
Caine surprised her when he threw his head back and laughed. “Still just as headstrong as always, huh, Dixie-Cup? I know you, Dixie. You’re a wild woman when I’m inside you, but as bold and as brash as you are, as manipulative and cruel as that pretty mouth with the flaming-hot voice slitherin’ out of it can be, it won’t ever be able to play the dirty games. We both know that was my thing.” He growled down at her with a chuckle.
Caine’s reference to being inside her made her jiggle with butterflies. “I’m more determined than I ever was. Maybe even more so than that time we played those six rounds of strip poker at Dwayne Hicks’s house, and I was losing by three hands. Just you remember who ended up naked, Donovan, and minus almost five hundred dollars in his wallet.”
Caine’s lips brushed the shell of her ear, and Dixie froze in order to ward off the inclination to lean into them. “You cheated then. Will you cheat now, too? Because if you play the game fair and square, I’d be happy to see you have to take your clothes off,” he said so low and husky it made the tips of her ears burn and her nipples pucker against her flimsy bra.
Don’t bite, don’t bite, don’t bite. Stop biting, Dixie! “Why didn’t you just go home to Miami, Caine? Don’t you have a successful real estate-empire to run? Don’t empires crumble when their leaders go missing?”
Aw, Dixie-Cup. You bit...
His expression was the standard cocky. “I have a whole office full of staff for that, Dixie. Besides, I was due some time off. What better way to spend it than being back home again where everyone knows my name, catching up on old times with some of the guys from high school, visiting my mother and driving you right out of your mind?”
“Well, at least you’re honest about your motivation.”
His already hard face went harder, the deep shadows of the evening playing across his clenched jaw. “Someone has to be. Honest, I mean.”
Caine’s caustic remark, meant to dig up her lying, cheating past, would hurt more if she weren’t already at peace with her past. Not even Caine could manage to jam that knife any deeper into her gut than it already was.
Dixie’d made a promise to herself when she’d finally turned the mean-girl corner. She would own her past misdeeds. All of them. Every ugly, manipulative, hurtful one of them. But there would be no dwelling or groveling.
She’d simply set out to right her wrongs with as much kindness as those scorned would allow. And those scorned who refused her kindness would end up in the pile of her “regret wreckage” while she let them continue to hate her.
She’d been well on her way to redeeming herself when she and Caine had become engaged. He’d gotten to know the Dixie she aspired to—the Dixie that struggled daily to be good enough for someone so honorable, so revered by everyone who crossed his path.
Yet, when the true test came, when she’d slipped up once, he’d chosen to believe she was always going to be the worst human being in heels, hell-bent on making Plum Orchard’s hottest man hers at all costs. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to apologize. He’d believed that she would never change. How could she marry a man who left no room for mistakes?
It was then that she’d known she’d never be good enough for Caine Donovan.
So she’d shown him, hadn’t she? By leaving him and never looking back. And she was going to continue to show him. Right here. Right now.
As the humid air picked up, sending her hair flying in every direction, she gave Caine an intentionally haughty gaze. “So here’s the deal, Donovan. You can poke, taunt, bring up, remind me over and over about how utterly dreadful I was back in the day. In fact, I welcome it because it’s true. But let me make one thing clear. Your innuendo about what a scheming, dishonest, manipulative man-eater I was rolls off me like water off a duck’s back. It’s old and unoriginal at this point. I’m here for one thing and one thing only—to pay off my debts and hopefully, find a new career...somewhere in this mess. So you stay on your side of the playing field, and I’ll stay on mine. Don’t cross that line or I swear, I’ll stomp all over your Italian leather shoes with my ten-dollar Payless pumps.”
His nostrils flared at Dixie’s order, but he remained silent. Seeing she had him and his sense of honor under her thumb, Dixie backed up and planted her hands on her hips. “Now move. I have a job to learn and a website to launch. Mistress Taboo is in the house!”
When he didn’t budge, she planted a hand on his chest, trying to ignore the warm skin covering his well-structured muscles. “Move, Caine.”
Caine faked her as though he were stepping out of the way, but instead, his arms snaked around her waist like bands of steel, hauling her to him with a grunt.
“So we’re going to just pretend nothing happened in that closet last night?” He ran a firm hand over her backside to cup a cheek with a hot groan. “Like this didn’t happen?” he asked, his strong, magical fingers reaching under her T-shirt to stroke the hot skin of her belly.
Dixie forced herself to go limp in his embrace. She hung there, staring up at him with a dead gaze. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. For not just the good of you and me, Candy Caine, but everyone else who has to suffer our ridiculous Hunger Game–ish behavior. What happened last night happened. Now it’s over, and in moving forward, it’s going to stay over. Because really, Caine, why would you want to sleep with a woman with so few morals as me? What does that say about you?”
Their eyes met, glaring, scanning, searching. Using every ounce of will, Dixie kept her stare blank but determined. She had to or her heart would never survive the next two months. “So let go of me. I have men to entertain. So many, it’ll be like it’s rainin’ ’em.”
Caine set her down, his eyes in the coming darkness perplexed when she brushed him off. “You’re really going to do this. Huh.”
Dixie’s lips thinned. “I’m really going to do this, and I’m going to do it so well, my mean-girl legend will be virtually forgotten, and in its place, Mistress Taboo will reign supreme!” Shaking from his embrace, she managed to scoot around him, stomping into the lavish entryway. She gave a rebel yell to all the Call Girls ensconced in their bedroom offices. “I offer myself as tribute to the phone-sex games!”
There was a bark of Caine’s amused laughter before his return shout echoed in her ears. “May the odds be ever in your favor, Mistress Taboo!”
As she left Caine outside, more handsome than he’d ever been—more sex on a stick than even her tortured dreams had accurately remembered, she left him knowing that no matter what Caine thought of her, no matter the awful things he thought her still capable of, it didn’t matter.
Because Dixie Davis was still mad about Caine Donovan.
Eight
Marybell Lyman of the infamous little-girl voice sat across from Dixie at her appointed desk, her saucerlike eyes wide after scanning the website Dixie had managed to design with a template she’d found online.
Dixie winced, twisting a strand of her freshly dyed hair around her index finger in nervous anticipation. This had to be right, and soon.
Doubt seized her. Maybe all those sparkly, torch-size candles in the shape of a heart surrounding her make-believe online bed were overkill? Or maybe the words of the slogan itself, mimicking dripping ice cr
eam cones filled with vanilla confections and sprays of confetti-colored sprinkles, were too over the top? Mistress Taboo— for those who like “All Things Missionary.”
“Too much?”
Marybell shook her head, the spikes of her red-and-green Mohawk stabbing the air. “No. Not at all, it’s—it’s pretty daggone sexy. Maybe we should consider another name? Missionary and vanilla isn’t exactly taboo.”
Dixie rolled her eyes. “Some people think talking about any kind of sex is taboo. Just ask the people in this town.”
Marybell laughed, sweet and tinkling.
“I really thought I could pull off a fetish, but when push came to shove, I had to rethink. But I love the pseudonym. So maybe my specialty is not having a fetish at all? Do you think it’ll scare potential customers off?” That was the last thing she could afford to do.
“I think you should be whoever you want to be, Dixie. Damn what other people say.” She swiveled the screen toward Dixie and pointed to the cartoon caricature of a redhead, dressed in a white corset with satiny red ribbons cinching it together so tight, her enormous, animated breasts spilled over the top like a freshly popped can of crescent rolls. “Is that you?”
Dixie winced again, marveling at the fact that the cartoon hadn’t tipped right over with only that tiny waist to hold up her bodacious hips. “If only I could get my hair to hold a curl like that,” she said on a self-conscious chuckle.
Marybell pinged a stiff strand of her Mohawk with a black, glossy fingernail and smiled. “Yeah, me, too.”
Dixie’s nervous laughter filled up the bedroom turned office, annoying even her.
“You’re nervous.”
“Like the last weaponless soul alive after a zombie apocalypse.”
“It’s the dirty words, right?”
She blew out an anxious breath, twisting her hands together in a fist. “It’s the everything.”
Despite her contradictory appearance, despite her short-cropped leather jacket, leopard leggings, multiple piercings, three tattoos, and one partially shaved eyebrow, Marybell was as sweet as her voice. When Dixie was paired with Marybell as her official Call Girls liaison, she’d made every attempt to hide her reservations and her relief LaDawn wouldn’t be her mentor.
LaDawn Jenkins was one tough cookie, and frankly, she scared the breath out of Dixie. She was surly, short with her words, and the dismissive glance of disdain she’d sent Dixie by way of the end of her nose was enough to make her want to pack up Mona and Lisa and long-distance run back to Chicago.
To say LaDawn was less than thrilled two new phone operators would be cutting into her profits was putting it lightly. She was the gold medalist of dirty, and the tiniest of threats to her burgeoning call list were grounds for some scathing remarks aimed at Dixie, who’d barely left their introduction with her skin intact.
So in phase one of this contest, she was glad Marybell was her leader. Not in a hundred years would she have put Marybell Lyman’s youthful voice with the young woman who looked no more than twenty-five or so sitting before her. Though, according to Marybell, or MB, per her request, she was actually almost thirty, proving one should never judge a book by its cover.
Judge not lest ye be judged. Another lesson learned.
Marybell reached out a hand and patted Dixie’s arm with a thump. “You’re letting LaDawn get under your skin. In no time at all, you’ll be sayin’ the P word like it was hyphened on your name. So let’s give this a practice run. You up for that, Dixie?”
Again, she silently wondered how Marybell had ended up here. She was incredibly bright and articulate and full of encouraging words. The world was her oyster. Unlike Dixie, whose world was more like stinky, week-old dead fish.
Dixie stared down at the cheat sheet—the one filled with all matter of festively colorful words. It wasn’t like she didn’t recognize most of them—on the contrary. Maybe one or two were dicey, but she knew what they meant. Saying them out loud was another story altogether.
“Dixie?”
“Sorry. Ready.”
Marybell wrinkled her nose, the light of the desk lamp catching her gold nose ring. “Breathe.”
“Can’t.”
“You’d better. It’s a deciding factor when pretendin’ you’re having the big ‘O.’”
Oh. Dixie snorted out a breath, easing some of her tension.
“We’re just practicin’ right now. Loosen up, Dixie. Relax.”
“Says the pro...”
“I’m no pro. I’ve only been doing this for a couple of years. Now LaDawn? That’s a pro. She has more callers than Facebook has users. She’s my phone-sex idol.”
“Wasn’t she—?”
“A hooker.”
“Companionator!” LaDawn’s thick Southern accent called out from one of the adjoining bedrooms where the constant beep of phones ringing drifted about. “I gave my companionship to lonely men. You’d do best to get that right, Marybell. I won’t have you ruinin’ my unsoiled reputation!”
Marybell’s eyes rolled. “Companionator. Got it, LaDawn,” she shouted back. Her eyes caught Dixie’s again, warm and easy. “Either way, she knows how to lure tons of men in and keep them on the hook for hours. And LaDawn can do it all. So don’t go comparing yourself to her just yet. She’s the Jedi master of phone sex. You’re just a youngling.”
Dixie’s fingers drifted to the edge of her note pad, smoothing the corners. “Well, I guess I won’t ever get my light saber if we don’t get the show on the road.” She shoved the squares of paper away and with one last deep breath, urged, “Go. Just do it.”
“Ring-ring—horndog calling!” Marybell chimed, pointing to the earpiece Dixie was supposed to click to the On position when it buzzed.
On a gulp, she pretended to flip her earpiece on and read from her cheat sheet, “Hello, this is Mistress Taboo. Are...you...um, worthy?” Weak. Dixie’s voice was weak and watery to her ears. Ugh.
Marybell flipped her an encouraging thumbs-up and fluttered an engaging grin. “Okay, that was good, but don’t ask if your caller is worthy like you’re unsure. He has to prove he’s worthy enough to talk to you. Demand that. Be firm, Dixie. You’re the one in control, no matter how out of control your client would like to be. Always remember you’re the captain of the Good Ship Vanilla. Vanilla sex can be just as hot and nasty as a virtual BDSM session. Don’t let anyone steer you off course.” She waved a finger at Dixie to commence their practice call.
Vanilla. She’d decided on sticking with what she knew. If Dixie’d learned nothing from her tainted past, she’d learned if there was a will, she’d find the way, and her way was the good old-fashioned way.
“Let’s go again before I have to start my shift, Dixie. Ready?” When Dixie nodded, she called out, “Ring-ring!”
Pay back every penny, Dixie. Her chin lifted. “This is Mistress Taboo. Are you worthy?” she husked out in a growl, finding a focal point on her desk to concentrate on. To help put her in the mood, she let her eyes smolder seductively in the way she once had when she was on the boyfriend hunt.
Marybell’s hazel eyes widened in surprise beneath her heavy black eye shadow. “Well, hell-to-the-lo, Mistress Taboo....”
Dixie closed her eyes, swallowing hard. If she could just transport herself back to high school Dixie—if she could just summon up all those wiles she’d flung about at the boys as if she was lobbing pennies to peasants. If... “Well, hello to you, too. Now that you know my name, I think it’s only fair you share yours, don’t you? So I know what to call ya when we’re doin’ the do.” Her words were suggestive, breathy, swishing from her tongue like the Dixie from days of yore.
“I don’t think I should tell you my real name.” Marybell’s impression of a male voice bordered comical, coming from the throat of a woman whose dulcet tones conjured up colorfully winged fairies a
nd Disney princesses. Marybell rested her chin on her hand and smiled again with a nod of encouragement to continue.
Dixie nodded back as though she actually knew where Marybell was going next. “Then who would you like to be tonight? Tell Mistress Taboo.” Her cheeks flushed. Had that really been her?
Marybell picked up a manila envelope from the desk and fanned herself with it to indicate she approved of Dixie’s hot response. “Why don’t you just call me Bob?”
“Bob? Ohhh, that’s sort of hot—and anonymous. It’s perfect. Mistress Taboo approves,” she purred, twirling her hair around her finger. “So, Bob—what’s on your mind tonight? What are you in the mood for?”
“Heaven be,” a voice stuttered from the lavish white oak doorway.
Dixie’s head popped up, breaking the sensual cocoon she’d somehow managed to immerse herself in.
Em stood frozen just beyond the wide door leading to Dixie’s assigned workspace.
Dixie cocked her head in Em’s direction and motioned her in. “Look who finally came up for air from all that leftover crab and hot-tubbing. Marybell, do you know Em?”
Marybell smiled and waved in Em’s direction. “Nice to meet you.”
Em’s crimson lips attempted movement, yet no sound came out.
Dixie jumped up from her chair and crossed the small space to hold her hand out to Em who tucked her fists firmly behind her as though Dixie were offering to escort her into the bowels of Hell. “Give me your hand, Em. Come and sit with us. It’s okay, I promise.”
Em swatted at her, her voice suddenly found if not a bit rusty. “Oh, you hush your mouth, Dixie! You just caught me off guard is all.”
“Off guard?”
“Stop behavin’ like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I mean, good gracious, I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It was like you were meant to do—to do—this.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand at the desk and every last sin it encompassed.
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