Talk Dirty to Me

by Dakota Cassidy

  Still, Caine kept his reply light, his fingers busy making a colorful Christmas tree from the sticky-note pad. “Just checking.”

  Emmaline’s posture deflated. “You heard.”

  Caught. “Who hasn’t?” he replied honestly.

  “Then did you hear about Dixie, too?”

  The intensity in her question rang like a church bell, making him look back up. Em’s loyalty to Dixie stunned him. Of all the people she’d dragged through the mud, Em had been her most utilized target.

  “Well, did you?” she pressed, her grip on the door handle white-knuckled.

  He was a crappy at playing innocent, but he gave it a go anyway. “Hear about Dixie?”

  “Yes, about our Dixie! She took on the Mags on my behalf like some kind of avenger.”

  Emmaline’s inquisitive eyes waited for his reaction to such a strong statement.

  “And what did it get her? Bragging rights? See Dixie take out a Mag at a hundred paces? As if she hasn’t done that a hundred times before, Em? It’s just the first step toward regaining her rightful place on her tarnished throne.”

  Em slipped inside the room, closing the door as she did, coming to stand at the edge of his desk. She lowered her voice, tapping a painted fingernail on the wood to demand his attention. “Don’t you be so callous, Caine Donovan. I won’t hear you talk about her that way. She was like some kind of warrior today—for me—and the boys. Just you remember that when you go judgin’ her by using her past as your weapon.”

  Caine threw up his hands and slid the chair away from his desk. “Not another word, because I’m afraid of you,” he teased in his best Geico Gecko impersonation.

  Left unmoved by his attempt at humor, Em warned, “Just a reminder that some things can change. Dixie being one of those things.”

  “If you say so, Em.” Not happening. He wasn’t ready to concede out loud he, too, had been impressed by Dixie today, because there had to be a catch. Somewhere. There’d be no more making him look like an ass if he had anything to say about it.

  Finally she smiled, her limbs relaxing. “I do say so. Now get to work, Mr. Smexy. You have sex to make.”

  “Hey, Em? Before you go... First, did I ever thank you for keeping such close tabs on me during Landon’s last...” Damn, it was still hard to say.

  “His last shining moments here on earth?” she finished for him, her smile a mixture of fond and sad.

  He’d only just left Johnsonville, where Landon’s hospice care was located, when Em had called to let him know the doctors said Landon had taken a turn for the worse.

  Caine nodded, his chest tight. “Yeah. That was hell. Everything just kept falling apart. My plane was delayed, damn rental broke down.”

  “You know something? If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think Landon planned that, too. He often said he didn’t want anyone seein’ him in his last moments. But if it makes any difference, he knew right up until the end how much y’all loved him.”

  Caine blew out a breath of more regret. “From the other end of a damn cell phone.” The phone Em herself had held to Landon’s ear.

  “But you were still with him until the last second he was with us, Caine. He smiled when he heard your voice. He might not have been able to answer you because of all the pain medication, but he knew. I know he knew.” She said it with enough conviction that he had to believe or let the guilt eat him alive.

  “In all this, I never asked. Tell me he got to talk to Dixie, too.” No matter what was between him and Dixie, she loved Landon.

  Em smiled again, but this time it was beaming. “She absolutely did. She was havin’ her own troubles gettin’ to him, too. Which is why I’m convinced Landon somehow orchestrated his own death just like everythin’ else.”

  That made Caine laugh. Yeah. That was Landon. He nodded his head. “Good, and listen, I know things have been rough for you and the boys lately, but if you need help with anything, around the house—maybe take the boys for a burger on my day off to get them out of your hair, whatever it is, you let me know.” His mother had raised him alone after his father died when he was thirteen. No one knew better than he did how hard that could be.

  Em’s big blue eyes grew watery. She crossed the room and hugged him hard around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, patting his cheek before heading out the door. “Now back to work, Donovan!”

  “Aye-aye, Captain!” he repeated Scotty’s infamous Star Trek line to the sight of her whisking out the door in a flurry of blue material and the scent of gladiolas.

  Caine cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable with this new Dixie emotion that was neither lust nor love.

  Like.

  Hah.

  For just a minute, you liked Dixie, buddy. Don’t deny—testify!

  More Landon.

  “The hell,” he muttered back under his breath, flipping on his earpiece.

  The hell.

  * * *

  “This is Mistress Taboo—are you worthy?” Dixie injected as much sexy into her greeting as was possible at midnight. Curling her legs under her, she settled in to answer her third call of the night with a mixture of nerves and the almost debilitating fear of the unknown.

  Her first call had been a complete bust, and the second caller hadn’t made it past the first couple of minutes. Day two’s numbers so far weren’t going down in the phone-sex history books.

  “Hi,” the distinctly male voice forced the word out.

  There was the sound of a loud buzzer in the background, resembling one you’d hear at a sporting event, the tinny drone of some sports announcer’s voice, then nothing but the inhalation of air.

  A breather. Dixie instantly recognized the profile described in the Call Girls manual. Shy, unsure, embarrassed.

  They’d make a perfect couple.

  “I’m new to this,” he finally said.

  Honesty seemed the best policy. They could be cohorts in newness together. She flexed her icy fingers and rolled her shoulders, willing herself to relax. “You know what? Me, too. So we’ll be new at this together. Deal?” She kept her voice light, easing off the sex-kitten tone to it. She couldn’t afford to scare off a possible long-term relationship with someone simply because she came on too strong. Slow and subtle won the race.

  “You’re new, too?”

  “I am.”

  A sharp scrape against the phone was followed by an exasperated huff of more words. “Jesus. I can’t believe I’m doing this. This was a stupid idea.”

  Stupid idea meet stupid idea, Dixie mused, clearing her throat. “Calling me, you mean?”

  “Calling anyone for sex. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I just don’t do this sort of thing. I’ve never done this sort of thing. I’m sure you’ll hear that a lot, newbie.”

  Dixie smiled at the teasing quality to his tone while she drew imaginary circles on her desktop with her finger. “Well, I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought I could sell sex over the phone either. But here we are. Wanna try and make the best of it? The first two minutes are only two bucks.”

  He laughed with a notable release of tension. It was a pleasant laugh, too, deep and full. “I’m...” he faltered then righted himself, “Dan. In case you were wondering what to call me.”

  Dixie smiled to herself. Ice broken. “A pleasure. So what do you do for a living, Dan?”

  “I’m an accountant.”

  “Ah, so you’re good with numbers. I’m not very good with numbers.” Unless they had to do with racking up a mountain of haters. Then she was a superstar.

  Dan cleared his throat and coughed. “Good with numbers, not so much with the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

  She shook her head in disagreement as if he were in the room with her. “I don’t believe t
hat, Dan. You have a good, strong voice. It’s clear and downright pleasing to the ear. At least, it is to my ear. You’re articulate and pleasant. So tell me, how can any truly smart woman resist that?”

  He made a noise faintly resembling a snort. “Because I’m a complete idiot face-to-face. I stumble over my words. I never know what to say. I’m much better at formulas and fractions and summing up expense accounts than I’ll ever be at pretending I’m some kind of Prince Charming.”

  How ironic to find Dan was better on the phone than he was in person, and she was better in person, where her body language and coquettish smiles did all the work for her.

  “Who says all women want a Prince Charming anyway? He’s overrated, if you ask this girl. Wasn’t he the one who didn’t even recognize Cinderella when she wasn’t wearing her ball gown? I want real. I want genuine. I want someone who’ll hold my hair out of my face when I’m throwing up.” Throwing up? Dixie cringed, cupping her hand under her chin to keep from bringing her head to the desk.

  Vomit. Ugh.

  “Well, that was very real. I think I like you, Mistress Taboo.”

  Dixie’s cheeks flushed hot. “Really unsexy was what that was.”

  Dan chuckled. “Maybe so, but it kind of brought things into perspective.”

  “The kind of perspective that has you hanging up and never calling Mistress Taboo again?” She put as much pout into her voice as she could, but it rang false even to her ears.

  “No,” he blustered then cleared his throat. “Not at all. But I figure if someone like you can get a job selling sex over the phone, you know, with the vomit talk, maybe there’s hope for me.”

  Dixie didn’t even bother to hide her laughter. “Exactly my point. How hard is it to inquire about the well-being of a woman who’s caught your eye instead of wowing her with your high-falutin’ prose?”

  Dan’s next words told her he had his doubts. “You make it sound so easy, but we both know it’s not that easy.”

  “It can be, if you let it.”

  “Every time I see her, I just clam up.”

  Her. “Freudian slip?” she teased gently, hoping to find insight into the real reason he’d called. Dan was lonely and needed a friend who wouldn’t lend him the sort of ear a man was likely to get over a six-pack in a Neanderthal’s man cave.

  His gruff sigh confirmed her suspicions. “Okay. There’s this woman....”

  “You don’t have to give me her name, of course,” Dixie rushed to assure him.

  “Her name’s JoAnne. She works in HR. I’ve been watching her for a long time, and I don’t mean in the creepy stalker sense, so don’t freak out. I don’t want to hack her up and put her in a wood chipper.”

  “My relief, can you hear it?” Dixie joked.

  “I just mean I’ve appreciated the view for what seems like forever.”

  Dixie’s smile was full of dreamy envy for JoAnne, having someone so smitten with her. “And she’s got you all kinds of tongue-tied, huh?”

  Dan’s laugh was sharp. “In ways you can’t begin to imagine. She’s pretty, and smart, and outgoing. She’s everything I’m not.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Dan. I bet you’re very pretty.”

  His laughter filled her ear, and now it was warm and full. “I meant outgoing, though I’m sure no one would call me pretty. I’m not good with a lot of people in one room, but JoAnne always has people around her. People are drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She’s amazing, and I’m dull and boring. We’re...we’re just very different.”

  His genuine admiration for JoAnne rang in Dan’s voice, almost making her sigh wistfully. To have someone feel that much pride in someone they hadn’t even had one date with was the epitome of romantic. It was the Cyrano de Bergerac of romances.

  Dan didn’t want to talk dirty with Mistress Taboo. He wanted someone to listen to him. Someone to offer him a sympathetic ear.

  Leading her to wonder out loud, “But sometimes, don’t you think it’s those differences that make a whole package in a couple? As long as you can learn to appreciate those qualities you lack rather than resent them, of course.”

  “Don’t get your meaning.”

  “I mean, maybe JoAnne can teach you to navigate a roomful of people, and you can teach her to listen in the silence? You can sit back and revel in her people skills, and she can learn that communication doesn’t always have to involve the spoken word. Sometimes communicating a feeling is just in the way you hold a woman, or offer to rub that sore spot between her shoulders to ease the ache of her workday. You don’t have to be Cyrano and look like Brad Pitt, who’s highly overrated, if you ask me, to convey your feelings.”

  “Hah!” he barked. “There’s no fear of that. Promise.” His reply, rife with insecurity, made her wince.

  The wheels of Dixie’s sentimental heart began to turn. “Oh, hold that thought! I have an idea, Dan. Have you paid attention to where she eats lunch? Maybe what she likes to drink?”

  “Coffee. She’s always in the coffee shop at lunchtime in our office building. I see her there a couple of times a week grabbing a salad. I don’t get out of my office much, but when I do, I always go to the coffee shop because it’s close.”

  “So why not bring her a cup of her favorite coffee and open with telling her just how amazing you think she is in the very words you used with me? Tell her you need a little sparkle to shine up your dull, Dan. The worst she can say is no as long as you’re respectful and polite. And if she does, then you’ll know whether she’s waiting for Prince Charming with his fancy lines or just some nice, reliable guy who drives a sensible Honda.”

  “Hey! How’d you know I drive a Honda?”

  Dixie visualized his eyes, wide with suspicion. “It must’ve been the fact that you’re not pretty. Only men who aren’t pretty drive Hondas,” she finished with a chuckle. “Oh, and also, you said you were a numbers guy. Most of the numbers guys I know drive Hondas and Toyotas because the numbers for longevity of the life of the car are pretty good.”

  The pause on the other end of the line was significant. Dixie relaxed into it, hoping Dan was processing her words, not preparing to hang up because she’d gone too far.

  When he spoke again, it was with quiet reserve. “This is probably going to go in the books as a prime example of epic failures in phone sex. I’m going to be honest with you when I say, you stink at it, Mistress Taboo.”

  A snort escaped her lips at his very accurate assessment. “That I do, Dan. You’re only my third or fourth phone call ever, and I haven’t spoken a single dirty word yet. You’re not helping.”

  “But you’re very good at something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Listening. You’re one helluva listener, Mistress Taboo. I guess sometimes that’s all a guy needs, someone to listen who isn’t another guy. Er, wait. You aren’t a guy, are you? Because I don’t know if I could live with myself if the voice that’s been making me a little hot under the collar belonged to a man, but maybe that’s a totally different conversation?”

  Her laughter echoed in her office. “I’m not a man. I’m all woman. Swear it on my mother’s homemade banana bread. So I guess my work here is done?” Dixie left it up to Dan.

  “Can I call you again, Mistress Taboo? Maybe just an update on how it works out with JoAnne?”

  “I’d love that, Dan.” Oddly, strangely, she found, she’d be delighted.

  “Until then,” his warm, hearty voice assured.

  Dixie nodded her head, almost sad to lose the connection. “Until then,” she whispered, clicking her earpiece off and marveling at how oddly pleased she was.

  Was it wrong to take pride in the most unsuccessful phone-sex call ever? One that had lasted, according to her time log, almost an hour.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe she wa
s onto something.

  Twelve

  “I knew it, Dixie. I damn well knew it!” Caine roared from the bottom of the marble staircase of the big house. “Get your pretty backside down here right now!”

  Sanjeev approached him, hands behind his back in typical respectful fashion, his black kurta immaculately wrinkle-free. “Ah, Caine. I know this face, this tone of voice. This is the face of a man who’s been, yet again, cuckolded by Dixie Davis. Surely you know this path. You’ve traveled it often. Your return trip shouldn’t come as a surprise.” His lips lifted at the corners to obstruct a full grin.

  Almost two weeks had passed since their closet incident. A torturous two weeks where he’d suffered the giggles and small, breathy moans Dixie made from beyond the office walls as she sucked more unsuspecting men into her web of flirty. There was some guy named Heath, and another one named Dan. And two who went by the name Mike, or was it three?—all calling—all the time—all fooled by her load of crap.

  Fourteen days since he’d begun avoiding her, refusing to buy into the idea that she was a changed woman. Three hundred and sixty-eight hours since she’d blown his mind with her soft mouth and sexy groans of pleasure.

  Their silent standoff was about to end—big.

  Caine tucked his laptop under his arm with a grunt and eyed Landon’s most trusted assistant with his “don’t push me” look. “Where is she, Sanjeev? And don’t hide her from me, or I’ll tear this place apart, slab of marble by insufferably pretentious sculpture until I find her.”

  Sanjeev’s lips warred with another smirk, making Caine respond by clenching his jaw. He cleared his throat and stood straighter. “Now, Caine. I’d be so disappointed in you if you brought discord to my housekeeping. You don’t want me to have to stay up for two days straight, cleaning marble chunks and sculptures with broken limbs, do you? Is the life of a man who chooses to serve so cruelly dismissive to you?”

  Caine shook his head, his lips thinning. “Oh, no. Don’t you pull that self-sacrifice bit with me, buddy. There’s going to be no keeping me from my mission.”