Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “I’m Belle Nunn, and I’m looking for a job.” Belle offered her hand.

  “You a stripper?” Bonnie looked her up and down doubtfully, ignoring her outstretched fingers.

  She tried not shrink under her frank gaze. “No. Do you have a waitress opening?”

  Bonne placed her hands on her hips. “Not at the moment. Waitresses stay a while, but strippers don’t last so long. I’ve already lost two since we opened, so I’m always on the lookout for new talent.”

  “Oh.” She gulped.

  “You want the job or not?”

  And of course, this was the job Belle got offered. The universe sucks.

  Belle supposed Bonnie was an entrepreneur of sorts. Maybe it’d be better to work for a woman instead of a man. She was trying to talk herself into it—easier said than done. Stripping for a throng of horny, howling men made her skin crawl.

  Bonnie snapped her fingers. “Hey, wait a minute—Belle Nunn. You’re Dix’s Belle, right? He said there was a remote chance you’d apply for a job here.”

  And there went my last option.

  “Let me guess, you can’t hire me?” Belle suddenly felt colder and more alone than she’d ever been.

  “I’m guessin’ he’s got another job lined up for you.” Bonnie narrowed her eyes.

  She nodded.

  “Well, darlin’, I’m a Beauregard, and I can do whatever I damn well please. Dix can’t touch me. You’re pretty and young, which are the two biggest qualifiers. If you want the job, it’s yours, provided you can give my customers a good show.”

  “You’re actually going to give me a shot?”

  “Is there an echo in here?” Bonnie snapped her fingers. “Take off your top and let me see your money makers. I ain’t got time to chaw the rag.”

  Belle froze, taken aback at the request—then remembered the nature of this particular job. Biting the inside of her cheek, she reached for the hem of her shirt and started to yank it up when the Amstel delivery man strolled back inside. His eyes rounded, and he got a stupid, slaphappy look on his face.

  Goose bumps erupted all over her skin. Belle pictured standing on the stage, as naked as a jaybird, as men leered. She couldn’t do it.

  Dammit all to hell.

  “Get on with it. Strip or be on your way. I’ve got a delivery to put away.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Thanks for the offer anyway.” She stared at the floorboards, unable to meet Bonnie’s eyes.

  “I didn’t think so.” Her voice was warmer, softer than before. “Want my advice?”

  “Sure.” She needed all the help she could get.

  “Don’t fight it so hard. Dix’s not such a terrible man. If I were you, I’d wrap him around my finger and then use his money to gain some independence.” Bonnie raised her arms. “This place ain’t much but it’s my freedom, and nobody can take it from me. I’m my own woman.”

  She was clearly speaking from experience. Belle wondered what kind of man had kept a woman as tough as Bonnie under his thumb.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Belle said the words but didn’t believe them. It sounded like relationship Russian roulette to her.

  As Bonnie turned to take care of the delivery, Belle walked out. She stood outside the club for a long time—her back against the wall, trying to find a way out, but came up empty.

  She’d fought hard, but there weren’t any other viable options. Sure, Belle could apply for public assistance, but it’d take weeks to jump through the government hoops. And she still wouldn’t have the rent money to keep her place.

  The universe had spoken. Fuck you and your life plans.

  Belle made the long walk back to How-De-Do.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Belle found herself in a chair. Delilah cut her hair. The split ends were gone, but she didn’t give a damn.

  “Why so glum?”

  “Guess.” Belle shot her a dirty look in the mirror.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’re gonna have a lovely evenin’. Dinner with your new beau. He’s gone to an awful lot of trouble—paid for a cut and style, along with a new dress and a manicure.”

  “Goody.”

  If this were a big budget Hollywood movie, this would be the part where the villagers prepared the sacrifice for the dragon—who’d devour her. Only she wasn’t a virgin, and Dix wasn’t a dragon. No, this was a kinky version of Beauty and the Beast.

  “He’s sendin’ a car for you soon, so I gotta make this quick. But don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re ready on time.” Delilah carried on, fussing with her hair then her makeup as if Belle was headed to the prom or her wedding day.

  If Belle had her way, she’d go over to his place without makeup and her hair unwashed, wearing a pair of stretched-out yoga pants and the ratty Nike shirt she wore to clean in.

  Good luck getting a hard-on with that kind of material, asshole.

  “You know he’s not interested in me romantically, right? He doesn’t want to be my boyfriend.”

  Delilah carefully applied shadow to her lids. “Listen up. I’ve been around this old world for a long time, and I’m aware his intentions are—shall we say, lusty—but it could be fun.”

  Belle grimaced so hard deep lines appeared on her forehead.

  “Put away your Pollyanna ideals. If he asks you to marry him, that’s when you run away screamin’. Dix is a complicated man.” Her lips curled into a wry grin. “It makes him fun to play with—for a time.”

  Delilah was infamous for abhorring marriage, saying she’d survived twelve proposals and lived to tell the tale.

  “How do you know his intentions? Did Vick tell you?”

  While Mosley and Bonnie had put it together, they both had connections to the Dixie Mafia, so they’d probably seen Dix with other mistresses. Belle didn’t want the town gossiping about her shacking up with a mobster. It’d be even more mortifying than the unemployment issue.

  “He’s discreet, but I’m a very worldly woman.” She patted Belle’s hand. “Come on now. Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.”

  I hope so. She made the lines deeper. It was petulant, but it made her feel better.

  “I don’t want to be a professional girlfriend. I want a job with a 401K and benefits.” One where she didn’t have to screw her boss.

  “There are worse ways to earn money, believe me. When I worked as an upscale escort, I had to suck this one client’s toes. He had the thickest—”

  “Okkkkaaaay,” Belle said, cutting her off. “Tell me the story another time. I can’t take it right now.”

  “Spoilsport.” She pouted. “You’ll have your own tales the next time we talk. Who knows? We might even swap tips.”

  Kill me now.

  Later, Miss Delilah helped her into an expensive, red lace dress that enfolded her curves in a tight embrace—the perfect color for a fallen woman. Belle examined her reflection. Her hair tumbled in soft waves around her face, and Delilah had given her a 1950s makeup style as well—a matte red lip, plucked brows, and winged eyeliner.

  “Fancy” by Reba McEntire started playing on the shop’s stereo.

  Belle hugged herself.

  Chapter Eight

  Once more, Rebel dropped her in front of Dix’s place. Belle was left standing in the driveway, staring up at his big house in trepidation. For a moment, she fantasized about marching in and telling Dix to take his offer and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

  Belle wished she could go back home, pack up everything she owned, and never look back—but she’d run out of gas as soon as she hit the county line.

  So, she slogged to the front door.

  “Hey there, Belle.” Vick met her at the door. “You look fantastic.”

  Belle nodded, too exhausted to fake politeness.

  “Let me show you upstairs.” Vick placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  Her stomach rolled. “We aren’t going to his office?”

  Vick shook he
r head.

  No. No way. “What do you mean by upstairs?”

  Vick turned her head, and when she faced Belle again, her features were serene, showing no hint of judgment. Discretion was probably a big part of her job, given who she worked for.

  “I’m takin’ you to the master bedroom. He’s waitin’ for you.” She said this as if it were no big deal.

  Oh, God.

  Dix wasn’t wasting any time. This was really happening. The room started swirling around her, and Belle feared she might pass out. Her stomach was empty, and she hadn’t drunk much water.

  Could she actually go through with it? Sure, her body responded to the man, but everything in her said this was wrong.

  “You comin’?” When she pulled it together again, Vick stood halfway up the staircase.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Somehow, she made her feet work and climbed the stairs, putting one foot in front of the other mechanically. At the top, Belle observed a sign on one of the doors—Do Not Enter Without Mr. Wolf’s Express Permission.

  Eager to delay, she glanced at Vick askance. “What’s in there?”

  “Never you mind.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “If I were you, I wouldn’t ask him about it, and for God’s sake, don’t go in there.”

  What did Dix stash in there—bodies? Oh, God. Is it bodies?

  They continued down the hallway and stopped at the third door.

  Vick knocked on it. “Wolf, Belle is here.”

  “Send her in.”

  Vick took off downstairs once more, leaving Belle alone.

  Belle stood in front of the large oak door for a long moment, knees knocking together.

  I can do this. I’m not Carolina. I can keep my head straight, play his game, and beat him at it.

  Now, if she only believed the words.

  When she walked in, Dix had a cell phone pressed to his ear and paced back and forth in front of the bed. He glanced up and smiled, then held up one finger.

  Belle dipped her head in acknowledgment. She was in no hurry to begin this conversation.

  Thankfully, he was still dressed. Belle figured she might find him lounging on the bed in satin boxer shorts, Hugh Hefner-style. He wore a black suit this evening, his red necktie discarded on the bed.

  To calm her nerves, Belle took in the space. The bedroom was gorgeous, like something from the glossy pages of Architectural Digest.

  The far end of the room sported yet another adobe fireplace, painted white to match the walls. The floors were wood and covered by an occasional Southwestern rug. There were two bookshelves filled with a collection of media—books, CDs, and DVDs.

  A door on the right side of the room was halfway open, showing a glimpse of the bathroom. Belle could see a white porcelain sink and the edge of a large claw-foot marble bathtub.

  At the end of the king-sized bed, swathed in white linens with a carved wooden headboard, stood an old cedar chest with a silver tray that held two white porcelain bowls filled with a creamy red soup, along with a basket of crusty bread.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Dix tucked the cell phone into his breast pocket. “I had my cook send up some lobster bisque and rosemary rolls. I understand it’s one of your favorite meals.”

  It was. There’d been an expensive seafood restaurant a couple blocks from the university, and she’d treated herself to the soup if she’d aced a paper or test. It was the cheapest thing on the menu and the only thing she could afford.

  “H-how did you…” she trailed off, pointing an accusing finger at the soup. If a boyfriend had put together this meal for her, she’d say it was romantic—this had a more sinister air.

  “I have my ways.” He grinned.

  The man had gone to an awful lot of effort to get her as a mistress—calling around town and blocking employment options, having her followed. Maybe a bit of cyber-stalking too?

  “Did you enjoy the presents I sent to your place?”

  Yeah, thanks for the groceries and the felony break-in.

  “My cat loved his treats.” Belle acknowledged the gift but didn’t thank him. As a behaviorist, she didn’t believe in rewarding deviant conduct—or maybe she wanted to be as difficult as possible.

  “Quaxo,” he said with a nod.

  He knew her cat’s name? Creepy.

  “Glad the furball enjoyed himself, but I asked if you liked it.” His voice lowered. “I did it for you.”

  Belle bit her lower lip. Something warm in his golden-eyed gaze called to her.

  “Yes, the groceries came in the nick of time.” Again, a polite comment without being a thank you.

  “I’m glad. You look gorgeous tonight, by the way. I love you in red with your pale, milky skin. You should wear the color more often.”

  Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.

  Suddenly, the room felt too small.

  “Um, thanks.”

  “Enough small talk.” He clasped his hands together. “I gather you’re gonna give me some very good news.” Dix glided toward her.

  “Yes, I am.” She sighed, shoulders slumping.

  “Don’t look so enthusiastic.” He chuckled.

  “I mean…I don’t know what I mean. I’m out of my depth.” She didn’t have any rulebook for this particular scenario.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy.”

  The bed was a couple feet away from them, a reminder of what their relationship would really be about. What would it be like to lay back on the mattress, feel the weight of Dix on top of her? Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

  And then her temper flared. “You’ve spent the past couple of days pushing me into a corner.”

  “You were already cornered. I offered you a way out, and you were smart enough to take it.” His lips thinned.

  “And you decided we should eat alone in your bedroom because we’re taking it easy?”

  “I see you’ve cast me as the villain.” Dix nodded. “Well, I ain’t the hero, but I’m not so bad. I wanted to take you to a Japanese steakhouse, but we gotta hammer out some intimate details—thought you might wanna do it in private.”

  The anger dimmed. “What about downstairs?”

  “Vick’s takin’ a preliminary meetin’ for me on the terrace. Suffice it to say these gentlemen wouldn’t be welcome in my office.”

  “Oh.”

  And now she felt like a jerk for accusing him. Her old boss and her father had left Belle jaded. She assumed every man was a lying asshole, which wasn’t fair. Sure, he wanted a mistress, nothing more, but Dix had been upfront about his intentions, and he wasn’t married—not anymore.

  He smirked. “You afraid I’m gonna pounce on you?”

  Yes. But she didn’t say it aloud.

  “Don’t worry, I have no expectations for this evening.” His gaze flicked to the bed, and the longing in his eyes made her stomach flip. “You ain’t like the other women I’ve had this sort of arrangement with.”

  “No?”

  “I normally see pretty divorcees in their forties and fifties—women who know exactly what they want in bed and don’t play games.”

  He’d made it sound like women were an item on a menu, but she understood his meaning—Dix liked mature women who didn’t have expectations. Suddenly, she felt out of her depth. Belle had slept with four men. One had been a thoroughly forgettable one-night stand, and all had been disappointing in various ways.

  “You’re younger, innocent.” Dix stood so close she could feel the heat from his body. “I’ve got some years on you, and I know how to be patient. And I ain’t a monster. I don’t force women into my bed—don’t have to.”

  “Then why have you been pursuing me, even when I said I didn’t want this?”

  Dix grabbed her. Belle tried to jerk away, but he held her still. The attraction roared to life—a flood of heat poured through her veins, curling her toes, pushing between her thighs. He tipped her head back, and for a long, terrible moment, their eyes met. And she knew right th
en and there, if he kissed her, she’d end up on the bed. Belle wanted him, despite her misgivings.

  “Clearly, your body does.” Dix lifted a brow.

  She slapped his chest, and he released her. Dammit—betrayed by hormonal urges.

  “Don’t act like you’re a poor, helpless victim. We both know you wanted to say yes when I first offered, but morality stood in your way. I knocked the barriers down between us, gave you a way out. You’re attracted to me. I felt it when we kissed.”

  Belle turned her head, ashamed of herself.

  Regardless, he interpreted her silence correctly.

  “Helpin’ you out financially ain’t a big deal. You’re a good person, and you deserve the money.”

  “I’m so nice you’re paying me for sex?”

  His fingers curled into fists. “Ain’t payin’ for the sex. I’m payin’ for your time. If I only wanted a fuck, I’d hire a whore. Dallas is full of upscale escorts who’d see to my needs.”

  Belle flinched. “Then why don’t you?”

  “I want somethin’ more.”

  Her throat burned. “That’s insane. A mistress is nothing more than a pretty plaything. You told me you don’t want the hassle of feelings.”

  He stiffened. “I don’t want love, but I need…companionship—on my terms. I wouldn’t introduce a call girl to my family or friends.” Dix smoothed his jacket, pulling himself together. “Enough of this. We’re gonna have a nice dinner on the terrace, and our food is gettin’ cold.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but he’d already grabbed the tray and headed outside with it. At the opposite end of the room, two double doors led onto a balcony. It looked down upon the front entrance of the house. On one side, she found two black and white cowhide chairs along with a small white table perfect for two. A wine bucket rested on the table, and the bottle had already been uncorked. A space heater beside the table would keep them warm.