Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1)

by Cynthia Rayne

  After snagging glasses of champagne, they sat together on a chaise lounge. Belle nearly drained her glass in one gulp.

  “Is it just you and your grandfather?” Belle asked.

  “Yes, my parents aren’t…they died in a car crash.” Her face clouded.

  Belle gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.”

  “It happened a long time ago, but thank you.” Mary tucked a few strands of hair behind one ear. “It’s been Granddad and me since I was two years old. I don’t even remember them.” She cleared her throat. “So, how long have you been seein’ Dix?”

  “Not long.” Now it was her turn to be uncomfortable. “Have you known Dix a long time?”

  “As long as I can remember. He’s a good man.”

  Belle sincerely doubted it. If anything, he was cut from the same cloth as Emmett, only much more dangerous.

  She noticed a handsome man walking toward them. He was tall and broad-shouldered with pale skin, dark eyes, and black hair. When he got closer, she noted he had a strange tattoo on his ring finger—a red string.

  How curious.

  Mary stood, and the man lifted her off her feet and swung her up into a spinning hug.

  “Great party, mèimei. Thanks for the invite.” He kissed Mary on the forehead, and she squeezed his hand.

  “Thank you, Jasper. Fashionably late, as always.” Mary turned to Belle. “This is Belle Nunn, Dix’s new girlfriend. Meet Jasper Tan—he works with Granddad, Byron, and Dix.”

  Jasper shook Belle’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Belle.” He snagged a baby sweet potato pie and devoured it in one bite.

  “Where’s Vick?” Mary asked.

  “Vixen hasn’t arrived yet, but she’s savin’ a dance for me, and you are too, right?”

  “Of course, you said you’d show me your moves on the dance floor.”

  Jasper checked his watch. “Sorry to cut this short, ladies, but I should pay my respects to Mr. Cobb. I’ll catch ya later, mèimei.” He headed out the door.

  “What does mèimei mean?” Belle asked after he left.

  “Little sister.”

  “Jasper’s your brother…?”

  Mary shook her head. “We’re close, though. When he first started workin’ for Granddad, he worked as my own personal bodyguard.”

  Belle wondered if Mary knew what her grandfather did for a living. Or did she think guns and guards were normal because she’d never known any different?

  “Are you two a couple?”

  “Nah, Granddad would lose it if I started datin’ one of the guys. Besides, I think Jasper’s got a thing for Vick. You’ve met her, right?”

  “Yes, at the office. Those two are together?”

  “Sorta.” She shrugged. “He’s got his own nickname for her—Vixen. Everyone gossips about them, but they’re not together, together. And you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” Mary lifted a brow meaningfully.

  Belle needed a chart to keep track of all the Dixie Mafia intrigue.

  “Good evenin’, Belle.”

  She glanced up to find Dix standing over her. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and it suited him. Dix could give James Bond a run for his money when it came to sexy and dangerous. Or maybe she was starved for the sight of him, and her mind was playing tricks on her.

  “You’ve outdone yourself, Mary.” Dix kissed her hand.

  And then his gaze returned to Belle.

  Was it her imagination or did the air sizzle between them? Together, they could catch this place on fire.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Dix asked.

  “Speakin’ of knives.” Mary snickered.

  He never took his eyes off Belle. “You’ll have to excuse us, Mary. Me and Belle and are gonna take a turn around the dance floor.”

  Then Dix led her away. Belle waved a good-bye to Mary, who gave her a knowing grin.

  The ballroom was extravagant—black and white marble floors with long white columns leading up to a stained glass ceiling. Along one side of the room, several tables held white rose topiaries, along with matching taper candles in crystal candlesticks.

  A quartet started a slow, instrumental version of Fiona Apple’s Criminal. Several couples were already on the dance floor—Jasper and Vick, Tucker and a young blonde woman Belle didn’t recognize. Byron appeared to be coaxing Jane into a dance, but she was having none of it. And when Mary Cobb walked into the room, both Brax and Rebel watched her every move. Hmm. It had all the makings of a messy love triangle.

  Dix drew Belle onto the dance floor, and suddenly, it was just the two of them, moving together, swaying to the music. He had big, strong arms, and a languorous sort of warmth spread through her veins. God, he was lulling her into complacency. She should be railing against him and this lifestyle. Belle was surrounded by terrible, dangerous people. And she couldn’t summon the energy to care.

  Belle soon lost track of time. Between dances, they grabbed glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

  “You enjoyin’ yourself?” Dix pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder, eyes falling shut.

  Actually, she was, which should scare the crap out of her.

  “It’s not bad.”

  He chuckled. “Are you comin’ home with me?”

  Belle didn’t reply for the longest time.

  “I don’t know.” She wanted to go home with him, more than anything. Belle had never been this attracted to a man.

  “No point in puttin’ up a fight. You’ll give in sooner or later.” Dix didn’t seem put out by her refusal. On the contrary, he pulled her closer. “But, by all means, make me chase you. Lord knows I love the hunt.”

  Belle bit her lower lip.

  “That’s what life’s all about—tracking down what I want, claimin’ it for my own.” Dix leaned back to study her with rapacious eyes. “And I never give up, Red.”

  Oh, she was playing a treacherous game.

  They gazed at one another for a long time, and Belle held her breath. She had the craziest idea—a woman could get lost in his eyes, lose all reason and give in to desire. And all she had to do was say yes and pleasure would be hers. She could sense it, feel it, deep down in the marrow of her bones. Dix would be a lover like no other—and she was an inch from giving in.

  Then the quartet played Hungry like the Wolf by Duran Duran—snapping her out of the sensual fog.

  “You nearly gave in.” Dix offered her an arm. “Come on, Red. It’s been a long day, and the big bad wolf will take you home.”

  ***

  “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  Belle kept her voice low. The lights were off in the apartments surrounding hers, and she didn’t want to wake the neighbors. She couldn’t wait to get inside and put some much-needed distance between her and Dix. Belle needed to clear her mind and start thinking rationally again.

  “Invite me in.” He leaned against the wall.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, just for a bit. I’m curious about your apartment.”

  She jangled the keys in her hand as she searched for a plausible excuse.

  “I promise.” He raised a hand. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  Belle didn’t believe Dix for a second, but she didn’t want to be rude.

  “Okay, you can come in for a tour, but it isn’t an invitation for more. Nothing else is happening this evening.”

  “So you say.” He smirked.

  Belle opened the door and gave him the ten cent tour of the place—it was small, so it only took a few minutes. Dix was laser-focused, missing no detail. Eventually, they ended up in her bedroom. Quaxo lounged on her pillow and opened one blue eye to examine the newcomer. He promptly hissed and ran out of the room.

  “And meet my cat, Quaxo.”

  Dix sneezed.

  “You okay?”

  He sneezed again and rubbed his watery eyes.

  “I think you might be allergic to Quaxo.�
�� Belle snickered. She made a mental note to give the cat an extra helping of treats tonight.

  “Maybe. I’ve never had a cat.” He cleared his throat. “So is the fluffy little bastard always so friendly, or did I do somethin’ to piss him off?”

  “It’s weird, actually. Quaxo loves people—always begs for cuddles.” Maybe Quaxo was a good judge of character, and he found Dix lacking.

  “And what about you?” His eyes were hooded. “Do you like to cuddle?”

  “It’s definitely time to say good night.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t get out of that dress by yourself, and your neighbors are in bed, so they can’t help you.”

  She was about to argue when she realized he was right.

  Typical. Belle had fallen right into his trap. Knowing Dix and his Machiavellian plotting, he’d planned this when he’d picked out the damn dress.

  “Let me help you.”

  Belle didn’t want to spend the night swathed in all this fabric, nor did she want to have his hands all over her. No, she didn’t want to want his hands all over her.

  Maybe she could use a hanger to get it off and skip the moral dilemma altogether?

  “No, I can—”

  “You can’t, and we both know it.”

  Belle feared they’d end up on her bed, writhing on the sheets—or maybe she hoped that would happen.

  What a mess.

  “Fine. I’d like your help, but I’m not sleeping with you.” God, she sounded like a prim schoolmarm, like Anna in the King and I. And Dix was even more tempting than Yul Brenner in his heyday.

  “So you’ve said.” His lips twitched. Dix turned her so she stood facing the full-length mirror. “Here, you can keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t defile you.” His accent ramped up on the last bit. “Let me take down your hair first. You’ve got a dozen pins in it. They must hurt.”

  He meticulously removed the hairpins, one by one, releasing her hair.

  Her eyes drifted shut, and she relaxed. By the end of the night, the pins had started digging into her scalp, and she’d regretted the updo. Eventually, the hair fell around her shoulders in waves. The light refracted on the red highlights, making the strands appear to flame in his hands.

  “You have beautiful hair. I got a weakness for redheads with freckles.” Dix gathered a handful and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

  “It’s reddish-brown. I’m not a true redhead.”

  “I like it better. It’s the color of cinnamon.” He traced the smattering of freckles on her collarbones. “Let’s get you out of the dress.”

  She closed her eyes.

  Dix worked on the buttons. After he undid one, he paused to kiss the skin he’d revealed.

  Belle gasped. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Then tell me no.”

  Somehow, she couldn’t summon the words. Instead, she let him continue. Belle wrapped an arm around herself and tried not to let her knees turn into jelly.

  When he released the last button, he kissed the small of her back then pushed the fabric away from her torso, but she held onto it, pressing the dress against her body.

  “You aren’t tryin’ to default on our deal, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then admit you want me, Belle.” Dix tugged again, and the fabric slid to the floor.

  Belle stood in front of him in a black lace bra with matching lacy boy shorts, along with a pair of nude thigh-highs. When she’d put the lingerie on, she’d imagined herself standing in front of him just like this.

  Her body was conspiring against her. Belle was wet. She could feel the moisture seeping between her legs, and her breasts felt so full and heavy, plumping themselves for his hands. The nipples throbbed.

  “You’ve gotta give me a little more, Belle.” Dix moaned, a deep, rattling noise like distant thunder. “Been thinkin’ about you all damn week, but I was too busy to do anythin’ about it.”

  Before she knew what was happening, he undid the clasp on her bra, and it fell away, leaving her breasts on display. He was warm at her back, like a furnace, and for a second, she closed her eyes and soaked in the heat. Dix palmed her breasts, gently bounced them, his eyes riveted on the mirror.

  “I love big tits.”

  His rough talk was exciting. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “I’m gonna fuck these. Would you like that, Belle? My big cock sliding between ’em?” Then he pressed his fabric-restrained erection against her ass, letting her feel every throbbing inch of it. “Would you let me come on them?”

  Belle moaned. Her mouth had gone dry, and she couldn’t seem to form words at the moment.

  “Answer me.” He pinched her nipples, releasing a surge of aching pleasure.

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl. I thought so.” Dix released her breasts to slide his hands down her stomach and then slipped his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He paused a moment, and Belle didn’t know whether she wanted to object or plead with him to continue. When she said nothing, he pushed them over her hips and down her legs, leaving her bare.

  “Fuck, you look like dessert.” He brushed the freckles on her thigh. “Yeah, all dusted with cinnamon and ready to devour.” Dix combed his fingers through the hair at the juncture of her thighs, and she whimpered.

  “You’re pussy’s wet for me. You’d let me fuck you right now, wouldn’t you, Belle?”

  “I—”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Belle couldn’t say no, nor could she say yes.

  Dix slipped his middle finger into her, and she sobbed. “Don’t bother with the fake modesty. Your body already gave me the answer.” He added another finger, and her legs almost buckled. Dix dragged her to the bed and laid her down.

  “You need to start actin’ like my mistress.” Dix splayed her thighs apart and cupped her sex, and she melted. “I’ve been too easy on you.”

  Denying him was useless. She wanted him, and he knew it. What was the point of struggling?

  “You belong to me.”

  And then Dix spanked her pussy—light smacks. It didn’t hurt, but it got her attention. Belle was panting, and more than anything in the world, she wanted him on top of her, inside her.

  “But I’m gonna prove somethin’ to you. You said ‘no’ earlier, and I’m a man of my word. I’ll respect your wishes—tonight—even if your body is beggin’ for me.”

  Then he stepped back.

  “Don’t get used to it. Next time, I’m gonna fuck you, Belle. Don’t even think about tellin’ me no.”

  The front door slammed shut after him.

  Belle huddled on the bed, chilled to the bone and blazing hot at the same time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dix was having a shit day.

  Ever since the ball, he’d been busier than hell, collecting on some outstanding loans and convincing people to pay up. He’d gotten all the money back with interest. And while Dix balanced the books, he got a call from Tucker.

  Apparently, the old man had a talk with Braxton Beauregard at the party. Brax wanted to join up as a soldier, to prove himself to the outfit. The little snot went over Byron’s head, straight to the source. Dix bet Brax had tried to talk his brother into the idea, and Byron had refused.

  Fuck it all.

  After Buckley Beauregard’s death, Byron had taken on the role of patriarch. While he’d done the dirty work, most of his kin had gone on to lead normal, law-abiding lives.

  And now Dix would be the one to tell him, and Tucker wanted Dix to break the news at their upcoming meeting instead of in private, which was a real dick move. Dix hated to do this, but orders were orders—disobeying wasn’t even a question.

  After he hung up with the bastard, Dix splashed some water on his face in the downstairs bathroom. No matter how much he washed up, he never felt clean after talking to Tucker. The man was so crooked he had to unscrew his britches at night.

  Some aspects of the job bothered Dix more than
others. The political intrigue drove him bug fuck crazy, and he hated being used as Tucker’s weapon. It was one thing to come at a man head on, but using his family against him was cowardly.

  When he got back to his office, he found Belle waiting inside. Vick must’ve already called it a night because her light was off.

  Dix had made plans to see Belle this evening, but it’d slipped his mind, but she was a welcome distraction. He could manage his frustrations in a very pleasurable way.

  Just the sight of her got him hard and ready. Fire licked at his insides. Again, she’d dressed in red for him—a skater dress with black, lacy thigh-highs. He’d waited long enough, and he’d warned Belle what would happen when they got together again.

  “We’re skippin’ dinner tonight. Let’s go straight to dessert.” Dix slammed the door shut behind him, and she jumped. He locked it in case any of the household staff got curious.

  “Dix, are you okay?” Her brows drew together, and she instinctively backed away from him.

  “Don’t wanna talk about it.” Right now, he only wanted to fuck. Yeah, he wanted to plunge his cock into her, fuck her, and own her. Actually, he did own her.

  Before she said a word, Dix grabbed her and unzipped the back of her dress.

  “Dix, I—”

  “No talkin’ and no more waitin’.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “I like to be in control, remember?”

  Belle nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, and the color was spreading down her neck.

  “Good. I’m gonna fuck you on the desk, but first…dessert.” He stripped the dress away and tossed it on a chair.

  Earlier in the week, he’d sent over some lingerie to suit his needs. She wore the red push-up bra and matching panties he’d bought her. Dix undid the center clasp and slipped the straps down her arms. Her nipples were already pebbled. He seized the bottle of honey on his desk and anointed each peak, amber against the tannish-pink.

  Belle moaned as Dix bent his head to enjoy some sugar. The honey was sticky, clinging to her, so he sucked hard to remove it. She threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as he tasted her. Clearly, she was enjoying herself.