Talk Dirty to Me

by Dakota Cassidy

  Em stepped out from behind her and loomed her extra two inches of height over Louella, her lips tight, and her face full of outrage.

  The swift rustle of Em’s feet behind her caught Dixie so off guard, she was unable to stop her from saying what she said next. “You stop this right now! When will enough payback be enough for you, Louella? As if telling everyone Dixie had a horrible disease and ruinin’ her future marriage to Caine didn’t fill your revenge cup to the very top, you went and crawled right between his grievin’ sheets and took advantage of a bereaved man not hours after he dumped the love of his life, for mercy’s sake!”

  Nine

  Dixie’s head tilted in time with Louella’s surprised gasp. What?

  Emmaline’s face distorted with regret as she realized what she’d just done. “Oh, gravy.”

  Dixie imagined that revelation was just what this was to Louella. Gravy on her chicken-fried steak. To have slept with the man Dixie was supposed to marry was better than a cherry on top of one of Martha’s ice cream sundaes.

  Dixie gritted her teeth, trying to remember the rule about karma. Even as she imagined Caine’s muscular, tanned limbs wound around Louella’s leaner ones.

  Her stomach lurched in response, threatening to let loose Sanjeev’s carefully prepared dinner of curried chicken and jasmine rice.

  She’d broken the girlfriend code ten years ago then she’d run away from the consequences. Whatever Louella dished out now had been fermenting for a long time.

  Louella didn’t remain silent for long. Her lips popped in a smack of pleasure. “Well, now that that cat’s out of the bag, I’m going to go collect my date for the evenin’.”

  Dixie’s blurred vision caught sight of Landon’s camel, grazing on a thorny twig at the far corner of the big house’s vast acreage. “Toe’s dating now?” she quipped before she was capable of stopping herself.

  Louella’s laughter tinkled, mocking and satisfied. “No, silly, but Caine is,” she drawled, waving a hand at something over her shoulder.

  Dixie and Em’s heads swiveled to catch sight of Caine, stepping out of the doors of the guesthouse, his smile warmly aimed in Louella’s direction.

  She pushed her way past Em, giving her a searing look of contempt before gushing the words, “There you are, Caine. Ready when you are!” followed by the sound of Louella’s girlish laughter and Caine’s heavy footsteps leading them away from the guesthouse.

  Touché.

  Em’s head fell back on her shoulders before she lifted it up and let her chin drop to her chest. Her blue eyes peeked up at Dixie, shame and sorrow rimming them. “I’m dreadfully unpredictable these days, aren’t I?”

  “Woefully so.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “How could anyone ever hate you?”

  “Even I’d hate me after tellin’ someone their intended, and the love of their life, slept with someone else but an hour after those two someones broke up.”

  It was only an hour? Talk about jumping in her grave. Dixie pressed her trembling fingers to Em’s lips to prevent her from repeating the unspeakable. It cut too deep. “I don’t hate you. You’re unhateable.”

  A sigh of despair slipped from her lips. “I’m sorry, Dixie. Truly. It was an awful way to make Louella hush her mouth, but I just couldn’t stand her bein’ so mean to you, and now look. I’m just as mean. I got on a roll, and it just slipped out in the way all my foolish attempts to defend do.”

  Dixie slapped her hands against her hips in her second gesture of defeat tonight. “I would have found out eventually, Em. If not from you, then one of the Magnolias would have let it slip when Louella sounded the warning bell to attack. There are no secrets in Plum Orchard. So what better way than to find out in front of the perpetrator herself?”

  Em gnawed her bottom lip. “My moods are so unpredictable with my life in such a quandary that I forget myself. I’m edgy and angry one minute, fragile and weepy the next. I’m just a babbling mess.”

  “You’re going through a devastating time with this divorce. You’re allowed to have mood swings.” Even if those mood swings would now result in visuals filling Dixie’s head she’d never be able to purge. “Besides, if you’ll recall, I broke the code first. Why shouldn’t she?”

  Em’s eyes rolled. “Was it really girlfriend code, Dixie? Caine never asked her out again, and that thing she keeps calling a date doesn’t really count as a date. If you pay for your own coffee—that’s ‘Dutch,’ not ‘date.’ She has her ‘D’s mixed up is all.”

  “It’s the rule, though. She saw him first and staked her claim. Out loud. He might’ve asked her out again if not for me.”

  Em flapped her hands dismissively. “He would not have. It lasted all of fifteen minutes if what Essie Guthrie said is true. Which says to me, he couldn’t wait to get away from her.”

  “And yet, he slept with her...” God, that hurt.

  Em’s face flooded with sympathy. “You do know I don’t actually believe a word of it, don’t you? Louella never lost her penchant for embellishing the truth to suit her. So don’t you worry, S.S. I’ll pay dearly for my mouth workin’ overtime. I’m bettin’ she wanted to tell you that nasty piece of business herself so she could drive that knife deeper into your already painin’ heart.”

  The idea they would launch a good ol’ Mag attack on Em sharpened Dixie’s protective instinct, a loyalty she hadn’t felt toward anyone but Landon. She planted her hands firmly on Em’s shoulders and looked her right in the eye. “Don’t you even think about Louella and the other Magnolias. I won’t let them cause you or the boys any trouble. Not even if the old Dixie has to pay them a visit.” Her evil could just as easily be used for good.

  Em’s gaze narrowed. “I’m still not sure the old Dixie’s really gone.”

  “Louella still has her hair, and she left the house with Caine, even after you told me she’d...they’d...well, you know.” The hard lump in her throat prevented her from actually saying the words. “Surely, my restraint says it all.”

  She shook her head as if to say Dixie’s declaration of restraint wasn’t convincing. “But if we’re bein’ honest here, you have to admit, the old Dixie was supposed to be gone ten years ago, too. And you were real good for a little while. I was almost convinced you really had turned over that new leaf you kept talkin’ about. Then boom!” Em’s fresh, new spine had come out to play, and it wasn’t ready to go home for supper yet.

  Dixie’s head dropped. She couldn’t meet Em’s eyes.

  Em’s pause of silence was a sure sign her mind just wasn’t able to process a kinder, gentler Dixie. Letting the handle of her purse slide to the crook of her arm, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Mercy be, I just don’t know what to believe about you anymore. All I do know is if I wanna be right with myself, I have to do right. I wouldn’t want my feelin’s to be crushed so callously while someone stood by and let it happen.”

  Tears stung Dixie’s eyes again. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I’ll tell you this. The Mags have been gunnin’ for you since they heard you were comin’ back, and Louella’s been the captain of that Hate Boat. It’s like she picked right up where you left off.”

  “In more ways than one.” Every fiber of her being was still in the process of rejecting Em’s statement while every curious bone in her body wanted to know everything that had happened between Louella and Caine. How had it happened? Why had it happened?

  Em glanced at the watch on her wrist and frowned. “I really have to go, Dixie. You gonna be okay? Or will you be plottin’ Plum Orchard domination to keep you warm tonight?”

  Dixie laughed, glancing back at the lights of the guesthouse where phone calls filled with untoward sexual hijinks awaited. “No plots. Promise. That’s not who I am anymore. Bygones, right?”

  Em rubbed her arm. �
��All right then, but you call me if you need me, hear?”

  Dixie gave her a quick hug and wished her luck before shooing her off, escaping back inside the guesthouse on sluggish legs.

  Making her way back to the bedroom where Marybell waited for her, she clenched her fists and bit the inside of her cheek.

  But it wasn’t in anger. It was in anguish. Anguish she’d rather be skinned alive than reveal. She might be reformed, but she still wasn’t above pride, sin or not.

  Louella had learned from the master, and her crush on Caine, while maybe not as lengthy as Dixie’s, had been just as valid. Making Caine hers had been just as much her dream as it had become Dixie’s.

  If Louella wanted sloppy Caine seconds, she was welcome to them.

  So much for making amends, Dixie. That attitude is exactly the kind of reaction one would expect from the former you.

  That thought deflated her, making her steps swift and guilty when she had to pass Caine’s office, conveniently lodged right next door to hers. She scooted inside, shutting her door on the memory of Em’s revelation with a shaky hand.

  Flopping down in her office chair, she closed her eyes, letting the release of tension flood her limbs.

  Yet, she couldn’t block out Em’s words. Couldn’t stop the endless loop of torturous visuals. She focused on the picture of her and Landon located on the right-hand corner of her desk, clinking their champagne glasses together at the opening of her restaurant.

  His wide smile, one that always hinted a mischievous thought, soothed and rankled her at the same time. She traced the sterling silver frame with a fingertip. “How dare you not be here right now when I need you so much? Did you know Caine slept with Louella, too?”

  But Landon’s voice, full of the candidness he was known for, taunted her. How dare you have an ounce of anger left for Louella when you snatched Caine right out from under your former friend’s cute, upturned nose to begin with, Dixie-Cup?

  * * *

  Alone.

  She was alone with a phone. She’d laugh at how comical the rhyme was if it weren’t for the fact that her stomach had decided to take up residence under the desk, and her tongue felt thicker than molasses.

  Letting her head drop to her folded arms, Dixie rested her cheek on the cool desk and forced deep breaths in and out of her lungs to help subside her panic. Waiting for the phone to ring was like knowing the grim reaper would knock, but you had no time or date for his arrival.

  She peeked up at her computer screen, letting her eyes roam the numbers indicating the visitors to her website since it had gone live on the Call Girls’ main site.

  Ten. No doubt a nice, round even number.

  Ten visits in four agonizing hours? Not as nice.

  With four more hours to go until her shift ended. Ugh.

  The constant jingle of Caine’s phone through the wall behind her set her tired, frazzled nerves on edge. His Michael Douglas impression, wherein he’d asked a caller if they’d like him to find her Jewel of the Nile, was the last straw. She’d taken a lot of heat since she’d come home, but listening to Caine speak to other women—she just couldn’t do it. So she’d thrown on her headset and turned up the volume on 98 Degrees. If a call actually came in, it would interrupt the soundtrack.

  What did he have that she didn’t? Where were all the stats in her favor tonight?

  All she had to do was look at his website to see. Her fingers toyed with the smooth surface of the mouse then pulled away.

  She hesitated for only a moment before going to the Call Girls home page to click on Candy Caine’s website. An image of a man with ripped abs, more hard definitions than a dictionary covering his body, and bronzed skin, popped up on her screen. His face was in the shadows but for his lean jaw covered in dark stubble.

  Caine knew how much she loved stubble. He wore a low-slung pair of jeans, his right thumb hooked into the waist, and a lone candy cane dangling suggestively from the left right by that indentation in his hip that led to all things sweet.

  The tagline read, Come and Get Your Candy from Caine.

  Damn Candy Caine and his money. A live model was out of the question for her.

  Caine’s date with Louella hadn’t lasted more than an hour, not that she was counting. When he’d reentered Call Girls, he’d strolled past the bedroom door she’d reopened with a wave and a wink before settling in to address his many admirers.

  The bastard.

  The light of her desk lamp, though dim, shone on her computer screen, giving more life to Caine’s website than he deserved. With a grunt, Dixie flipped the button on the lamp’s base, blanketing the room in darkness, leaving only the muted twinkle of the lights from the big house to shine through the lone bedroom window.

  As she settled in for the next round of “How Many Ugly Adjectives for Caine Can Dixie Come Up With while She Prepares to Board the Train Called Penniless,” the gentle chimes of her earpiece rang, cutting off the music.

  Her head popped up. She had a call. A real live call! She froze. Mercy, now what?

  Her hand shook, so much so, she almost couldn’t press the button on her Bluetooth. “This is Mistress Taboo...” Dixie cleared her throat, fighting the thin wobble of her unsteady words. Confidence. Marybell had said confidence was critical to keeping control. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Are you worthy?”

  “Of?” the refined, definitely Southern voice asked.

  If her caller didn’t know, she surely couldn’t supply the answer. “Of my attention, of course,” she whispered with a semiconfident delivery.

  There was a rustle of something that crinkled, and then he asked, “What does a man have to do to prove he’s worthy enough for you?”

  Not sleep with Louella Palmer moments after crushing her heart? Dixie... “Why don’t you tell me how you go about provin’ yourself when you want a woman.” She drew the sentence out, pausing slightly between words, letting them roll off her tongue with suggestive inflection.

  “First,” he drawled, cultured and so honey-thick sexy, Dixie’s nerve-endings fluttered. “I have a question.”

  “I have one, too.”

  “Ladies first,” he offered, grumbly and smoky.

  She let the dark interior of her office envelop her, allowing it to hide her embarrassment and forged ahead. “What’s your name?”

  “What’s yours?”

  “You already know mine.”

  “I know what your website says your name is.”

  Did this man want to talk dirty or not, for gravy’s sake? He must be what Marybell had titled the “reluctant caller.”

  The kind of man who was angry that he’d resorted to phone sex to get his kicks, yet was still excited by the prospect. Kid gloves were in order here. He needed to feel comfortable. Though, how she’d make him more at ease when she was so uneasy was a puzzle.

  “Then you have your answer, silly man,” she shot back playfully, deciding it was time to divert. Most men, no matter how tough on the outside, were easily diverted by sweet, submissive words and praise. “Or would you rather I don’t call you anything at all? Because I can do that, too, you know... You can be whoever you’d like to be, darlin’.” Her eyes widened at how easily the endearment slipped from her throat.

  “Walker.”

  “Like a zombie?” she teased, twirling a strand of her hair as though he actually could bear witness to her flirtatious gesture.

  His laughter filled her ear, thick and sensual, oddly raising an unbidden goose bump or two at the back of her neck. “That’s what you can call me—Walker.”

  She squirmed in her seat before catching herself. Whoever he was, he had a masterful command she couldn’t, or rather, refused to define. He was calling her for sex, for goodness’ sake. What other definition was needed?

  Cont
rol, Dixie. And sex. They had to get to the heart of this phone call’s matter. She had to, or she’d turn tail and hang up. “Very Texas Ranger. So, Walker...do you fancy yourself a big, strong lawman?” She rolled her eyes at how ridiculously porn movie she sounded.

  But Walker didn’t seem to mind. “Do lawmen call phone-sex operators? I’d find that questionable.”

  Dixie giggled openly before she remembered she was supposed to be sexy, not eight. Clearing her throat, she prodded, “Only naughty lawmen, I suppose. Are you a naughty lawman?”

  “Not today.”

  The line between them crackled with a hiss and a spit while he paused, and she searched for a sexy response to his very unsexy answer. Now she wasn’t sure if he fell into the reluctant caller category or the just plain ornery.

  She was, however, in the “need your bread buttered” category. “Then who are you today? You can be whomever you want to be with Mistress Taboo.” No fantasy was going left untapped on the Good Ship Vanilla.

  “Taboo, huh? Vanilla sex isn’t very taboo, you know. It’s a definite contradiction to the meaning.”

  He had a point. “Ohhh, Walker,” she cooed. “I disagree. Vanilla sex can be just as hot as any sex with floggers, and chains, and all of that control. If you do it right, that is.”

  “Define right,” he ordered, yet it wasn’t a harsh demand. The underlying tone to his voice was gentle.

  That meant they were getting somewhere, and it frightened her. Yet, she fought the impulse to put the brakes on like she would have back in the day when a suitor thought she was genuinely going to allow him to get somewhere she’d never intended to go. She would do this.

  Once more, Dixie let the darkness of her office envelop her, imagining it was an intimate atmosphere rather than threatening. She hunkered down in her chair, cupping her chin in her hand. “Well, everyone has their own definition, I suppose. For me it has to do with giving yourself up completely to your partner. Sexually, I mean. It’s getting lost in the sounds of your lovemaking. It’s reveling in the taste of your partner’s skin, knowing their hot buttons and exactly when to push them.”