Talk Dirty to Me

by Dakota Cassidy

  “Like you’re running them in Miami from here?”

  Her skepticism was apparent. Ouch. “Hey, give a guy a break. Landon’s will and his little game were a surprise. I wasn’t ready for it, so I didn’t make the proper arrangements. But remember, Cat’s here. She can run things until I get everything sorted out and make decisions.”

  Dixie pushed her way through the gate topped with roses, stopping at the hammock his father liked to nap on. “But what about the girls?”

  “What about them?”

  The sun had become a setting ball of fiery orange behind her head, matching the flash of her eyes. “Please don’t be such a man right now just to avoid any hint of female drama. You don’t really think Plum Orchard’s going to just let this go, do you? All this sin they claim has been cast upon them by having Call Girls right under their noses? Landon wasn’t one to take pressure from people lightly, Caine. He responded in the way he always did, by doing what he damned well pleased because he had the money to do it. Which is a great attitude to have if you’re dead and don’t have to live with the consequences. He left that for us to do.”

  “Why does that require me to physically be here?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Did you miss the knock-down drag-out Louella and I had because she was taunting LaDawn? I think we all know their idea of progress is allowing Rayvonne Purnell to open up a coffee shop that has, and I mean no disrespect, ‘That fancy coffee with serving sizes in Eye-talian and full up with whipped cream and purty sprinkles,’” she mimicked the mindset of nearly everyone at the last town council meeting.

  Caine noted his mother’s house was strangely dark, which meant the doors were locked. He dropped down into the hammock, pulling Dixie with him as he considered her very valid point. “Well, to be fair, they did vote in Reyvonne’s favor.”

  Dixie turned to face him, slipping her leg underneath her. She shook her head. “That’s a far cry from a phone-sex line, Caine. The Mags want to preserve the integrity of small-town America. That doesn’t include women like LaDawn who list companionating as a skill on their résumés. The girls need someone here to fight off ornery Nanette and the Mags. They’ll eat LaDawn and the others alive if someone isn’t here to take up for them.”

  Her fierce response left him full of admiration for her and just a little offended. “You know I’d never let anyone hurt those girls, Dixie. I like them, too.”

  The hard line of her lips softened then curved into a smile before she looked down at her lap, spinning her thumb ring. “I do know that. I do. I’m just being ridiculously overprotective, I guess. But just so we’re clear, if you win this I want you to promise me you’ll make regular appearances to check on them, Caine. Make sure Louella isn’t baking them pies with the paring knife she uses to stab them in the backs.”

  Caine grinned and playfully nudged her to avoid addressing how incredibly sexy and passionate she looked when protecting the women of Call Girls. “Look at you coming to terms with me winning. That’s good. Get used to it, pretty lady.”

  She clasped her hands together and reached skyward to stretch, revealing the silky smooth skin of her lightly tanned belly. Her lips curved upward. “Not on your life. I’m just saying it to distract you and stroke your ego before I swoop in like the mean-girl ninja I am and snatch that golden headset of yours right out from under you,” she taunted good-naturedly, leaning back on her elbows and exposing the tops of her breasts to his hungry eyes.

  Would she go back to Chicago if she lost? What would she go back to? “So does that mean you’ll leave Plum Orchard if you lose?”

  “Would you give me a job if I stayed?” she asked, but it wasn’t with a challenge in her tone. There was a hint of fear in it—one that cut him off at the knees. Made him want to drag her into his arms and tell her he’d take care of it all.

  “I need a full-time job, Caine. I have...debts.”

  Damn it, he wasn’t willing to feel that way again—not yet.

  Yet, friend? Landon taunted.

  Her take-no-prisoners attitude about her financial mess surprised him. She didn’t have to pay off the people who’d invested in her restaurant. They were mostly family friends and connections that wouldn’t miss the money.

  Somehow, Dixie had managed to find some principles. His curiosity about what had led to that was eating him alive.

  Dixie poked at his rib cage, her eyes hopeful when she gazed at him from behind the curtain of her hair. “So would you? Hire me?”

  “Sure, Dixie. I’ll give you a job if I win. You can be Mistress Taboo for as long as you want.”

  She whistled. “Wow. I like this being friends thing. It’s made you all warm and squishy.”

  “Do you, Dixie? Do you like us being friends?” The intensity of his question shook him up. He no longer wanted to crush her—at least not in phone sex.

  Jesus.

  “It beats wearing my boxing gloves all the time. They’re hell on a manicure.”

  Pushing off with his foot, Caine set the hammock to rocking with a chuckle. The motion moved Dixie so close to him he had to fight with his arm to keep from wrapping it around her before she righted herself. “We used to spend a lot of time out here, didn’t we?”

  The pretty tint to her cheeks, the way she avoided eye contact told him she remembered exactly what he was remembering. “We did,” she murmured, then gave him a look he pegged for surprise. “You still think about...about that?”

  “More than I care to admit.” Or more than was healthy.

  Dixie shuddered a breath, a breath he read as touchy territory. “Me, too.”

  But he didn’t want to walk on eggshells tonight. He needed to know those memories, that bittersweet chunk of time they’d spent together during their courtship, meant the same things to her they did to him. “Do you remember the time my mom came home, and we were out here, right on this hammock, buck naked like we were the only two people in the world?”

  Dixie’s head fell back on her shoulders, exposing her throat when she laughed out loud. “I remember it vividly. Me hiding in that big bush of rhododendrons while you stumbled through that lame story about how you thought you heard Digger Radcliff’s dog rooting around in the garbage cans.” She laughed again, carefree and soft.

  “It would have worked, too, except for your damn pink bra, glowing under the moonlight, screaming, ‘Hey, Jo-Lynne! Dixie and Caine just racked up some hammock miles!’”

  Dixie began to laugh so hard she had to put a hand to her stomach. “Well, there’s that—and the fact that it was still stuck around your ankle.”

  Caine began to laugh, too, making the hammock shake until somehow, they were only inches away from each other. Seeing her so untroubled, so like she used to be before her life had taken this abrupt turn, changed everything about what was supposed to be a piece of pecan pie and coffee with his mother. “Do you remember that bra, Dixie?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  Her breathing hitched when he leaned over her, brushing her hair from her eyes. She nodded, and Caine thought he caught her swallowing nervously. “I think you said it was your favorite.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, transfixed by the swell of her peach-colored lips parted just enough to reveal her tongue. “Yeah. It was.”

  Dixie’s chest rose and fell in choppy breaths, pushing against his. Her full breasts swelled with each breath she took. He used his knuckles to caress the underside of them, loving the fullness of them, aching to tear the tiny pearl buttons of her sweater off with his teeth before burying himself between them.

  Her fingers automatically went to his hair, gripping a fistful of it as his tongue wisped over her bottom lip, nibbling it before pulling at it, relishing the plump flesh.

  “Caine...” she whispered as the tip of her tongue caught his.

  “Dixie?” he asked, before dragging hi
s index finger between her breasts.

  “We have to...” She moaned at the pop of the buttons on her sweater. “Talk. I need to...” She gasped when he pressed his open mouth to the column of her neck. “Ask you—and...tell you something.”

  He chuckled, cupping her breast, still encased in a lacy confection of interfering bra. “After.”

  Gripping his hair tighter, she dragged his head upward, forcing him to look at her. What he saw was desire, hot and sweet, but there was something else—something gritty. “Please,” she almost begged.

  Her tone was so urgent, so primal and hoarse Caine paused, looking directly into her eyes, alarmed. “Anything.”

  Dixie’s eyes shone bright under the full moon. “Did you sleep with Louella the night our engagement ended? Look at me when you answer me, Caine. Look at me.”

  Where the hell had that come from? Was she serious? Yet, the almost desperate question, the way she demanded he look at her when he answered, said she meant it.

  Caine looked down at this woman he was fighting tooth and nail not to fall in love with all over again, waiting with dread for his answer.

  He pinned her with his gaze, his hand encircled her wrist, squeezing it. “No, Dixie. Never.”

  Everything stopped when he spoke those words.

  There was nothing but Dixie, staring up at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, his blood pumping in his veins, and the crushing thump of his pulse.

  But she didn’t leave him any time to think about it before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his.

  She drove her tongue into his mouth, her lips covering his in a hungry kiss, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist.

  Caine reacted, grinding his cock into the V of her soft thighs, pulling away and clenching his teeth when she tore her mouth from his to put her hands on his chest and roll him from her body.

  She straddled him right there on the hammock, while crickets chirped and the breeze blew through her tousled hair. His breath caught in his chest, seeing her like this, sitting on top of him, her bare shoulder exposed from his anxious hands tugging at her sweater.

  The rise and fall of her chest. Her waist, narrowed and flaring out to accentuate the swell of her full hips. Her lips, now red and swollen from their kiss.

  “Wait,” he said huskily, unwilling to lose this moment—this small window of opportunity when their inexorable need for each other wasn’t clouded by angry words or revenge. He grabbed hold of her wrists, imprisoning them. “Let me look—touch.”

  Dixie clenched her fingers into fists, resting them on his abdomen, her breathing heavy, her eyes colliding with his.

  Caine walked his fingers up over her shoulder and along her neck until he reached her mouth. He pressed his index finger to her lips. “I want you, Dixie. Need you. Now.”

  She shivered at his insistent words. “I need you, too, Caine,” she breathed before reaching for his belt buckle. Dixie’s eyes captured his for only a moment before she pulled the belt open and unzipped his jeans.

  He throbbed against the tight cotton of his boxer-briefs for agonizing seconds, and then her hands were around him, stroking him as she slid downward. Her hands tugged at the material at his waist, yanking his jeans down until they were around his ankles.

  The cool air washed over his skin. Caine’s boots dug into the soft earth to keep them anchored and to prevent himself from losing his mind when Dixie’s hot breath made contact with his bare cock.

  His hiss of pleasure wheezed from his lungs at her lips, wrapping around him and taking him into her mouth with a slow swipe of her tongue. His hips bucked upward as she swirled it around the heated length of him, dragging along the sensitive skin with raspy precision.

  His hands went to her head, palming the back of it, following the movement of her up-and-down motion. “Christ, Dixie. More. I need more.” He ground out the demand just seconds before her passes intensified.

  White-hot need raged in his veins, his cock swelled in the wet cavern of her mouth, and his balls drew up tight against his body in preparation. Caine’s hand found hers gripped firmly around him. He covered it, increasing the pressure, clenching his teeth as their fingers entwined. The tips of his fingers drifted into the wet heat of her mouth, and Dixie nipped at them, pushing them aside.

  He drove upward, heedless to anything but the wet heat of her tongue, and the soft noises she made as she devoured the length of him.

  He reared upward one last time when she used her tongue to tease the sensitive spot just beneath the head of his cock before he pulled back, and her hands took the place of her mouth.

  Caine lost control when she whispered, “Come, Caine. Come for me.” He exploded in a brilliant flash of color, and Dixie’s soft hair splayed out over his abdomen. His lungs screamed out a rush of air, and his cock pulsed in her hand with hot release.

  He reached for her shoulders, pulling her upward until her forehead rested on his chin, fighting for breath. Her arms slipped under his shoulders the familiar way they always had after she made love to him and his cradled her, fusing them together.

  The easy sway of the hammock rocked them, while Caine struggled to find the words that would express what was happening to him.

  Both of them jumped when the floodlight attached to his mother’s porch bathed them in the glare of light.

  Jo-Lynne’s voice seeped from behind the screened windows. “Attention Caine Donovan and Dixie Davis! If I find one wayward bra in my backyard, someone’s in for a lickin’! Now both of you make yourselves fit to sit at my kitchen table and join me inside for some pecan pie. Fully clothed, please!”

  Dixie muffled a giggle against his shirt, her shoulders crumbling in the effort.

  “Caught,” he said on a laugh.

  She nodded with a snort. “Like a fly on sticky paper.”

  Before they succumbed to the decadence of his mother’s pecan pie, he needed to know—to understand—what had brought about the question of Louella. Or more importantly, who had planted that notion in her pretty head.

  Her urgency left him restless to settle whatever had her so troubled. He cupped the back of her head, kissing the top of it. “So hey, that talk? After pecan pie and coffee? Jo-Lynne’s not exactly known for her patience.”

  She sat up, the warmth of her body replaced with the cool air of nothing but space between them. The carefree look of moments ago was replaced with a troubled pair of eyes, but then Dixie smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “After pecan pie. And there are tissues in my purse.”

  Dixie squirmed off the hammock, toeing the jeans around his ankles with a grin full of mischief. She began to back up into a light trot toward the house and yelled, “Race ya to the kitchen, Donovan. Last one in gets no pie!”

  Caine pushed off the hammock with his knees and dived for the shadow of the big maple in his mother’s backyard, grunting when he tripped on the tangle of his jeans and hit the ground hard. Reaching for Dixie’s purse, he made good use of the tissues and pulled his jeans back up.

  Rolling to a sitting position, he glanced up at the warm glow in the kitchen, shining through the screen porch windows. Dixie was pouring coffee with one hand while the fingers on her other folded napkins, and his mother sliced her famous pecan pie. They were smiling and chatting, their mouths moving in time with their bobbing heads, making him smile along with them.

  Caine’s gut tightened. It was exactly like the visual he’d created in his mind a long time ago when he’d thought about their future together.

  Exactly.

  Eighteen

  Em and Dixie strolled arm in arm across the square toward the brightly lit gazebo where the annual Founder’s Day parade was wrapping up and the slide show of Plum Orchard’s founding fathers would begin.

  The early-
evening air was sweet with the scent of cotton candy and hot buttered popcorn. Children played in the grassy area in front of the gazebo, small American flags in hand. Replicas of pilgrim hats and Puritan bonnets tossed on blankets as far as the eye could see made Dixie smile. This was what her childhood had been filled with: town events concocted specifically to inspire gatherings full of family, food and Plum Orchard residential pride.

  Plum Orchard celebrated their Founder’s Day in the tradition of Thanksgiving—only without the turkey and dressing. Her father had always told her it was exactly like when the pilgrims hopped off the Mayflower at Plymouth. Except no one accused the original settlers of Plum Orchard of stealin’ anything, he would joke with a chuckle.

  Em plucked at the sweater covering Dixie’s arm as they strolled past a local dressed as a pilgrim, making balloon animals for the children. “So, I hear there was some funny business in the backyard of one Miss Jo-Lynne Donovan yesterday. I thought I was your person. You’re supposed to tell your person about all funny business.”

  Dixie stopped in her tracks, rocking back on her heels. “Is there nothing sacred in this town?”

  “Oh, now stop bein’ offended. Digger was in Madge’s, and he casually remarked he’d seen you and Caine swingin’ on the hammock in Jo-Lynne’s backyard when he let Dewie out for his nightly run. I just assumed funny business occurred because it always does whenever you two are anywhere near each other.”

  Dixie breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was everyone in town abuzz with her private matters. She was still trying to process Caine’s denial. Process the fact that she’d been beating herself up, agonizing over her lack of self-esteem and willpower, only to discover nothing had happened between Caine and Louella. Her gut told her Caine wasn’t lying.

  “So did you talk to him?” Em pressed, stopping in front of a table brimming with punch and delectable desserts made by the locals.

  “Sort of. I think I cleared one thing up. Hey, as my person, can I tell you something? You don’t have to get involved if you don’t want to. Just say the word, and I’ll hush.”