Em stepped between them, casting Caine a pleading eye before turning to Dixie. “Suggestion? It’s been a long, chaotic day. How about we go to Landon’s and relax before someone says somethin’ rash?”
Dixie straightened, preparing to leave before she took the bait Caine dangled in front of her and things escalated between them. They were older—wiser—and their behavior should reflect that.
She tugged her purse back over her shoulder with resolve. “I’m ready now. That Landon wants us to wait twenty-four hours is just enough time to grab a shower, eat some of Martha’s infamous peach pie and Sanjeev’s lamb curry, get a decent night’s rest, and skip back over here to sign those papers.” Her choice was made.
“You do realize this is ridiculous, don’t you, Dixie?” Caine’s voice grumbled, still so sexy-rough. “Landon’s really yanking our chains, pitting us against one another. You know, just like back in the old days when the two of us competed over everything, and Landon looked on fondly at his two foolish best friends making asses of themselves? He’s having a good laugh, wherever he is. What I don’t get is why he’d do something like this. It’s not like Landon, especially knowing the way we feel about one another. I don’t suppose he left the reasons he did this in all that paperwork, Em, did he?”
Em’s hands folded and dropped in front of her. “No. I don’t know any more than the two of you know.”
It was clear Caine’s anger with Dixie hadn’t dulled after almost a decade, and he wanted her to know. Fair enough. “Then don’t stick around for the five W’s. Go back to Miami and sell some more million-dollar, oceanfront houses to leathery-skinned women who have pocketbook-size dogs. You don’t need the money. I do. You probably couldn’t handle the challenge anyway.” Dixie was methodically inviting him to try and best her. It was silly and childish and unlike the person she strove so hard to be, but gravy. Ten years was a long time to still feel this much hate coming from Caine.
The ripple of power Caine exuded reflected in his narrowed eyes. “Are you suggesting I let you have everything?”
“I’m suggesting you go home and admit defeat. Because, as you’ve mentioned, you don’t need the money.”
“And how is it that you’ve come to the conclusion I’ll end up the loser?”
“It’s simple logic. Me—woman—with a hot voice, if all the compliments I’ve been getting all these years are any indication. You—man, probably not a key component when attempting to arouse a male who wants to be called Daddy by his little girl.” Dixie had to fight the shudder those words evoked. That was most definitely not going to be her persona’s specialty.
“Ah, but you forget one little thing, Mistress Leather,” Caine baited, gracing her with a smile full of white teeth.
“What’s that, Candy Caine?” Her eyebrow rose with total confidence. She hadn’t forgotten anything. She had him by a landslide just by virtue of her gender.
Caine leaned into her, the slightest hint of his cologne dousing her nostrils before she took an unsteady step back. “You’re forgetting ‘Bond. James Bond.’”
The tip of Em’s index finger went directly into her mouth. She nibbled the chipped end of her nail, her brow furrowing, her eyes flashing danger zone signals at Dixie.
Oh, damn him and his Sean Connery bombs. Caine could create any persona he desired and melt the insides of millions of women into sticky goo. Dixie wanted to stamp her feet in frustration until she remembered one thing. Women didn’t call phone-sex lines, or if they did, they sure weren’t in the majority. Men were.
Hah!
Dixie was right back in high school when she said, “I think you’re forgetting one little thing, Boom-Boom, name one woman you know who calls a phone-sex operator. One.”
Caine’s lips flat-lined.
Uh-huh. “I bet you don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the men you know who’ve dialed a Mistress Leather, or variation thereof, do you, Caine Donovan?”
More flat-lining and nostril flaring.
She curtsied and winked. “Your serve.”
“Don’t be so quick to call me dead in the water. The women of today are empowered, unafraid of their sexuality, bolder about their needs and about expressing those needs. Add in Sean Connery, Johnny Depp, maybe a little Sam Elliott or for that matter, almost anyone they’d like to, uh...verbally play with, and I’m your man.” Then he grinned. Wide. Smug.
Her nostrils flared.
“So I’ll tell you what, Dixie Davis, you go right ahead and rev up your sexy, because I dare you to top that.”
He’d used the word dare. Such a bad, bad word. Resist, Dixie. Fight it. Fight hard.
Instead of reacting, Dixie gathered herself together, her body rigid enough to shoot an arrow and looked Caine Donovan square in the eye.
The second gauntlet of the day she threw down was again silent, metaphoric, but it was no less meaningful. “Then I guess this is Donovan versus Davis. See you here tomorrow at six. Don’t forget your thong and your flogging thingy.”
“Flogger,” Em corrected. “It’s just called a flogger.”
Dixie cocked her head at Em. “You know this how?”
Her face flushed red as she backed away from them. “I’m gonna go check on Hank and see if he’s found those keys,” she said over her shoulder, her embarrassment painfully obvious.
Caine rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his expression once again arrogant. “You bet I’ll be here, Dixie, and I’ll see your flogger and raise you some latex and hot candle wax,” he retorted, still so smug.
Okay, conscience, fair is fair. I’m trying to be the best person I know how to be. I’m trying to leave my baggage at the airport carousel. But c’mon. He’s baiting me. It’s plain as the nose on my face. You can’t expect me to take it and just lie down and die.
Her blood pressure soared. “Funny you should mention the word see, Caine.” Dixie paused, putting the tip of her nail between her lips, widening her eyes with mock exaggeration. “You know, I wonder if Landon’s company provides live video chats? I bet he does in this age of technology. So, I’ll see your ridiculous latex and raise you one hot Southern belle in a leather corset, fishnet stockings and some ruby-red stiletto heels. A real live Southern belle, not someone just pretendin’ to be a celebrity,” she sniped with a smirk.
Caine leaned down, pinning her with his gaze, as though he were transmitting every last hot, lust-filled second they’d spent together to her mind’s eye.
He trailed a finger along her cheek, making Dixie fight a whimper for the weak-kneed hunger his touch left in its wake.
It was all she could do to remain defiant rather than curl her jaw into the digit and sigh with years of pent-up yearning. His hand snaked around her waist, hauling her to him so their bodies were flush, his taut, hers softer but no less aware of the fire brewing beneath all that sinew.
Her clit throbbed in reaction to the rigid line beneath his trousers, aching with familiar
