Daring Dixie Read online

  Daring Dixie (A MFM Menage Romance)

  Tara Crescent

  Text copyright © 2020 Tara Crescent

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thanks to Miranda for her razor-sharp eyes.

  Cover Design by Kasmit Covers, www.kasmitcovers.com

  Contents

  GET A FREE BOOK

  Daring Dixie

  Prologue

  1. Hunter

  2. Eric

  3. Dixie

  4. Dixie

  5. Hunter

  6. Eric

  7. Dixie

  8. Hunter

  9. Eric

  10. Dixie

  11. Dixie

  12. Hunter

  13. Eric

  14. Dixie

  15. Dixie

  16. Eric

  17. Dixie

  18. Dixie

  19. Hunter

  20. Dixie

  21. Eric

  22. Dixie

  23. Dixie

  24. Dixie

  25. Eric

  26. Dixie

  27. Hunter

  28. Dixie

  29. Eric

  30. Hunter

  31. Dixie

  32. Eric

  33. Dixie

  34. Hunter

  35. Dixie

  36. Dixie

  37. Eric

  38. Dixie

  Epilogue

  A Preview of Dirty Therapy by Tara Crescent

  About Tara Crescent

  Also by Tara Crescent

  GET A FREE BOOK

  Get a free story when you subscribe to my mailing list!

  LEARN MORE…

  Daring Dixie

  Hunter Driesse and Eric Kane aren’t my type.

  They’re too dominant. Too demanding.

  Too sinfully tempting.

  They are not the men I want.

  Until the night of the dare.

  When I discover that Hunter and Eric are—shockingly—the men I need.

  Prologue

  Dixie

  Six months ago…

  It’s Wednesday. I’ve been at my new job at Leforte Enterprises for ten days, and already, I’m having second thoughts.

  When Xavier Laforte hired me to be the General Counsel of his sprawling empire, I’d been under the impression I would be working directly for him. I was wrong. While Xavier is nominally the CEO, the daily decisions are made by Pierre Valade, the Chief Operating Officer.

  Pierre is, to put it kindly, a disaster. Xavier is competent; Pierre is not. Xavier respects his employees; Pierre is condescending, difficult, and incompetent. He doesn’t read his emails. He shows up to meetings unprepared. Things sit on his desk for days on end.

  Things like the Ito contract, for example.

  Pierre looks up from the stack of paper on his desk. “Xavier needs to sign this contract,” he says, giving me a glare.

  “Yes,” I agree, keeping the annoyance out of my voice with superhuman ability. Sadly, I have a lot of practice at that. “I sent you an email about it last week.”

  “Xavier isn’t here,” he says, stating the obvious. “When does this need to be signed by?”

  He hasn’t read my email. He’s ignored the subject line that said: Urgent—Mr. Leforte needs to sign the Ito contract by the fourteenth. I grit my teeth. “Today.”

  He blinks in confusion. “Today?”

  I count to ten in my head. “Yes, today. If you recall, we had a conversation about this last Wednesday. These documents need to be shipped today to get to Tokyo by Friday.” Pierre has dithered for weeks. Akihiko Kawahara, my counterpart at Ito Corp, is losing his patience and is on the verge of recommending that his firm walk away from the deal.

  “But Xavier isn’t here,” he says again.

  I have no idea how this man keeps his job. “Do you know where he is?”

  He frowns at me as if I’m inconveniencing him by asking him to do his job. “Let me ask Elisa.”

  Elisa Bucur is Xavier’s assistant and is, as I’m quickly finding out, as competent as Pierre is not. She picks up the phone on the first ring. “Elisa Bucur,” she says, her voice crisp. “How can I help you, Pierre?”

  “Do you know where Xavier is?”

  “Yes, he’s at the castle. He flew in from Bangkok last night.” There’s a brief pause. “I'm quite sure I sent you a copy of his travel schedule."

  Pierre lets that rebuke sail past his head. "I have Dixie Ketcham in front of me," he says. "She needs Xavier to sign a contract. Is he planning to come into the office today?"

  "He has spent thirty-six of the last ninety hours on a plane. I highly doubt it."

  The thought of picking up the phone and explaining to Akihiko that we've missed yet another deadline makes me cringe. I take a half-step forward. "Elisa, hi. This is Dixie. I'm sure Mr. Leforte is exhausted, but I really need him to sign this contract today. If I drive out to the castle—"

  "Yes," she interrupts. "That will work. Are you leaving now? I'll give Xavier a heads-up that you're on your way."

  Thank heavens for competent people. "Thank you."

  Pierre hangs up. His eyes rest on me, and I see sly amusement there. "You're going to the castle," he drawls. "You do know there's a sex club in the basement?"

  "I'm aware, yes," I say stiffly. I haven't been to the castle yet, and I'm a little nervous about it, though there's no reason to be. After all, the private sex club in the basement is only a small pa t of the castle, and most of the space is taken up by Summit, a luxury resort. Pierre Valade is baiting me, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of responding.

  It takes me an hour to get to Summit. Following Elisa's directions, I drive around the back, park in the employee lot, and knock on the back door. In less than a minute, an older gentleman opens it. "Ms. Ketcham?" he asks.

  "Yes."

  He gives me a welcoming smile. "Mr. Leforte is expecting you. Please follow me."

  I follow Henri down a narrow corridor, feeling a little bit like Alice in Wonderland. It's a strange rabbit hole I've fallen down. Xavier Leforte's castle is a boutique resort catering to the rich and famous. It also houses an exclusive sex club in the basement. When I first found out what the yearly membership dues were, I almost had a heart attack.

  Henri stops in front of a staff elevator. We wait for it to arrive in silence. When it does, Henri gestures for me to enter. Limping in after me, he hits the button for the second floor. "We could have walked," he says. "But my ankle is acting up today. Arthritis."

  "I'm sorry." Henri reminds me of Albert in the Batman movies. I guess that in that scenario, Xavier Leforte would be Bruce Wayne. It's not a bad analogy. Xavier can be inscrutable to the point of mystery, and God knows he's rich enough.

  When the elevator reaches our destination, I turn to Henri. "You don't have to escort me. Just tell me where to go."

  "Thank you, Ms. Ketcham. That is very considerate of you. Head left. Mr. Leforte's office is the last door on the right."

  Xavier's office door is ajar. I knock on it, and his voice tells me to come in. He looks up as I enter and gets to his feet to greet me. "Dixie," he says with a smile, shaking my hand with his customary firm grip. "It's good to see you. I'm sorry I couldn't be in the office for your first week. How are things so far?"<
br />
  It's a disaster. "Pretty good," I lie. "I'm still finding my way around."

  "Elisa said something about a contract?"

  "Yes. You're buying a company in Japan. The contract needs your sign-off. I can summarize the details for you if you'd like."

  "Nothing you tell me today will sink in," he says with a grimace. "I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours." I hand him my pen, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line. "Is that it?"

  He looks exhausted, and, though his smile is friendly, his words are a polite dismissal. I wasn't going to pour out my frustrations about Pierre—that would be unprofessional—but even if that had been my intent, now's not the right time.

  "That's it," I confirm.

  "Good. I'll see you at Happy Hour on Friday? We can catch up, and you can tell me how your first two weeks have been."

  "Absolutely." I tuck the contract back into my folder, mutter a polite farewell, and ride the elevator back to the main floor. Henri is nowhere in sight, but I don't have time to wait for him. Already, my phone is filling up with texts from my assistant Andie Cromwell.

  Pierre needs the Argentina proposal. Do you have it ready?

  John Stone asked about the Tennessee negotiations.

  And so on and so forth. I tap out replies as I walk, and I'm about to exit the castle when I realize I've left my pen in Xavier's office.

  My mom gave me that pen.

  It's my lucky pen.

  "Great," I grumble under my breath. Xavier practically threw you out of his office, and you're going up there to bother him again. Way to make a good impression.

  I retrace my steps back. Andie's doing her best to control the chaos, but I need to be back at the office. I smash my finger into the elevator button, my attention on my phone. It'll take me an hour to drive back, and then my team needs to make copies of the contract before the FedEx driver shows up at five. It's a little before two. I'm not running out of time, but I'm cutting it closer than I'd like.

  The elevator arrives. I get in, the doors shut, and it starts to move. I'm not paying attention; I'm typing out another message to Andie when it whispers to a stop and the doors open.

  That's when I hear the woman scream.

  I'm not on the second floor of the castle. That much is clear. Ahead of me is a cave of darkness. It's daylight outside—I must be in the basement. I use my cell phone for light and take a step forward, my heart racing in my chest.

  The woman cries out again, her voice thin and high with panic. "Help," she shouts. "Please—"

  Her voice abruptly cuts out.

  My fingers dial 911 on instinct.

  But the call doesn't go through. There's no reception down here.

  Now what? I freeze in place, but I already know what I'm going to do. I can't walk away; I have to intervene. I couldn't live with myself otherwise. I could get Henri, but there might not be enough time. I need to act now.

  "Please," she begs. "I don't know anything. Please let me go."

  I tiptoe into the dark void. The voice seemed to come from across the room. I grope my way toward a door. I turn the handle, and to my relief, it's not locked. It swings open silently.

  I'm closer now. The woman cries out again, and this time, I hear conversation. It starts out as an indistinct murmur, and then, as I get closer, it coalesces into two separate male voices.

  The corridor comes to a dead end. Passageways continue to the left and to the right. I take a deep breath. Hoping against hope, I glance down at my phone, but no. Still no reception. I'm going to have to turn left, yell really loudly, threaten to call the cops, and hope that it's enough to scare the assailants.

  I turn the corner and…

  A scene out of a medieval torture chamber greets me.

  A naked bulb swings from the cavernous ceiling. Two men, both dressed in expensive suits, loom over a tied-up woman. She's wearing a button-up shirt and a grey pencil skirt, her hands tied behind her back. She's breathing in shallow gulps, and she's cringing away from them. "Please don't," she whispers. "I know nothing, I promise. I've told you everything."

  One of the men, the bearded one, shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it aside. He undoes his cufflinks and tosses them on a table. They make a heavy, clinking sound as they land on the surface.

  "I don't believe you, Camila." He starts to roll up his sleeves. "We can either do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. You decide."

  The other man moves into the light. A metallic glint catches my eye, and my heartbeat stutters to a stop.

  He's carrying a knife.

  I jump forward with an angry shriek. "Freeze," I yell. "I have mace, you sick jerks. What kind of men tie up and torture a helpless woman anyway? The ones with small cocks, that's who. Well, you're not getting away with this. The cops are on their way."

  I do not have mace. And for obvious reasons—no cell phone reception—the cops are not on their way.

  Both men look up at my approach. "What are you talking about?" the man with the knife asks, giving me a puzzled frown.

  His tone isn't right. Neither is his expression. He doesn't look angry, and he doesn't look afraid. He just looks… confused.

  The next lie is already tumbling out of my mouth. "I have a black belt in judo," I continue. "Drop the knife, and step away from the woman, or you are going to be exceedingly sorry."

  The woman speaks for the first time. "Hang on," she says, her voice sharp. "Did you say you called the cops? Why on Earth would you call the cops to a sex club? Are you out of your mind?"

  That's when I realize that I've got it very, very wrong.

  "You’re not being interrogated?” I ask weakly. “You’re not in trouble?”

  She rolls her eyes in my direction. “Eric, can you cut me loose? Yes, honey. I’m being interrogated in a dimly lit room in the basement of a hotel where the average room costs a thousand dollars a night.”

  “It’s more than a thousand,” the guy with the knife says. Eric. “Xavier said he was planning another price hike. Stay still, Cam.” He slices efficiently through the ropes, and then turns to me with a withering look. “Look, I don’t know who you are or how you made your way down here, and trust me, I intend to find out. But at the risk of pointing out the obvious, we’re in a BDSM club, this is a planned scene, and you’re interrupting.”

  Yeah, I’m slowly starting to see that. No wonder the three of them are looking at me as if I’m an idiot. I am such a fool. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Just because it’s a castle, it doesn’t mean it has dungeons where people are being tortured. I’ve been reading far too many fairy tales and watching far too much Law and Order.

  “I didn’t call the cops,” I murmur sheepishly. “No cell phone reception.” I take a deep breath and try to explain the unexplainable. “It’s Wednesday. I didn’t think—”

  “No, you didn’t,” Eric agrees caustically. “Not even a little.”

  Camila touches his arm. “Leave her be, Eric. It was an honest mistake.” She gets to her feet. “Thank you for trying to rescue me.”

  Yeah, I still feel like a fool.

  The other man speaks up for the first time. “Who are you?”

  The odds of Xavier Leforte hearing about this incident? One-hundred-percent. Ugh. Still, if he fires me, at least I won’t have to deal with Pierre anymore. It’s not much of a silver lining, but it’s all I have. “I’m Dixie Ketcham,” I murmur. “I just started working for Mr. Leforte.”

  “His new lawyer?” Beard-Guy looks amused. “You just moved here, didn’t you? Have you found a gym to train at yet? I’m a yodan. Perhaps we could spar sometime. I’m Hunter, by the way. Hunter Driesse.”

  Jerk. He knows perfectly well I was lying about my judo black belt, and he’s rubbing salt into my wounds.

  Both men are looking at me with mocking eyes. Pierre had looked at me that way when he asked me if I knew there was a sex club in the basement. I feel like a fool all over again. My face burns with embarrassment, and I would give anything
to be able to go back in time and fix this. “I’m sorry I interfered in your scene,” I tell the woman stiffly. “I’m going to go now.”

  I turn around, ready to run away. A woman barrels around the corner, moving at full speed. “Ms. Ketcham, I’m very sorry,” she gasps out. “But you cannot be here. This is a private members-only area.”

  Behind me, I hear Eric laugh, low and amused.

  Ugh. You don’t have to rub my nose in it.

  I’ve never really had nemeses, but if I did, these guys, Hunter Driesse and Eric, last-name-unknown, would be on the list. Still, with any luck, I’ll never see them again.

  1

  Hunter

  Funerals suck. So-called ‘celebrations of life’ aren’t any better. Remembering my mother’s life when I’ve barely come to terms with her death? I can’t do it.

  A few stragglers—good friends, all of them—linger in my mother’s living room. I feel brittle. Stretched thin, like a leaf that’s been left out too long in the sun. I excuse myself from the conversation I’m in and wander to the kitchen.

  She was fifty-five. Too young. Far too young to die.