Dirty Dix (Hard Love Romance #1) (22 page)

She can see it written all over my face, and nods. “Okay, I get it. Not gonna happen.”

“I’m sorry, but we were never just friends. There was always something more. I still want more, but it’s either all or nothing. I’m tired of playing games,” I say, watching a single tear roll down her cheek. “I should have told you earlier, but honestly, I didn’t know I wanted more until you walked out on me. I’m just as messed up as you are,” I confess, and let out a sarcastic snort.

“I highly doubt that,” she replies with a sniff. “I meant what I said. It’s not you, it’s me.”

Unable to help myself, I wrap my hand around her nape and draw our foreheads together. “In this circumstance, I think it’s the both of us. Maybe in another lifetime,
angelo
?” I say, and Madison gasps, her warm breath tickling my cheeks.

“Maybe,” she replies half-heartedly.

“Thank you so much for saving my ass today. I owe you.” I pull away and try to lighten the mood.

Madison sniffs with a sad smile. “Consider it paying back my dues. You’ve saved my ass on more than one occasion, it’s time I start paying you back.”

And that answers my question. She’s come to my rescue because she feels guilty for what transpired between us. But what she doesn’t realize is that I’m the one who’s sorry—for everything.

“You owe me nothing,” I say once again.

“I know, but I want to do this for you. I could see how uncomfortable you looked, and I couldn’t just walk by and not help you. I mean, even though you
were
a complete bastard to me the other morning, I can’t hate you. I tried,” she admits shyly. “This is the least I can do. I really am sorry, Dixon. I shouldn’t have kissed you back. You warned me I couldn’t take it back, and I didn’t want to, but…”

“I understand,” I finish when she doesn’t continue. “Maybe in another lifetime,” I add, as that seems to fit our situation perfectly.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” she sadly repeats with a nod. “So, we get through tonight, and I’ll be by your side, acting the part of the perfect girlfriend, I promise. And then when the night is over, it’s…goodbye?” she questions, her voice quivering.

“Let’s just get through the evening first,” I reply, not wanting to be the one who makes that call.

“Okay.” She nods, wiping her eyes. “Well, I better go find something to wear. I didn’t pack too many nice things, so I need all the time I can get to try and pull something presentable together.”

As she attempts to stand, I stop her by placing my hand on her forearm. She looks down at our connection, and I know she feels it too.

But ignoring those incessant sparks, I say, “Leave it to me.” When Madison raises a confused brow, I smile. “Let me do this for you.”

She understands what I mean, and nods. “Okay, I’ll be waiting in my room. It’s 235.”

“Perfect. Meet you in the lobby at seven?” I ask, still disbelieving she’s just agreed to be my girlfriend for the night.

“Seven it is,” she replies, and stands. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” I repeat, watching her as she walks away from me.

A
fter trying
to hate Dixon for the past few days and failing, I knew I had to find him and confront him, because this feeling in the pit of my stomach was making me ill. I was sick of reprimanding him in my mind, and I knew the only way to get over him was to talk to him, face to face.

It was easy to fall into the façade of pretending to be his girlfriend because if I wasn’t so emotionally screwed up, then I wouldn’t have to pretend.

Once I get back to New York, I’m going to confront my demons instead of trying to run away from them. I don’t know if this strength comes from meeting Dixon, but whatever it is, I’m just glad I finally have the balls to do what’s right. My fear protects my assailant, and I’m sick of them living in the light while I’m confined to the dark.

Once I find my light and if Dixon still wants me, then it’ll be our time, but until then, I have to work on becoming the stronger person I’ve always wanted to become. Or, like he said, maybe it’ll be our time in another lifetime.

But first things first, I have to get through tonight.

Dixon was quite vague in what he meant by “leave it to me.” I didn’t want to argue with him because it seems we both want to make right whatever went wrong between us, and doing little things for one another seems like the first step in doing just that.

When a knock sounds at my door at 4 p.m., a burst of excitement charges through me and I walk to the entrance with a skip in my step. I open it and am greeted by a concierge, who’s holding a black garment bag.

“Compliments of Dr. Mathews,” he says, passing me the bag.

“Thank you.” I reach into my pocket for a tip.

He waves me off. “No, Miss, it’s fine. It’s all been taken care of by Dr. Mathews. Enjoy your evening.”

I nod and quickly close the door, excited to rip open the bag to see what’s inside. The moment I unzip it, a stunned breath leaves me, as I’m looking at the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

It’s a royal-blue silk cocktail gown, and as I carefully remove the garment from the bag, I see the mid-section is a sheer mesh decorated with blue sequins, so my upper torso is not totally bare. The sequined dress is long and fitting, and I can tell when I put it on, it’ll pool around the floor elegantly. The neckline is a sweetheart cut and quite low. I have no doubt that’s the reason Dixon chose it.

As I cautiously drape the dress on the end of my bed, I check the sizing. He’s so attentive to detail, so it doesn’t surprise me the dress is a perfect fit. I then go in search for appropriate shoes to wear. Hunting through my luggage, I remember I only brought a black-heeled pair, which I intended to wear with the dress I was planning on wearing this evening. They’ll have to do, as I don’t have anything else.

When a knock sounds on the door, I wonder who that could be, as I’ve let Dr. Wellington know I’ll be accompanying Dixon tonight. After seeing our beef-off, he knew we had history, and thought it was a good idea for us to talk through whatever issues we had.

When I open it, I’m greeted by the same concierge from earlier. “Hello, Miss. Once again, this is compliments of Dr. Mathews.” He hands me a big paper bag.

I accept, stunned, as I was not expecting yet another gift. And I was definitely not expecting yet another
expensive
gift as, to judge from the name on the bag, it’s made by the same designer as the dress.

Once my brain catches up, I quickly reach into my pocket for a tip, but the concierge waves me off. “Dr. Mathews is a very generous man,” he says with a smile before tipping his hat and walking away.

I stand speechless, but compose myself enough to shut the door behind me. I place the bag onto the desk and hunt through it to find a shoebox and a smaller, rectangular box. Reaching for the shoebox, I open it up and pull away the white tissue paper to see a pair of silver strappy heels. They are simply beautiful, and although the heel is quite high, I know they’ll match the dress perfectly.

I almost forget about the other box because the dress and shoes are really too much, but as I open it up, I have to agree with the concierge, Dr. Mathews is a
very
generous man. The small silver clutch matches the sparkly silver heels perfectly, and these accessories will set off the elegant gown beautifully.

Looking at the clock, I decide to take a shower and get ready. However, yet another knock at the door interrupts my plans and I open it up, once again clueless to who is standing on the other side.

“Hello, Miss,” says the concierge with a smile. “This is for you.” He hands me a small bag. “Compliments of—”

“Dr. Mathews,” I finish for him, while he nods. “This is really too much,” I state, taken aback, peering inside the bag.

“He mentioned you would say that. But just in case you were thinking of returning them, Dr. Mathews wanted you to know they are non-refundable,” the concierge says with a chuckle.

I can’t help but laugh as I ask, “Is this the last of them?” because I really cannot accept anything else. It’s just too much.

The concierge smirks. “He also mentioned you would say that, too.” He tips his hat before leaving.

“Hey, you didn’t answer my question,” I say, but he keeps on walking, ignoring me, as no doubt, Dr. Mathews probably predicted I would say that, too.

I close the door behind me, and just like the shoes, I place the bag onto the desk and remove the blue velvet box from inside. I brush my fingers over the soft material before nervously opening it up, the box hinges whining with protest. The moment I see what’s inside, a gasp leaves me and I cover my mouth with a shaky hand because what I’m looking at is really
way
too much.

A double-chained diamond necklace catches the light, and hanging off the delicate length is a sapphire diamond, which is bordered by tiny diamonds. Above the necklace sits a pair of small, sapphire studs, and they too glitter in the light, the way only true diamonds do.

This is truly the most beautiful piece of jewelry I have ever seen, and I quickly reach for my cell and text the one person I swore to never text again.

This is too much, but thank you. I love it.

I receive a reply within seconds.

Nothing but the best for my girl.

How I wish that were true.

I
t’s now 7
:02 p.m., and I’m rushing around my room, shoving the essentials into my small clutch. Once I have my lipstick, perfume, I.D., cash, and room key crammed inside, I’m ready to go. I have to take measured steps as I make my way into the elevator because these heels are a lot higher than I’m accustomed to wearing. They are so worth it though, because I feel like Cinderella in her glass slippers.

Pushing the button for the lobby, I take a minute to look into the mirrored wall behind me to make sure I look okay. I’ve curled my hair and swept it to one side, fastening it with a jeweled clip, my loose curls brushing over my shoulder. My make-up is fairly basic because my outfit, combined with the lavish jewelry, is quite formal enough.

Overall, I like what I see, but my huge pupils and heavy breathing indicates one thing—I’m so nervous.

Once the elevator dings, I take my first careful step toward—I don’t know. Nervously smoothing out my gown, I will my racing heartbeat to slow down. I gather whatever courage I can find and round the corner to see my Prince Charming.

The moment our eyes meet, I feel that distinctive, pulsating charge ricochet between us, but I ignore it and try my best not to fall as I walk toward him. He looks absolutely hot in a simple but elegant tuxedo, which has been fitted to underline his muscular body and impressive height. His hair, which is styled into an orderly mess, complements his light, rugged stubble, and his incredibly blue eyes look electric while scanning down my body.

“I’m certain there was a lot more material when I picked this out,” he says when I reach his side, his mischievous gaze lifting to meet mine.

“You’ve got great taste,” I reply with a chuckle, ignoring how delectable he smells as I lean forward and kiss his cheek.

Dixon wraps an arm around my waist and draws me close. “Might I propose you borrow my jacket?”

“Whatever for?” I ask, gasping as he runs his nose lightly down my cheek and into my neck.

“So I’m not forced to gouge out the eyeballs of every male in this place,” he teasingly replies, his warm breath causing my skin to break out into tiny goosebumps. “But gouging aside, you look beautiful. Although, anything you wear looks stunning on you.”

I flush at his comment and turn into him, nuzzling into his embrace. The innocent action has Dixon growling low in his throat and tightening his hold around my waist.

“There they are,” a voice says, which has me pulling back, embarrassed to be caught out in such an intimate pose.

However, Dixon looks anything but embarrassed when I meet his heated stare. He gives me a quick once-over before addressing Chad. “Here we are.”

“You look positively stunning, Madison,” Chad says, his eyes lingering on my boobs.

I redden and turn to look at Dixon, who shrugs with an, “I told you so,” look on his amused face.

“Thank you, Chad,” I reply, my bashfulness obvious as I subtly cross my arms over my chest.

“You look…lovely, Rebecca,” Dixon says with a pause, and I wonder what he really thinks of Rebecca’s outfit, which resembles lingerie.

“Thank you. You look lovely, too,” she purrs, cocking out her hip, not concealing the fact she’s checking out Dixon.

A wave of jealousy overtakes me, but I smile and hold back my homicidal urges.

“Shall we?” Chad suggests, oblivious to the fact his fiancée is eye-fucking my “boyfriend.”

Pretend or not, I see Dixon as mine, and I know tonight is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought.

“Let’s,” I say in concurrence with Chad as I loop my arm through Dixon’s.

As we make our way toward the ballroom, all I can think about is the way Rebecca looked at Dixon. I played nice with her because I know how girls like her operate. If you stroke their already impossibly huge egos and not come across as a threat, then most times, they are happy to be friends because they have the upper hand. But tonight, all dressed up and being on the arm of Dixon, the man she wants, she sees me as competition.

Well, game on.

Just before we enter, Dixon leans down and kisses the shell of my ear. “Thank you for remembering to wear clothes.” I burst out laughing, which is exactly what I needed to calm the nerves.

“Anytime. But it’s all thanks to you,” I reply, my breath catching in my throat as he lays a single kiss along the arch of my neck. “If it weren’t for this dress, I would be nothing special.”

Dixon pulls away, a look of horror on his face. “That’s not true.” Placing a hand on my cheek, he smiles. “You don’t know how special you are.”

His sweet words have me turning into his hold and nuzzling into his hand. “Thank you,” I whisper, raising my eyes to meet his.

This shouldn’t feel so natural, but it does, and the thought of this being our last night together hurts. But Dixon said it’s all or nothing, and my fragile mind can’t give him my all until I get back to New York and confront my past.

Dixon must be able to read my thoughts because he says, “Even though you’re mine for only one night, I’m going to make it the best night of our lives.” He lays a single kiss on my lips before pulling away.

He looks unruffled as we enter the lavish ballroom, and all other thoughts get put on the back burner as I take in the beautiful sight before me. The room has been transformed into an elaborate affair, and waiters are zipping around the room, ensuring all seated guests have full glasses, while others are escorting patrons to their tables.

A waiter happily greets us and flicks through his iPad to see where we are seated. Thankfully Dixon amended the arrangements and I’m his plus one. I can’t help but wonder who his plus one originally was, as Chad mentioned they had pulled out at the last minute. Was it supposed to be the girl he was seeing when we first met? The thought has me shuffling uncomfortably, and Dixon slides his hand down my back, resting it above my ass.

“Are you all right?” he whispers as we begin walking toward our table.

“Fine,” I reply, but I’m anything but as I see the head of almost every woman in the room turn to look at Dixon.

Women of every age group are currently checking him out, some a little more discreetly than others, but overall, I have a room full of Rebecca's I now have to fight off.

The waiter stops at a table near the front, and as Dixon pulls out a seat for me, I know I’m the envy of the room. Ignoring their scowls, I take a seat and shakily reach for my glass of water when Rebecca sits next to Dixon.

I eye the bottles of wine in the middle of the table, wondering if it would be considered rude to make a dive for them and get into the booze early. But looking around the room and seeing the jealous stares of every beautiful woman present, I ignore etiquette and reach for a bottle of red.

“Here, let me,” Dixon offers, his fingers overlapping mine, beating me to it.

I pull back, my flesh singeing, but try not to make a big deal over it, and smile.

As I down my entire glass, I can feel Dixon watching me, but I ignore him and distract myself by looking around the room. The people here are powerful and important, and I wonder what they did to get to where they are. I have no doubt some worked hard, but with others I wonder who they slept with, or who they stabbed in the back to become the influential players that they are.

Two couples take a seat at our table, and thankfully the ladies are old enough to be Dixon’s grandmothers and smile politely when introductions are made. From what I can see, these people are very high up in rank, and all of the men, minus Dixon, are on the psychiatric board. But that might soon change because by the way they’re zoning in on Dixon, they are very interested in what he has to say.

“So, Dixon, Chad tells me you’ve got some interesting material for us to read over,” Fletcher, the older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, says.

Dixon coolly smiles, reaching for his wine. “Well, Chad is really too kind. But I would be absolutely honored for you to read over my work and to hear your thoughts.”

“You will be amazed,” Chad says in confirmation. “His findings are true brilliance, and although a little unorthodox, his reasoning is totally justifiable.”

Dixon appears completely unruffled by the table singing his praises, but as he lays a hand on my knee and squeezes lightly, I know he’s squirming in his seat in excitement. I look over at him and smile, and he returns the gesture, beaming from ear to ear.

H
alfway through our main meal
, I’m certain I’m about to gag on my lamb as the hundredth woman for the evening comes to our table to talk to Dixon. This has been going on for the past hour and a half, and up until now, I’ve tried my best to remain calm, but now I’ve had enough.

Dixon is either oblivious or blind to their deliberate flirting, but I most certainly am not. Their lingering or unnecessary touches have not gone unnoticed by me, and Rebecca seems like a puppy dog compared to these vultures.

Dixon has introduced me to everyone, but he has failed to mention I’m his “girlfriend,” leaving who I am open to interpretation. Rebecca has picked up on this fact, and decides now is a good time to address why that is.

“Madison, how long have you and Dixon been together?” she innocently asks, but I know there is nothing innocent about her question.

I shuffle in my seat, my eyes flicking to Dixon, who pauses talking to the bouncy blonde by his side. I bite my lip and realize we really should have worked out a credible story before we went ahead and pretended to be lovers.

“Um…” I reply, appearing as if I’m calculating the time in my head.

But Dixon stills my hands, which are twisting in my lap. “Six months,” he replies, turning to look at Rebecca.

“How did you meet?”

Dixon takes a small breath, a smile overtaking his beautiful features. “Some ape was hassling her, so I sent him on his way.”

“You mean you scared the living daylights out of him,” I add, remembering how frightened Tim looked when confronted by a bad-ass Dixon.

The table chuckles, bar Rebecca, and Dixon grins as he addresses the table. “What can I say; he had his hands on the woman I wanted. From the moment I saw her, I knew there was something special about her. I would do almost anything to get to know her, and once I did, I fell deeper and deeper under her spell.”

A breath catches in my throat, but I try to remain composed as Dixon continues.

“But it wasn’t smooth sailing; I mean, like a typical male, I screwed things up to astronomical levels.” He lightly squeezes my hand as the table laughs in unison. “I know she has her own demons to deal with, but here she is,” he says, turning to me, his eyes glowing with pride. “Sitting by my side, supporting me unlike anyone has ever done for me before. She is my angel, because every minute spent with her is truly a blessing, and one I never want to end. I’m so lucky to have met you, Madison. You give me the strength to want to be a better man,” he says, no longer addressing the table, but only me.

My eyes begin to water, but I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears. “I’m the lucky one, Dixon,” I say in a mere whisper. “And you already are a better man. You’re the only man I want,” I add, meaning every single word, and the table coos.

Dixon smiles, and he leans forward, brushing away a runaway tear. “Good, ’cause you’re the only woman I want,
angelo
.”

We’re no longer in a room full of people, it’s only Dixon and me, and as he returns my gaze, I realize something I’ve been trying to avoid for a very long time. I’m falling head over heels for Dr. Mathews. I don’t throw the word “love” around loosely, but with Dixon, this feels something like it. The connection between us was instant, and no matter how hard I try to fight it, it only seems to get stronger and stronger.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a real treat for you this evening,” the emcee announces. “Please welcome to the stage, the brilliant and well-loved genius, Dr. Maxwell Wellington.”

At the mention of Dr. Wellington’s name, both Dixon and I seem to snap out of our daze, bringing home the fact we’re sitting in a room full of people, and not alone.

“Thank you for that kind introduction,” he says, looking over at the emcee. “I’ll make sure to pay you later tonight.” The room erupts in laughter.

Once the cackles die down, Dr. Wellington gets serious and puts on his glasses. “So, I was asked to talk about my experiences and share with you lovely people my thoughts about psychiatry today. I had an entire speech prepared, and after many rehearsals, I was ready to deliver my ‘wisdom’ and hope my insight came across as that, and not incoherent babble.”

The room once again chuckles. Dr. Wellington owns the room as he continues.

“But something occurred a few days ago and, well, this particular occurrence really opened up a can of worms.”

I gulp as Dr. Wellington looks my way with a cheeky grin.

“If easily offended, I suggest you turn away now because my topic is one that may be considered a little taboo.”

The room breaks out into tiny whispers, people wondering what this unthinkable topic is all about.

Dr. Wellington gestures with his wrinkled hands for silence, and smiles. “I’m going to talk about…women.”

T
wenty minutes later
, Dr. Wellington has the entire room at his mercy and eagerly awaiting his punch line. His speech has touched on the topic of men and women and why after so many years of civilization, we just can’t seem to understand how the other half of the species operates.

“It’s no secret that men and women are very different. And us scientists, we generally study four primary areas of difference in male and female brains. Now, I could go on and bore you with the details of what each component entails. But if I may, can I kindly ask you to look at the person beside you?”

The room does as he asks.

“Do you see that?” he questions after the room quiets down. “Whether we’re male or female, at the end of the day…we’re all just human beings.”

When Dr. Wellington looks our way, I know that without a doubt, Dixon and I were the inspiration behind his brilliant talk. And Dixon knows it too as he turns to look at me with a mischievous smile on his handsome face.