Chapter 9
”Are you checking your horoscope?” Domineau Rivera cackled gleefully in Jamie”s left ear.
He nearly jumped out of his skin. The woman”s habit of appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye was most disconcerting.
Hastily closing the laptop, he searched for a way to explain, but he needn”t have bothered. Domineau was already off and running.
”Has hell frozen over, Jamie? Are you questioning your existence? Busted!”
”Somebody needs to hang a bell around your neck,”he replied grumpily.
”Many have tried—all have failed.”
”What can I do for you, Domineau? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Not one to let something go so easily, she smirked in his direction before casually strolling around his office, shamelessly inspecting every inch, looking for more ways to razz him.
”This is cool,”she murmured. ”Antique?”
The Victorian cylinder music box she pointed to circa 1895 was one of his most prized finds. Jamie had painstakingly authenticated the musical box to justify the five grand it cost. It was one of those objects that should be in a guarded display case, but he had it on his desk because, from his perspective, no place was safer or more secure than the Justice Agency compound.
”Yeah. Got it at auction.”
He”d be happy to provide further detail, but as was her way, she had already moved on.
He figured it would take all day for her to get to the reason for this visit, so he prodded again.
”I have a patient in seven minutes. Can we cut to the chase?”
She laughed. ”I don”t know. Can we? What did your horoscope say?”
It wasn”t like him to pout and get pissy, but that”s what happened.
”I didn”t sleep well, and now I have a headache. Fucking around online happens. Even to you. Cut me some slack, okay?”
”Touchy, touchy,”Domineau teased. ”But I get it. Your secret is unsafe with me, but I”ll give you a pass now.”
”Fuck. I”m gonna hear about this forever, aren”t I?”
”What do you think?”she snickered.
”I think you”re enjoying this way too much.”
”Well, you make it so damn easy!”Her boisterous laugh almost made him smile.
”Why are you here?”
”Oh, okay. Sheesh. Chill the eff out, Jamie. You”re amongst friends. I came by to invite you to a cookout. Rafael has gotten it in his mind that he”s a grill master and wants to show off.”
”Throwing shrimp on the barbie?”he snidely taunted in a ghastly Australian accent.
”Get real,”she drawled. ”It”s all about the meat. Protein power!”
Jamie sighed. Sophie”s wedding had blown his antisocial habits to smithereens. Now, it seemed like every other day, another invite came his way.
”Cookout? Who”s on the guest list?”
”The usual suspects. Team Justice, of course. And BALLS,”she added.
”BALLS? What the hell is that?”
”You”ve never heard of us? Bwah!”she hooted. ”Bad Ass Ladies Literary Society. We are the BALLS of Bendover.”
His jaw dropped. BALLS of Bendover? Seriously—he had no comeback.
If there ever were words that should never be in the same sentence, or a book title, or a song lyric—they would be balls and bend over.
”I know I”m about to regret asking, but what?”
Domineau”s eyes twinkled briefly resembling a lioness spotting an easy quarry. One reason to like the legendary warrior is for her fucked up sense of humor. Seriously fucked up. Recently, over cigars and brandy with Alex and Parker Sullivan, Jamie heard a fall-down hilarious retelling of the excruciatingly inappropriate practical joke that Team Justice played on Roman Bishop before his wedding in which Domineau played a starring role. The lady was capable of anything.
”Chicks love books,”she drawled. ”We”re not interested in your bank account or art collection. Best pick up line for the new century comes down to four words.”
“Oo-kay,” he stammered.
”What are you reading?”
Jamie blinked. Feeling awkward and stupid, he grimaced. Was she asking or telling?
”Jesus, you”re thick.”Snapping her fingers so close to his face that he flinched, she changed her tone—speaking to him as if he was conversationally challenged. ”Instead of, ”Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”try, ”Hey, read any good books lately?”Trust me, Doc—98% success rate.”
He digested this intriguing information for a few seconds before she then launched into a ramble about books, the Justice Ladies, something unintelligible concerning library cards, astonishing facts about the billions spent every year on the romance genre, and how men could learn a thing or two by spending a weekend with a good, steamy novel. By the end, he felt thoroughly schooled.
A niggling thought entered the chat in his head. Domineau referred to the Justice Ladies. To him, the assemblage she spoke of starred a specific group of females. The list was long, but Rebecca Tate was not an official squad member, to his knowledge.
Like him, she was part of Justice”s privileged inner circle and drew a hard line between working and socializing. From things he”d heard and words spoken by Rebecca herself, Jamie knew she kept herself apart.
Knowing he shouldn”t care didn”t stop him from asking through a clenched jaw, ”Is Mrs. Tate a, um, Baller?”
”Baller?”Domineau chortled. ”Jamie! You devil! Baller is outrageously clever. I can”t wait to tell the ladies that we”re ballers. Ah ha ha!”
He offered a half smile. ”I”m so glad you”ve come around to recognizing my many talents. Mrs. Tate,”he pressed. ”Baller or not?”
Looking far too satisfied with herself or him, he couldn”t tellwhich;Domineau straightened and flipped her long braid over her shoulder. He noticed what she wore for the first time and smirked ever-so-slightly at her princess bridezilla t-shirt.
”Would you prefer she was on the guest list?”
Flinching, he thought, Walked straight into it, you dumb fuck.
Feeling stupid, he didn”t know how to respond—so he didn”t.
”I”m assuming by the silence and deer-in-the-headlights expression thatyou”restumped for an answer. It was a simple question, Jamie. Need a lifeline? Anyone you”d like to call for an assist?”
Why was she looking at him that way? And why was she smiling?
Strong, confident women didn”t intimidate him; he embraced their strength. This preference stemmed from the rigorous training he received under the guidance of an experienced domme. She opened him up to a lifestyle that fit him like a tailored glove.
After everything he”d been through, after all the name-calling and pejoratives directed at him and his family, Jamie had a hard time with labels. He didn”t care for lazy language and was especially irritated by today”s sweeping generalizations. Mainstream views were, in his estimation, lame. Opinions fueled by a staggering amount of mass culture nonsense made his eyes roll.
One of the hardest things he”d learned over his decade of self-discovery had to do with not giving a shit what people thought. As they say, opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one.
So, Jamie preferred to own it—all of it. Who he was as a man, and what values determined his life.
Yes, he”d spent time with a dominatrix—or domme as she preferred. The experience changed his worldview.
Haunted by the buzzword cuckold, he”d felt stripped of his manhood and fought like hell for eighteen months to come out the other side of the experience stronger and healthier. His initiation into the BDSM world, drilling down deep into the dominant-submissive dynamic, gave him a profound respect for women who knew who they were and recognized the power and beauty of strength.
He”d go with a powerful female over a celebrity beauty queen every day of the week.
But right this second, his dominant balls shriveled before the power of Domineau”s knowing smirk. The lady knew too much.
”Invite who you want,”he muttered, hoping he”d recalculated in time. ”It would be nice to know if I need to bring my own burn ointment and fire extinguisher.”
Domineau”s amused snort was loud. Same for her boisterous laughter.
”No fear, Doc. Rafael keeps a fully stocked triage kit on hand for boo boos and owies and a fire extinguisher nearby when he grills. We”ve got you covered.”
”Is that your way of saying Rebecca will be there?”
”Ooooh, Rebecca, is it? Thirty seconds ago, she was Mrs. Tate. Do I detect interest?”
Then, with an eyebrow-wagging smirk, she fired off a comment that exploded in his face.
”You know we have a bet about you guys, right? An, are they or aren”t they, thing.”
His mouth opened, and the stupidest thing he could have said came out.
”The woman needs a warning sign. She”s a cu…”
Jamie gulped to a hasty stop when Domineau”s expression darkened, and he saw one eyebrow shoot up to her hairline with a warning.
”A bitch,”he swiftly interjected.
”A cu-bitch?”she taunted in a silky voice.
Frantically searching for a way to save himself, he chuckled instead.
”How does Rafe deal with you?”
”Ah, well, you see, Doc. Here”s the thing. He”s the only one who can. Becca and I have a lot in common. She”s seen some things and been through some shit. In a way, we”re in the same sisterhood. Cu-bitches need a strong hand and a fierce heart. No shame in walking away if the job description makes you uneasy. Make sure you understand the firestorm you”re walking into before tangling with her.”
”I tangle with her every day,”he grumbled.
”Don”t be obtuse, Jamie. You know damn well what I mean.”
”Idon”t think anyone”s ever called me that before.”
Domineau fixed him with a look. Her intensity gave him the willies. Sparring with her over Rebecca wasn”t his most brilliant move—not when doing so exposed his interest in the bitchy female interrupting his staid existence.
Rather than disappearing in a puff of smoke, Domineau swaggered to his office door and regarded him.
”In the interest of fairness, you get one, Doc. This exchange is between you and me alone. So, I”m flat-out asking. Do you want Rebecca Tate at my barbecue?”
Instead of deliberating, he yawped, ”Yes,”like an overeager teenage boy.
”Then consider it done.”
Jamie broke out in a sudden sweat as hot flashes bounced around inside him from head to toe.
”Be on time, Jamie. Oh, and you know what? Bring something like potato salad.”
A veritable shitstorm of emotions stirred in him as he watched her leave. Feelings he never expected to have and old fears he assumed were dead and buried shot his normally sober grumpiness to hell.
”I don”t have time for existential dread,” he muttered aloud as if saying so made any differencewhatsoever.
Despite what some may think about his past, Jamie was on rock-solid ground now. Anxiety about future possibilities wasn”t his style—or hadn”t been until Rebecca came along.
He wasn”t cut out for a relationship and didn”t think she was either. Jamie knew he could be wrong, of course, but highly doubted landing a man was on Rebecca”s bucket list.
So, where did that leave him?
Glancing around his office didn”t bring an easy answer.
After a minute of silence, things deep inside started to awaken. Without a viable solution to the relationship conundrum, his inner drumbeat changed. The primal needs of his dominant nature emerged from the shadows.
”Well, shit,” he grumbled.
Giving oxygen to those thoughts only complicated things because once imagined, they were impossible to un-imagine.
”Now I”m fucked.”