Chapter 19
Jamie congratulated himself as he inspected the colorful display of anti-inflammatory nibbles he”d arranged on a new charcuterie board made from imported Mallorca olive wood. The beautiful board was another creation from Draegyn St. John”s shop, Bum Fuzzle Designs.
Perusing the list of foods on his phone from an article detailing ways to ease menstrual symptoms, he felt confident that he”d covered most of the bases.
”You”ve been busy,” an uncertain voice murmured.
Looking across the kitchen as Rebecca entered the dining room, he gave her a quick head-to-toe—liked what he saw—and smiled.
Seeking to disarm his guest with a demonstration of his rusty but still effective charm, Jamie made a face and drawled, ”As you might imagine, I don”t have many visitors, so this is me jumping at the chance to use some of my cooler stuff.”
Motioning with his hand, he drew her attention to the wood board.
”Nibbles and chicken salad from my mom”s res-ka-pee.”
“Res-ka-pee?” Rebecca chuckled. ”My wacky family uses the same word.”
He laughed. ”And here I thought I was being witty and clever.”
How she smiled—half bashful and half flirty—did things to his composure.
He picked up the board and headed to the back door, handing her two colorful napkins, two small plates, and some silverware. ”Open for me, will you?”
She quickly opened one of the French doors and waved him through. As he walked across the backyard deck, which stretched from one side of the house to the other, he heard her gasp.
”Jamie!” she exclaimed. ”This is paradise. I mean, oh my god. Did you do all this?”
Placing the nibble board on the coffee table of an outdoor furniture set, he straightened and looked around at the oasis he”d created.
”The yard came already fenced,” he told her. ”I reconfigured the decking.” He drawled with a cheeky smirk, ”I like big decks and cannot lie.”
She got the reference and laughed.
”The cedar beds were my idea. The sameis truefor the trellis and rain catchment systems. Got a bit of a green thumb,” he admitted.
”I should say so.”
”Come on, pretty lady. Sit down and let me do my host thing.”
Her reaction to his unexpected compliment was a blush. Jamie couldn”t remember the last time he”d cared enough to be casually flirty with a woman. It felt both weird and right.
Rebecca settled on the sectional sofa. While she inspected the nibble board and set out their plates, he ran back inside for the bowl of chicken salad and a basket of homemade slider buns.
”I baked the bread myself,” he proudly announced, placing the bowl and buns on the table. ”And before you ask, my mom taught me.”
”Color me impressed.”
He took the compliment with a smile. His satisfaction grew as she piled an assortment from the nibble board onto her plate.
His inner voice whispered, ”She won”t know you”re caring for her if you don”t say anything.”
This was it. It”s time to show and tell—let her meet the real James Hunter.
He was understandably nervous. Revealing himself to someone he was attracted to had not been in the cards, but Rebecca Tate was turning his inner life upside down.
He sat next to her, closer than usual—close enough to pick up her vibe.
”I chose anti-inflammatory foods for the nibbles. I”m glad to see you like bananas, kiwi, and pineapple. They”re called cramp killers.”
Her mouth dropped open. She blinked and looked at him with a shocked expression.
There would never be a better time to show her who he was.
”Are you embarrassed that I know you have your period?”
No words came from her open mouth.
In a gruff voice, he asked, ”Has no one ever taken care of you, Rebecca?”
She shook her head, muttered, ”No,”and blushed deeply.
”I”m going to change that.”
Jamie had no fucking idea where those words came from. They weren”t what he started to say, but he didn”t regret his honesty.
Softening his manner, he encouraged her to try a little of everything. She confessed to being confused by brie cheese—asking if the rind was edible—and preferred cashew nuts and red grapes.
His slider buns were a hit—same for the Hunter Family chicken salad.
They talked about his garden. She asked a hundred questions and painted a picture with words while describing the suburban container garden her mother kept when Rebecca was a kid.
He tiptoed around the subject of their blow-out and carefully inquired about the status of the pavilion. Her explanation touched on many things. Stephanie and Alex were involved. From what he pieced together, both told her to handle the situation as she saw fit. Their faith in her was unimpeachable.
Putting her plate down, she got comfortable by pulling her feet up on the sofa. The slight tension around her mouth told him to dig a little deeper.
”Is Sammy”s promotion part of this?”he asked.
”Yes. Too many cooks in the kitchen,”she answered with a sigh. ”A hierarchy road map will help solidify his authority.”
”Was that hard for you? Ceding authority to an employee? A male employee?”
She frowned. ”You know too much.”
With a shrug, he replied, ”I see you, Rebecca.”
”Do you?”
”Yes, I believe so,”he told her. ”Now, answer the question.”
It took a full minute for her to choose her words.
”Sammy is a gem. He”s more than competent. The problem—if you want to call it that—is me, so yes, you hit the bull”s eye. I have issues.”She cleared her throat and looked everywhere but at him. ”It”s not easy.”
”What isn”t?”he pressed.
”Being the one in charge. Knowing they have no respect simply because I”m female.”
Mine-field alert! Proceed with caution.
He didn”t get a chance to wade into the mire before she threw down with a comment that landed in his gut with a heavy thud.
”I overheard a few of the guys earlier calling me a cunt. They said it with no regret or embarrassment, too. Do you think they call their mothers, wives, girlfriends, or daughters that? The sad part is, I”m used to it.”
Jamie put on his knight-in-shining-armor outfit in less time than it took to blink and tersely demanded to know who had called her the offensive word.
She rolled her eyes at the question. ”Do I detect outrage, Dr. Hunter? Really? Like you”ve never used the term?”
He gulped at the sound of her mocking censure. Of course he”d used the term. After what his ex-wife had put him through, how could he not?
”Ouch,”he grumbled.
Rebecca shrugged. ”The truth will set you free.”
Would it? He wondered and then decided the truth might set them both free.
”My ex-wife is a cunt.”
Rebecca”s honk of laughter filled the air. ”I didn”t expect you”d just go for it!”
In a sarcastic tone, he quipped, ”Well, you all but dared me, so I figured why the hell not?”
Her slow clapping made him grin. ”Please continue,”she drawled.
”I”ve also been called a C word, so I know a little about how it feels.”
The admission was an act of trust on his part. He knew he couldn”t ask her for anything he wasn”t prepared to give.
Her brows bumped together, and she frowned. ”Wait. Huh? You”re a cunt?”
”No.”He grew serious, took a deep breath, and stepped into the unknown.
”My C word is cuckold. That”s what they said, what they called me. The cuckold cop.”
She slow-blinked—her face a mask of confusion. ”You were a cop?”
His heart pounded. Talking about the past was never easy, but Rebecca needed to know, and he needed to take this leap of faith.
”Yes. I worked with the K-9 Squad and went to veterinary school on the side. My ex-wife was a realtor.”
”How long were you married?”
”Seven years—give or take. No kids, thank god, ”cause that would have been a nightmare.”
”What happened?”
”In the abridged version, I”m called in on a surveillance assignment: me and my dogs. The target was a mob-connected bigwig, and on the night in question, a party was in progress. There was the usual activity—alcohol and call girls, that sort of thing. Watching the monitors, I witnessed a woman with a black bob hairstyle instruct a handful of girls on the proper way to give a blowjob. The woman was my wife—in a wig.”
Rebecca gasped loudly. She looked horrified.
”Imagine how I felt,”he murmured drily.
Reaching out, she grasped his wrist and squeezed. ”I”m so sorry.”
The contact lasted mere seconds, but the sensation left by her gentle touch—spontaneous and caring—lingered. He wasn”t prone to hyperbole, but he thought there might be some thawing near his heart.
Keep going. Don”t stop now.
Soldiering on, Jamie inhaled deeply.
”As you might imagine, this story has many layers—none good. My world blew apart in spectacular fashion. There was a public arrest—at my home—and the standard cringeworthy perp walk with all the neighbors watching, making videos, and taking pictures. You”d think it couldn”t get worse,”he muttered darkly, ”but it did.”
He stood to counteract the effects of sudden restlessness and ran a hand through his hair. The whole sordid story wasn”t necessary—not at this time.
”The relevant part brings us back to the C word. With my wife publicly exposed as a mob plaything, I became a joke—a punch line. The name-calling started. Wimp. Pussy. That sort of thing. And it came from all quarters. I couldn”t get away from it. I couldn”t hide. My fellow officers were the worst. When it came out that my wife was pregnant, the nightmare turned into a blood fest. I was the fucking victim in all of it, but the salacious aspect of a suburban realtor, wife of a cop, cavorting with a mob boss led to a backlash that destroyed me. It destroyed my family, too. My car was spray-painted with the word ”cuck.” I got hundreds of anonymous messages and emails addressed to the cuckold cop. I could not fathom how people I knew and worked with —uniformed officers—engaged in such fucked up behavior. Everything snowballed. They put me on leave until the investigation and trial wrapped up. Nobody was there for me. I fell apart. My family experienced the abuse, too. I have a brother and sister—both left town. Eventually, my folks relocated. They”re in Delaware at a fifty-five and up senior community. I had to stick around because I could be called as a witness when the cases went to trial. It was relentless. When I could finally leave, I went west. Working ranches and small towns.”
Moving back to the sectional, he left space between them but sat where he could assess her body language as he told her the next part.
”I didn”t go it alone. I had professional help right from the start. When an entire community treats your manhood like a party joke, well, it messes with a guy”s head. Therapy probably saved me.”
Their eyes met.
In a small voice, Rebecca murmured, ”I”m glad you got help.”
”There”s more,”he admitted solemnly. ”My confidence was shaken. Confidence in my maleness, if that makes sense. Couch therapy was only part of the help I received.”
He cleared his throat before continuing.
”Leaving Baltimore, I put space between me and the problem, but the C-word came along as baggage. At first, my sex life wasn”t a priority. Then, it was. I had performance issues, which is a polite way of saying I couldn”t. At all. It freaked me out. And then, quite by accident, I met a very powerful woman—a ranch owner. Widow with enough fuck you money to do whatever the hell she wanted.”
Rebecca tightened up. A shadow appeared in her expression. He wasn”t sure or not if she knew how furiously she was biting her lip.
Letting this information sink in, he paused a few beats and then ripped the lid off of a significant reveal, knowing it could send Rebecca running to the door.
”She was, and still is, a world-class dominatrix—a domme if you know the term. She helped me come to terms with the attack on my manhood. For that to happen, I had to understand first-hand the distinction between dominant and submissive.”
A half-strangled sound came from Rebecca. Her breathing was quick and shallow.
”To do that, I spent nine months serving as her submissive.”
”Ex-cuse me? Did you say you”re submissive?”
Jamie enjoyed her shock and the exaggerated way she said excuse me. She gave so much away with her tone, expression, and vibe.
”Oh god, no,”he replied thickly. ”I am very much a dominant.”The half-smile he offered was intentionally lecherous. ”What I”m telling you is that I understand the submissive role in a deeply personal way.”
”Wh-why are you telling me this?”she gasped.
”A Dom should never expect something he isn”t willing to give. I want you to trust me, Rebecca.”
Her wide eyes blinked.
”And for that to happen, I gave you my trust by sharing deeply intimate things about my life. My unique perspective gives me insight into how you feel. I understand being judged and name-called and how those things undercut confidence. Knowing that, can you trust me, Rebecca? Do you even want to?”