Chapter 24
His mind racing, Jamie fought to stay centered. Without any effort, he and Rebecca found themselves at the beginning of a situation with the potential to change their lives. Fate, or destiny—one of those two things—had brought them together, and now they were edging toward something that until recently had felt unattainable to him.
He wanted Rebecca Tate sexually—that much was clear. What wasn”t so straightforward or easy to explain was his growing desire to dominate the fuck out of her. It was the depth of his need that made a difference. It was one thing to be a Dom and another thing entirely to be a Dom in a relationship.
Complicating matters was Rebecca”s naiveté and inexperience mixed with curiosity—thinking about how this interest led to research only intensified the dull throb in his groin.
If she”d shut him down or run away screaming, he never would have revealed so much of himself. But she had done no such thing and had shown a willingness to explore—if only verbally.
So, he pushed gently—testing her limits. To his surprise and satisfaction, Rebecca demonstrated submissive instincts, but those urges confused her.
Everything he”d learned about Dominant responsibilities and the D/s dynamic rushed into his head. Curiosity wasn”t enough to justify introducing her to his personal kink. For him, this wasn”t a game. There had to be more.
Was there more?
His reaction to her alluring scent filling the truck”s cab suggested the answer was a definitive yes.
”Do you mind if I roll down the window?” she asked quietly. ”I love the way a warm summer night smells.”
”Have at it.”
Shifting in her seat, she studied the buttons on her door”s armrest and lowered the window. Warm air rushed into the cab. Jamie lowered his window, too. They drove along through the darkness with the night air swirling around them.
”Mmm. Desert sage.”She gave a deep sigh, and he glanced her way.
Dude, his inner voice chuckled. There”s a gorgeous woman in a sexy sundress sitting in your truck. How the hell did your dumb ass hit the lottery?
He shared his feelings because she had. ”I love this place at night. Moonlight reworks the desert into a magical landscape.”
She turned to look at him. Rebecca”s soft, feminine laugh put a half-smile on his face. ”Oh my god. And you”re a poet, too? You”re killing me, Smalls.”
Poet? Sure! Why the fuck not?
”Do you like limericks? My dad has a million. Check this one out.”He coughed for effect and cleared his throat.
”There once was a man from Bel Air
Who was banging his wife on the stairs
But the banister broke
When he doubled his stroke
So he finished her off in mid-air.”
The limerick was bawdy but not raunchy. When he finished, she snorted.
”My dad has a talent for manipulating song lyrics. Mom teases that he earned a degree from Weird Al University.”
”Hey!”he exclaimed. ”I enjoy a good Yankovic too! Today”s kids can”t appreciate how clever ”Eat It”is. They don”t understand the absolute fucking brilliance of ”The Saga Begins.”
”Oh! I love his Star Wars song!”
He laughed. ”When ”American Pie”plays, do you hear Weird Al”s saga lyrics in your head?”
She bawled with laughter, shrieking, ”Yes!”
Jamie figured they were roughly five minutes from her driveway—long enough for an impromptu serenade.
”Hang on to your hat, lady.”
While she gawked, smirked, and giggled, he gave the Weird Al classic his best shot. He sang the complicated lyrics without missing a beat and mainly stayed on key. By the song”s end, they were parked in her driveway.
Wearing an enormous grin, she commented on his vocal performance.
”I”dbe surprised, except that I was at Whiskey Pete”s when you got roped into karaoke. ”Hurt So Good,”right? John Mellencamp. And now this.”Slowly clapping, she winked. You are trouble, Dr. Hunter. That”s all I”m saying.”
Well, shit! She made that sound promising.
”Sit tight, ma”am.”
With that, he exited the truck and hurried to her door. When he swung it open, she quickly flipped up the visor—he”d caught her checking herself out in the mirror. It mattered that she cared enough to worry about her appearance. They were each trying to make a favorable impression.
Knowing what he had to do, Jamie moved close, maneuvering his body into the door”s opening. They were just a few inches apart when he leaned across her torso to grapple with her seatbelt.
Her chest heaved. He heard a soft gasp, and then her breathing became shallow. That she showed signs of arousal gave his ego a few strokes.
Motioning for her to shift, he reached for her waist and pulled her out of the truck. When her feet touched the pavement, he boxed her in.
For a few seconds, they stood there, bodies touching, staring at each other. Her quick breathing and flushed cheeks told him everything he needed to know.
It fueled his lust that she meekly waited for him to make a move.
Could she be more perfect? He didn”t think so.
His hands remained on her waist. She lifted hers and held onto his arms.
He was surprised to find her trembling.
He bent his head next to hers and inhaled.
”The best memory of tonight will be how you smell.”
He almost laughed but didn”t when she bit her lip and dropped her gaze. Women were so sensitive about sensory things. His mild suggestion that he could smell her desire caused her to clench with embarrassment, so he did the gentlemanly thing and followed up with something reassuring.
”An alluring blend of eau de popcorn, chocolate sauce, and,”he sniffed again, ”Desert magic.”
She melted right before his eyes. Pulling her into closer contact with his frame, he delighted in her sharp gasp and the warmth coming from her body.
He could have kissed her then—it”s what she wanted—but he refrained for now.
”I”ll walk you to the door.”
”Oh. Okay. But, um, my purse,”she exclaimed in an uncertain voice.
Anchoring her to him with an arm firmly around her waist, he leaned back into the truck and found the small handbag.
A sense of rightness—of all being well in his world—enveloped Jamie as he walked with an arm around her.
Like a scene from a 1950s movie, he escorted his date onto her porch and, beneath the glow of the porchlight, prepared to say goodnight.
In a hushed voice, the beautiful woman, shyly staring at him, said, ”I had a wonderful time tonight, Jamie.”
Touching the side of her face with gentleness, he smiled. ”As did I, Rebecca. You are a delight.”
”Delight? Pfft,”she scoffed. ”I wouldn”t go that far.”
Her tone was light, and her body language? Let”s say her desire was on clear display and leave it at that.
In a husky voice, he threw down a gauntlet, hoping she”d accept the challenge he offered.
”Since you did the asking, was our first date what you expected?”
”You know,”she replied with an air of astonishment. ”If I think about it, I don”t believe I”ve ever had a first date before. With my ex, we hung out. Is that considered dating? Doubtful,”she answered. ”Wow. Suddenly, I feel a bit pathetic.”
He knew what she was talking about and responded with his usual candor.
”There”s a lot to recommend about doing things old school. Maybe if more people went through the first date motions, there”d be fewer impulsive hook-ups—the kind that usually ends dramatically.”
”That”s heavy,”she murmured. ”And I think you”re on to something.”
The goofy victory lap he took in his head made his 1950s approach the best idea he”d ever had.
”I”m glad you agree,”he told her with a chuckle. So can I expect a florist delivery tomorrow? Thank you for a great evening. That is what the asker does in the old-school paradigm, right?
She regarded him with an expression suggesting he was an idiot.
He responded with a cocky grin. ”And for the record, cut flowers are a chick thing—I”d prefer a flat of tomato plants or a nice house plant.”
Her soft, happy laugh gave him actual goosebumps—a first.
”Okay, so since we”ve established that you asked me out first, and assuming I was a worthy date, let”s move on.”
”I”m here for it.”
”Great! Then, Rebecca Tate, I would very much like to cook you dinner. At my place. Dress code—Sunday best.”
”Seriously?”
”Yes. I”ll even break out my fancy dishes.”
”Wait,”she laughed. ”Mr. I”m-A-Grumpy-Loner-And-Don”t-Want-Anyone-To-Bother-Me has good China?”
”Yeah, I know. Surprise! I happen to love antiques, and no, I don”t care if that makes me sound like a twat. When I settled here, my mom sent me her mother”s vintage Royal Doulton. English China is wildly out-of-sync with desert living, but I love the look and feel.”
”How can I refuse something you”ve made sound so charming? Yes, Dr. Hunter.”She gave a little curtsey. ”I”d be delighted to have dinner served on fancy plates at your place.”
The curtsey nearly pushed him over the edge.
”Tomorrow?”
”Oh. Um, yeah, sure.” Her gaze dipped, and she bit her lip.
This was it—the moment where he either kissed her or not.
Jamie shamelessly invaded her personal space, maneuvering her until her back was against the front door. She stared at him with anticipation in her eyes.
Recalling her encouraging response to his fingers on her throat, he went with the power move and wasn”t disappointed by how fast she surrendered.
He lowered his face, slowly getting closer to hers.
She wet her lips—desire flowed from her in intoxicating waves.
A split second before their lips met, he veered to the right and kissed her cheek.
He whispered in her ear.”Goodnight, Rebecca. I”ll be seeing you in my dreams.”
She gasped as he pulled away and straightened.
Unfulfilled passion and bewilderment showed on her face.
Commanding his feet to move before he caved in to the carnal impulses rioting inside him, Jamie swaggered away with as much bravado as he could muster. When he reached the driveway and looked at her over the top of his truck, a double-kick of thundering lust nearly sent him to his knees when he read the expression on her face.
Yeah. He didn”t have to think about it anymore. There was definitely a lot of ”more”going on.
* * *
From her frontporch Becca watched Jamie drive away. The man she had spent so much time disliking had vanished and been replaced by a poet, a singer, a cook, a gardener, and a lover of limericks and antiques.
He was also a self-professed dominant—with her in his sight line.
How in the world could she even begin to describe all that she thought and felt?
This thing between them—whatever it was—had a life force she couldn”t deny.
Shaking herself, she reached for the doorknob and, finding it unlocked, pushed the front door open and slid quietly into the house. Kori was on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, watching Family Feud and eating from a big plastic bowl of popcorn.
”Mom,”her precocious almost-teenager drawled with a mocking tone. I want you to thank me for refraining from turning the porch light off and on like in that black-and-white comedy we watched on the classic movie channel.”
Kori took her feet down off the table and put the popcorn bowl beside her on the cushion.
”How”d it go?”
”Well, I didn”t need the condoms you stashed in my purse. Thanks to you,”Becca added sternly, ”I now have a mortifying date night story.”
”Do tell,”Kori exclaimed brightly—clapping excitedly.
”Dropped my purse in the parking lot, and everything spilled out.”
Her daughter shrieked with laughter. ”What did Jamie do?”
Becca”s brain replayed him, saying that one condom would not be enough. She cleared her throat and snarled, ”None of your business, young lady.”
”Spoilsport.”
”Let me get out of this dress, and then I need some chamomile tea.”
She turned and walked from the room. In her bedroom, she shut the door and then sagged against it with her back.