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I head for the front of the boutique and Taya falls into step beside me.

“Hold on a second. Was the prescription for a refill?”

And here we go. I’ve had this argument with Bear more times than I can count. “No. I refused to take the medication for a while. And please don’t lecture me. Bear already has, and he’s the one who forced me to go get it. Even went with me to the pharmacy and stood in front of my face to make sure I took the first pill.”

“I’m happy someone’s been watching out for you, but now you have someone else.” She raises a brow. “In fact, Brittney was two seconds away from a WWE-worthy smackdown.”

I laugh, imagining Taya beating the shit out of Brittney. I take the dress from her before she can protest and lay it on the counter. The cashier is several feet away and doesn’t seem enthused about setting aside his cell phone. “You would’ve had to wait your turn. Marge already called dibs.”

She giggles, and the cashier glances up from his phone, his eyes raking over her body. Taya hasn’t noticed, too busy rummaging through her purse in search of her wallet. After a second of my staring into the side of his head, the man’s attention shifts from Taya to me. He pales, and my chest swells. I’m one shot of testosterone away from beating my chest like King Kong. Happy to establish dominance the human way, I pull my Mastercard free and start to hand it to the young man.

I blink when Taya’s hand on my wrist draws me up short. “What are you doing?”

“What areyoudoing?” she answers back.

“Something nice.”

Unable to dispute this, she folds her arms beneath her breasts.

I lift a brow. “What’s the problem?”

“You realize this dress is five hundred dollars?”

“And?” I draw out the word for added effect.

“And I don’t want your charity. If you feel guilty—”

“This has nothing to do with guilt.” I don’t sound convincing.

“Good. Because you can’t buy my forgiveness, so if you’re still trying to make up for the other day, this isn’t necessary.”

I lean in, close enough to surround myself in her feminine scent. The urge to bury my face against the curve of her neck and drink her in hits me low and hard. Instead of giving in to the urge, I speak so only she can hear my words. “You’re my wife and this is a mandated work function for my job, so the particulars are my responsibility.”

Taya acquiesces with a defeated little huff that makes me want to drag it from her again, for other, softer, reasons. I smile at the cashier and wiggle the card at him as Taya turns her head in the other direction.

This time, I don’t hesitate to brush my hand through the locks of hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes find mine through her thick lashes as she blushes.

Chapter Twelve

Taya

Virginia Beach maynot be New York, but it has its attractions. I’ve been living here for over a month, and my exposure to the nightlife is made up exclusively of what happens while I’m at work. Or playing video games when I can’t sleep at night, especially when Jim’s at work and the house is too quiet. Neither calls for nice clothes or full-scale makeup application.

Hell, the last time I went all out like this was for prom.

Feeling my body slip into cool silk and watching the way the deep red sets off the olive tones of my skin makes me feel like expensive chocolate. Rich and decadent. Edible. The dress dips low over my breasts, and I love how plump and round they look. I don’t have much to work with, but the double-sided tape holding the décolletage just so draws the eye and gives the illusion of fullness. I’m in love with the way the draping silk hugs every curve and rounds out my thighs and ass. Smokey eyeshadow accents my almond-shaped eyes and a pair of strappy heels give me a few extra inches of height, just enough so Jim isn’t towering over me when we step into the renovated theater in the heart of the city.

Jim’s eyes trail over me. “You look amazing.”

I duck my chin and grab some of the red silk hem as I step onto the carpeted floor. My face heats. “Thanks. But you know, you don’t have to keep saying it.”

A deep flush creeps up his neck.

God, I love that color on his skin.

He takes my hand and I love the way the calluses on his palm along with the way the neat, surgically cut line of his fingernails plays against the skin across the back of my hand. He’s so large, his hand nearly engulfs mine.

The space holds dozens of tables and has plenty of room for a sweeping dance floor. The stage was left intact, and tonight, the curtains are drawn aside so guests can watch the musicians perform. The band is doing a cover of a song I don’t recognize, but the beat makes me want to sway my hips, nonetheless. I love dancing. It’s the closest thing to freedom on two feet. Dancing and sex, anyway.

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