Page 30 of Issued

Jim looks handsome in his dress uniform. The slim-fitting navy-blue coat with the pins and medals makes me want to sink to my knees before him and let him grip my hair while I take him into my mouth. I’ve always had a weak spot for men in uniform. Tonight, Jim is pushing all my buttons—the panty-soaking buttons, not the strangle-him-in-his-sleep buttons. He’s pretty much worn those down to the nub.

I look away, my fingertips trailing over his ribbons and medals. I remove my hand, walk past him a little and try to gaze at something else. He turns to greet a couple advancing toward us, and a small whimper escapes my lips when my gaze falls to admire the shape of his ass in his dress pants. He doesn’t get out any more than I do, if those pants are anything to go by. He must have been a lot less muscular the last time he’d worn his dress blues.

“Taya?” That’s my cue. I smile and hold out my hand for yet another handshake. “This is Mrs. Greene.”

“You’re the general’s wife?” Luckily, Jim whispered a five-second backstory into my ear as she sashayed over. “Jim has told me so much about you. You have kids, isn’t that right?”

The woman, whose first name has been carried away on the wings of chance, beams at me. “Two boys. They’re a handful. And, of course, they want to be just like their father. You’ll know what that’s like soon enough, I bet.”

May God strike me down first.

“Fingers crossed.” I force a giggle and chat with her for an indeterminate amount of time that somehow feels like an eternity while Jim speaks with her husband a mere foot away. The longer we spend making the rounds, the less guilty I feel about letting him buy me this dress. My plan had been to return the outrageously priced gown afterward, but to hell with that. Inane chatter has more than covered the cost of my ensemble.

Jim lays his fingers on the small of my back and leads me over to another couple. His touch sizzles with pleasure. The solid maleness of him makes me feel exquisitely soft and female in a way I’d forgotten I could be.

I’ve been starved for human affection since long before I left New York. Once my dad joined the task force, I’d been preoccupied. He would hardly sleep, eat, or clean. Every spare moment was dedicated to taking down Santoro. Hell, some days I became the parent, demanding he finish his dinner. Or showing up at the precinct with a sandwich and not leaving until every last crumb was swallowed.

Now, I can’t remember the last time someone touched me. I enjoy sex. Even the no strings, no expectations, just the satisfaction of touching and being touched kind of sex. But the touch I crave now isn’t sexual. I want to lift Jim’s hand and press it against the side of my face to rest in his warmth. Being near him makes me feel safe, protected. And makes me feel comfortable.

Jim leans, his lips gently press against my ear. “I’m heading to the restroom. Why don’t you take a seat at the table? I’ll meet you there.”

He pulls away and heads off to the other side of the room, taking the warmth and security of his body with him. I sigh and head over to our table to rest my feet. Tony and Lucas are stationed at a different table for dinner, but Marge and Bear are assigned to sit with me and Jim. However, they are off making rounds of their own. I suppose even the military plays politics to an extent. Charming your superiors and their wives seems to be just as important as being good at what you do. It makes me nervous. I don’t want to offend anyone and accidentally get Jim demoted.

“You must be Jim’s new wife?” The woman shares a smile with her friend, and crosses one long leg over the other as our table fills.

I don’t recognize the woman, but the way she stressed “new” sends bile creeping up my throat.

My eyes widen as another woman sits next to her with a laugh. “Excuse Karen. She’s not good at first impressions. What she meant to say was, we all thought Jim outgrew his ‘groupie into a housewife’ phase after his divorce from Raychel.”

Groupie into a housewife?I know these bitches aren’t talking about me. Before I can snap at either of them and ruin my resolution to behave, Bear and Marge arrive. As usual, the giant is holding her close and whispering something in her ear. He only softens when she’s nearby, and it makes my heart ache.

Marge reads the atmosphere immediately, and her eyes narrow. “Karen. Claudia.” She addresses the women with an equal amount of dislike, and I hide a smirk. With Marge here, the two women more closely resemble scolded children than wise-cracking mean girls. I grin up at the two of them, and Bear grins back.

“You mind?” He indicates that he and Marge would like to sit next to me.

I nod.

Marge claims the seat closest to me. “You look lovely tonight, by the way.”

I look down at my dress and run my palms over the soft material. “Thanks.”

She smiles and leans in, her next words for the two of us alone. “Ignore these nasty, rank-hungry bitches. They’re all bark and no bite. Tell Jim to throw in some jewelry and another outfit for the hostile work environment.”

My body goes cold.

He told her. While I’d been thinking about his hands, he’d been gossiping to his friends. I grind my teeth together. I prefer ridicule to pity. And pity is what I suspect has brought Marge and Bear to my rescue.

“Taya, I love your necklace, by the way. I’ve been staring at it all night.”

At Marge’s words, I glance down. I don’t need to look at the necklace to know what she means, but the sight of it comforts me.

I trace my fingers across the pendant that sits at the hollow of my throat. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

Her eyes sparkle, and a smile teases her lips. “So, it’s like a family heirloom?”

I can’t help but grin back at Marge. “Basically. I’m part Mongolian on my mom’s side.Emeewas anudgan, or shaman. The necklace is supposed to protect me.”

Jim places a hand on my shoulder as he tries to wiggle between my chair and a waiter, sending tingles of pleasure waltzing down my spine. “Does it work?” The deep, rumbling baritone of his voice sounds like a jaguar purring inside a cello.

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