Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  I grab a roll of nearby paper towels and wipe a sheet across my stomach to clean up. I’m glad I hadn’t hopped into the shower as soon as I got home. Now I can enjoy the afterglow under a spray of hot water. I’m straightening to do just that when the loud metallic clank of keys hitting granite catches my attention. When had she gotten home? The door leading to inside the house is wide open. I hadn’t thought to close it since I’d only planned on waxing my board before getting ready for work.

  Had she seen me? Heard me?

  My dick twitches at the thrill of her watching. I’m surprised at how much I like the idea. How much I want it to be the case.

  No. This can’t happen again. No slippery slopes. They only lead to bigger mistakes. Taya’s temporary. She’s my ticket to getting back into the field and nothing more. And I won’t do anything to make her feel otherwise. I won’t intentionally hurt her.

  Chapter Ten

  Taya

  I’m supposed to be getting ready for this birthday party, but of course Jim continues to be the only thing on my mind since yesterday evening. God, catching Jim masturbating, thick hand fisted around his equally thick dick, nearly brought me to my knees. Why’d he have to leave the freakin’ door open yesterday?

  Leaning over, I grab my vibrator from the nightstand drawer and switch it on. The purple, textured sex toy buzzes to life and I lower it between my thighs, touching it gently to my needy sex. The fingers of my free hand curl into the comforter beneath me as the pleasure coursing through my body becomes an urgent stab of desire and I moan as the image of Jim stroking himself raced through my mind.

  I’m teetering on the brink of heaven, every nerve ending on fire. My muscles tighten as I press the vibrator hard against my clit, pushing myself closer to tumbling over the edge. Everything is about to go blissfully white when there’s a knock at my door.

  Oh. My. God.

  Turning off the vibrator, I launch out of bed and mumble a silent prayer that Jim didn’t hear anything. “Just a minute.”

  I throw on a pair of black jeans and one of the few nice shirts that survived the fire, a loose tank top with sequins, before scurrying over to the door. I take a deep breath and adjust my ponytail. When I pull the door open, no one is there, so I take a step into the hallway. Halfway down the stairs is Jim. His ears and neck are beet red.

  Oh. My. God.

  He stops when the floor beneath me creaks but doesn’t turn around. “Ready to leave?”

  “Just need five minutes.”

  He nods and continues on, and I step back into my room and close the door. He heard. Oh my God. How am I going to sit the rest of the night next to this man? Not that I’m embarrassed about pleasuring myself. But it was to him. And I wish it wasn’t a vibrator actually getting me off, but my husband.

  My streak of terrible luck continues. I won the jackpot when it comes to husbands in terms of hotness, yet the man wants nothing to do with me.

  Even if he does make an overture, I’m not sure what I’d do. My body has one thought—hell, yes!—but my mind isn’t convinced. I’m not in the market to be a booty call.

  Not even if the caller is my husband.

  I take a deep breath and head over to the desk with my makeup case and apply some lipstick and mascara before fixing my hair into a low ponytail because the humidity today killed any chance of doing something fancy. Once I put on some pearl studs, I race down the stairs and out the door to the driveway where Jim is waiting in his truck.

  The ride is uncomfortably silent but at least it only lasts twenty minutes. Twenty long minutes. I sit straight in my seat when we arrive at Shaken & Stirred. “I didn’t know we were going here.”

  Jim shifts the truck into park and turns to me. “Didn’t find out until an hour ago. Should’ve mentioned it. Is it a problem?”

  I shake my head and try not to grimace. Having my brand-new coworkers wait on me doesn’t make for the most fun evening—it’s quite awkward actually—but I’ll live. The whiskey bar is relatively new, but unlike most of the restaurants located along the waterfront, it boasts an air of down-to-earth sophistication. A wall of polished whiskey barrels greets customers when they arrive. Everything in S&S is polished mahogany and iron. Crème-colored tabletops and solitary roses sitting prettily in crystal vases bring a sense of romance to an otherwise dark space. No wonder his friend is having his birthday here.

  We exit the truck and head toward the entrance. Jim sidles up beside me and takes my hand into his. My eyes widen and when I look up at him, he just faces forward, his spine straight and his muscles tense, as if he’s heading into battle. Oh hell, what am I walking into?

  My grasp tightens and I mimic his posture, plastering a smile on my face. I’ve got this. Once we are inside, we head over to the hostess, Inara, who I met the other day. Her curly, dark-chocolate hair with eyes to match, and a sweetly rounded face, give the woman a cherubic quality that would be hard to forget. But despite her angelic face, Inara’s aura dictates she has no problem tearing her dress to put someone into an armbar. And ironically, we’d met before when I came down to the Virginia Search and Rescue Council’s conference three years ago.

  Inara smiles when she sees me. “Hey, Taya.”

  “Hi, Inara.” I step forward and angle my body sideways as I prepare to make introductions. “This is my husband, Jim.”

  “Hello,” Jim says, extending his hand.

  She takes it, giving him a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Jim steps back, glances around the place, and then strides off through the row of tables toward Bear, Lucas Craiger, Tony Martinez and three women I don’t know. I practically lean past my center of gravity just to stare at Jim’s ass before he disappears behind the semi-translucent partition wall.

  Inara nudges me with one shoulder. “Oh, Patrick told me to relay that we have training this coming weekend. If the weather holds, we’re gonna do some rappelling. You up for it?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Bear and a small, redheaded woman talk as everyone takes their seats. They laugh at something with Tony, and she angles her head at Bear for a kiss on the cheek without pausing in her conversation with the other men. My chest aches at the sight. Why couldn’t I have been matched with someone who wanted to be in the program?

  I smooth my top and walk over to the table, exchanging a nod with Lucas as I turn past the booth on my left. His dark-brown hair is freshly cut. Wearing a light-pink shirt that brings out the olive tones of his skin, he’s as well dressed and confident as I’ve ever seen him. Lucas is a quiet, unassuming man until Tony gets him going, so it’s not surprising to see him talking quietly, forehead to forehead, with his own companion.

  Jim’s lips slacken when I arrive and when he smiles at me, my pulse skyrockets. A small gasp sneaks past my lips when he stands and leans in toward me. Dear God, he’s going to kiss me. And I want him to. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and shifts on his feet before placing his hand on the small of my back, ushering me into the seat next to him.

  I wave at Bear as I sit, and he lifts his chin in standard man-greeting.

  Bear’s companion smiles at me. “You must be Taya?”

  I nod, and she reaches out to punch Tony in the shoulder.

  The larger man winces. “What the hell, Marge?”

  She stares him down, her eyes narrowed to slits, and jerks her head in the direction of the other two women in their party. Tony flushes at her censure and ducks his head. He looks like a shamefaced child when he finally turns to me.

  “Sorry, Taya.” He gestures to the woman he’d walked in with. “This is Candy, and that’s her friend, Susan.”

  We all exchange nods, and Tony mumbles under his breath. “Not like you introduced yourself, Marge.”

  Marge purses her lips, and Tony slumps in his seat. “Dufus over there has a point. I’m Marge, Bear’s wife.” She stands and reaches out to pat Martinez’s shoulder as she passes. “We’ll be ri
ght back, birthday boy.”

  He leans back and crosses his arms, a sly grin plastered on his face. “Marge, I know about the cake. Just tell me it’s red velvet this year. You know I hate chocolate.”

  Marge hits Bear in the gut. “Did my hubby open his big mouth again?”

  Tony laughs. “Nope. But after a decade, your homemade cake ain’t exactly a surprise.”

  Marge flushes and grabs Bear by the arm. “Whatever. As long as you act surprised when you see it, I don’t give a shit.”

  Tony salutes to Marge and Bear as they make their way out of the restaurant and refocuses his attention on Candy, the raven-haired bombshell at his side. The two of them are talking a mile a minute, his arm slung haphazardly across her shoulders.

  Jim clears his throat, and I face him. He’s half-smiling at his friends, the soft glow from the lamps above intensifying the sharp angles of his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve introduced you the way you did with your coworker.”

  “It’s alright. I know the guys already.”

  Jim might not have wanted to marry me, but there is no denying he is the husband I need after everything I’ve been through. Because at the end of the day, he is a steady, infallible presence. Strong, determined, and uncompromising. A port in a storm. And while he may not be operating at one hundred percent, he’s determined to get back to it. If only I can convince him I’m the woman he needs. Make him as invested in making this marriage work as I am.

  My hand lifts on its own accord and rests on his forearm. His pupils dilate and he shifts in his chair. I smile and turn away, taking a piece of bread from the basket. If I continued to look at him any longer I might have kissed him, and I’m not sure how he would’ve taken it, especially in front of his friends.

  “Long time, no see.”

  My head jerks toward Jim just as a woman places her pale, delicate hand against the muscular strength of Jim’s shoulder. My husband goes so still, it’s as if he’s made of stone. The woman strokes Jim’s arm with exaggerated slowness, leaning in so her breasts practically spill out of her low-cut top. “So, Stephens, this must be that lucky twit of yours?”

  Jim shrugs her hand away and shifts in his seat, putting more distance between them as his eyes narrow.

  Tony and Lucas stiffen along with their dates. Jim’s shoulders are tight, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard a muscle jumps beneath the ever-present stubble. He opens his mouth as if to say something, only to clam up with a snarl.

  “Hello-o-o?” The woman’s long red fingernail taps his head, and I resist the urge to reach out and break her hand. “Are you still all scrambled eggs up there?”

  Crimson climbs up his neck and rides his cheekbones, and my patience snaps. He may not trust me enough yet to open up, but she’s officially gone too far and I’m over it. “You should keep your damn hands to yourself. And your insults.”

  Before I can call her all the names currently sitting on the tip of my tongue, Jim whips around to me and gives the smallest shake of his head. So I pick up my glass of water and guzzle it down, then set the empty glass down with enough force to rattle Tony’s silverware. Tony leans back, biting the corner of his lower lip, and winks up at me. Goofball. His distraction technique works. Some of my tension eases as I waggle my eyebrows at him.

  “And who’s your friend there, hmm? She’s a little bit of a downgrade, don’t you think? Better watch out, though, because she’s already making eyes at your buddy there,” the mystery woman says.

  My gasp is still forming when a low, throaty snarl cuts through the loud chatter, and I whip my head sideways. Jim’s expression is thunderous, his brows drawn low over stormy eyes, and his jaw so tight, the muscles look like steel. There’s so much anger on his face and in the tight way he holds himself, as if he’s going to come out of his chair. Tony places his hand at the small of my back, gently grabbing my shirt when I lean closer to Jim, and Jim’s fist crashes down onto the table. “Talk about my wife again and you’ll have a problem you won’t be able to buy your way out of.”

  Bear and Marge come back, their arms laden with presents and a cake. The two set everything out on the table and Bear takes his seat. Marge, arms unladen, walks around to pat the woman’s shoulder as if she’s consoling a grieving friend. “Brittney, why are you here? You stopped being welcome once Jim divorced your sister, so go run along and let us be.”

  The woman straightens and crosses her arms beneath her breasts. “Soon enough, Jimmy won’t be part of the group either. He’s on his last leg. I mean, come on, everyone’s talking about how Mr. Super SEAL’s brain is all fucked up.”

  That’s it. I jump out of my chair with an angry growl and start trying to push my way toward her, but Tony’s hand holds me back. Likewise, Bear stands and wraps one big arm around his wife’s waist after a small, but evil, chuckle passes her lips. Jim half-rises from his seat, his gaze bouncing between his best friend and the small redhead Bear’s holding tight. I get the impression that Marge’s calm is only a front. The men are treating her like some undercover ninja with shuriken at the ready.

  “You’d better leave now before I tell the manager to throw you out with the rest of the trash. He’d be happy to kick your soldier-hating body right on your ass.” Marge drums her well-manicured nails against the table.

  “Here, let me show you the way.” I make another move to go for the woman, but once again, Tony keeps me in place.

  “Easy, girl,” he murmurs. “Trust me when I say, she’s not worth getting your hands dirty.”

  I make due with a glare instead. If I had claws, they’d be fully out right now. Brittney had no right to out Jim like that. No right to touch him. She’s lucky I’m trapped between the table and my husband; otherwise, she’d be missing teeth already.

  With a huff, Brittney makes way toward the front patio doors. Marge salutes her with a glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid around so that it dances in its glass container. “Bye, bitch.” When Brittney is out of sight, Marge turns to me and lifts an appraising brow. “Well, I do believe we’re going to get along just fine.”

  Bear gives a little chuckle and casts his gaze at the ceiling, before he and everyone else turns to Jim, who’s gone silent. I chew on my cheek and swallow hard as the seconds tick by. Jim stares at his glass, unblinking. I sidle closer to him, my body leaning against him the slightest bit to let him know I’m there for him.

  But he pulls away and glares at me this time. What the hell did I do? My cheeks, damn them, burn under his scrutiny. Anger mixed with hurt tugs at every muscle in my body, demanding release, but there’s nothing, nothing I can do to vent the horrible, suffocating mass of it. My chest, neck, and ears boil with the heat of one thousand fires, and I swear smoke must be rising off me. But he’s not the cause. Bear and Marge are whispering to each other, so I lower my voice and return his glare. “Don’t take what the stupid skank did out on me.”

  “Drop it.” His words hiss out through clenched teeth.

  “While you may be fine taking her abuse, I’m not. You’re my husband and I’ll be damned if anyone is going to talk to you like that.”

  Jim jerks at my words as if slapped across the face. His hands ball into fists. He closes his eyes and his shoulders lift, then lower. When he opens them again, his expression is more relaxed. “I don’t want to make a bigger scene than we already did. I’m tired of people staring at me all the time, for the wrong reasons.”

  There’s a sharp twist beneath my ribs. Jim’s a proud and tough man who’s probably humiliated at the moment. Which isn’t fair. The only person who should feel humiliated right now is Brittney. I sigh, and the last of my anger drains away. “I understand. Thank you for sticking up for me, by the way.”

  “Thanks for sticking up for me too.”

  His green eyes soften when they meet mine and I’m trapped, a prisoner to the emotions lurking just beneath the surface. Damn, I can almost imagine that we have a chance to make this marriage work.

  An awkward sile
nce falls over the table, until Bear clears his throat and we both turn to look at him. “Hey Jim, did you ever get a chance to finish the comic you borrowed the other day?”

  “Comic?” I brighten, looking up at Jim with eager eyes. “I didn’t know you liked comics too. Which one are you reading?”

  “The Halo one,” Bear says, ignoring Jim’s stiffly shaken head. “You’re into the game, right? Jim’s a big fan too. I thought maybe if he was done with the comic, you guys would have something . . . nice to talk about.”

  “Yeah, I love Halo.” I tilt my head when Jim shoots Bear a death glare. “You embarrassed to be into comic books?”

  The smile slowly slips from my face. Wait a second. How does Bear know about the comics I like?

  Shit.

  Oh, shit.

  I’m practically hyperventilating, my vision going spotty. They were in my bedroom. What if Jim saw the scrapbook? What if they both saw the scrapbook? I could lose everything. My palms are sweating, and I can’t catch my breath. Thomas Byrne, the officer killed, was my dad’s partner and my godfather. He was the reason my father joined the task force.

  Why did I keep those articles?

  Oh, that’s right. So I don’t forget what Santoro has taken away, not just from me but others.

  My heart rate spikes, anger replacing anxiety. I slam my hand down onto the table causing glasses filled with whiskey to slosh everywhere, and lean closer to Jim. “You have the nerve to sneak into my room and steal my things?”

  He stands up, the hard edge of his tone full of stubbornness and challenge. “If I need to get something from one of my rooms, I will.”

  I stand as well and poke my goliath husband in the chest. “I know you don’t want to be married, that you were forced into the program. But I do want to be here. And we are married. And I’m your damn wife. So, treat me like it. And Brittney shouldn’t have been the reason I found out what is going on with you, how sick you are. You should’ve told me. Should’ve trusted me. I asked how many times?”