Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

“I’m so sorry, Miro, I cried all over you,” Zahra lamented.

“Any time,” I assured her.

“Oh, he’s a keeper,” Stacy said, putting an arm around Zahra’s shoulders. “And look, there they are.”

The first guy came out, wearing his Army combat uniform—ACUs—and hefting a huge duffel, but he was still able to drop it and easily catch the woman who flew up to him and vaulted into his waiting arms. She hit him hard, but he absorbed the impact and wrapped his arms around her.

All the women there were greeting men who, like Ian, left for two weeks and were gone four months more.

They all came through then, all in the same color fatigues, all with caps on, all with duffels. Zahra’s husband was big, and when he took off his hat to greet his wife, I saw a lot of red-orange hair before she wrapped her arms around his neck and delivered a scorching kiss that he returned until neither of them could possibly breathe.

Stacy ran and jumped, too, and her husband took hold of her thighs to make sure her legs, coiled around his hips, wouldn’t get dislodged. Clearly he didn’t want to be parted from her for even a second.

Even if I hadn’t seen Ian’s face, I would have known it was him just from his swaggering, fluid stride. Before we were friends, I used to wish I could be intimidating just by moving. People never got out of my way, but I’d seen people scatter for Ian as they did now, making room for him to get through.

The dogtags with black silencers contrasted sharply on the tan of the T-shirt he was wearing under his open field jacket. His cap was pulled down low, but I still saw the bright blue I was looking for and marveled at the beauty of the man, the innate power, and I felt instant joy in seeing him strong and whole.

It was like walking in the front door after being away, that overwhelming feeling of rightness, of belonging, of peace. He was my home, and I had to grit my teeth with the surge of emotion and the sting behind my eyes.

Ian was my home.

I didn’t wave. I didn’t have to because he saw me and immediately scowled. His reaction caused the reverse in me. I smiled big, huge, relief and happiness, lust and love all swirling together in a tempest of gratitude that I was sure every other wife, girlfriend, partner, and significant other felt as well. I was probably glowing. The closer he got, the madder he looked until he reached me, dropped his duffel, and took my face in his hard, callused hands.

“What the hell happened to you?” he growled.

One of his eyes had blood in it. I saw purple-and-yellow bruises from fingers that had been around his throat, fresher bruises along the right side of his jaw and he had a splint on the pinky and ring fingers of his left hand. Not his shooting hand, so it would not impact his ability to do his job, or be with me on said job. Because any more time spent away from him, for any reason, would be too much.

“I could ask the same question,” I teased, so happy to see him I could actually feel my skin heat. I wanted his hands all over me as fast as they could be.

“I’m fine,” he said, stepping closer, bumping against me, scrutinizing the bruises.

“Yeah? You’re fine?”

“I—”

I dropped my voice to a whisper even though no one was sparing us even a glance and the closest couple was several feet away. “Good enough to fuck me into the mattress at home?”

I saw my words wash over him. His pupils dilated, he parted his lips and caught his breath. Taken all together, it was a thoroughly satisfying reaction.

“Can you?” I asked, closing my eyes, bumping my forehead gently against his, inhaling his scent and slipping my hands around his hips. “Ian?”

We stood there, silent, breathing each other’s air, and his sigh, like he could finally relax, made me smile.

“You have no idea how much thinking about you I’ve done,” he confessed, swallowing hard. “I dreamed about holding you down.”

The jolt of arousal slammed through me.

“I just—I need you so bad it feels like I’ve got ants crawling around under my skin.”

It was good to hear I was not alone in my desire. Normally I did the fucking, but sometimes I wanted to be on the bottom, and at the moment, I was ready to be, excited to be. All I could imagine was his weight on me and being under him, begging.

“You miss me?” My words came out rushed and aching.

“More than you could possibly imagine,” he rumbled, nuzzling a kiss against the side of my neck.

Opening my eyes, I looked at his good one and his hurt one. “Then let’s go home.”