Page 61 of Wicked Obsession

His mother made a noise that was a cross between a snort and a huff. “You were away. Youhave no idea what Langley went through in physical therapy to be able to walk without a limp. Your dad is going to push her too hard.”

He’d been out of the country for five months and had only returned nine days ago. Before his team had left, his parents had met Langley and been concerned Ryder was making a mistake. He’d come home to discover his mom and dad now considered his hellcat one of the family and his mother was more protective of her than she was of him, her youngest son.

“Ma,” Ryder said patiently, “Dad hovers over Langley worse than you do. He won’t do anything to hurt her.” But he kept his eyes on her, making sure he didn’t see any sign of pain until the song ended.

His three great aunts—he and his brothers had always called them the gargoyles—waved at Langley and his dad escorted her over to them. “See? You worried for nothing.”

That earned him “the look” and Ryder immediately straightened, almost coming to attention. “You need to stop hiding and talk to people,” she admonished. “I raised you to be polite.” His mom walked away, but the rigidity of her back told him she’d return breathing fire if he didn’t get his ass out there and mingle.

“You guys coming?” he asked Griff and Stony.

“No.” Rowland shook his head.

“Hell, no,” Griff said at the same time.

Ryder was halfway to the dance floor when three of his Polish uncles hollered a song request at the orchestra. “In Heaven There is No Beer!” Immediately, his Italian relatives countered with their own demand, trying to outshout the other uncles. “Tarantella! Tarantella!”

Fucking hell, he’d known his family couldn’t stay on their best behavior the entire night. The yelling escalated as more relatives got involved. Before Ryder could figure out how to minimize the scene they were causing, his grandmothers came to the rescue. Nonna and Busia asked for a big band era song, and after a quelling look at their children, danced toMoonlight Serenade. Watching the two eighty-somethings dancing together made him smile. Thank God for the matriarchs.

The reprieve wouldn’t last forever, though, and Ryder switched course toward the bar. He needed fortification before the next incident. He was nearly to his goal when he noticed Brett Taggart was in line. It was tempting to change direction, but he forced himself to join the lieutenant. “Taggart,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth.

“Pienkowski.” The man didn’t sound any more enthusiastic than Ryder had.

As they stood, ignoring each other, Ryder realized their relationship couldn’t continue to beantagonistic. With a grimace, he said, “Lieutenant, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I hope we can put that behind us and find common ground.”

“Why?” The suspicion wasn’t veiled.

“Because our wives are best friends, and if our animosity causes a wedge between Langley and Sarah, there’ll be hell to pay.” Ryder’s lips quirked. “I’d prefer not to face my wife’s wrath.”

“You’re afraid of your wife?”

“Hell, yeah. Aren’t you afraid of yours?”

Arching an eyebrow, Taggart drawled, “Never.”

Ryder didn’t bother to call him on the blatant lie. “Truce?” He held out his hand.

“Truce,” he agreed and they shook hands.

When they both had a bottle of beer, Taggart asked, “You like this bullshit, Pienkowski?” He gestured out toward the throng.

“Call me Ski. No, I hate the bullshit, but I want Langley, and it’s part of the deal, lieutenant.”

Taggart grunted. “It’s Tag. Did you know the commander over all of Special Operations is here?”

Ryder scowled. “Yeah. General Wolfe and my father-in-law are friends from way back.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

Sarah joined them then, her red hair a bright contrast against the dark purple of her dress. “Brett, would you get me a glass of white wine, please?”

The look she shared with her husband made Ryder tense and brace himself.

Sure enough, as soon as Taggart was out of earshot, she rounded on Ryder. “You hurt Langley.”

“Six months ago,” he said, but she ignored him.

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