“Did our wives take off?” Damon asks as he returns from the coat check.

I tilt my head toward the main room the party’s being held in. “Mara seemed very determined to introduce Hope to some people.”

“She’s invested in having more female attorneys in leadership positions.” The corners of his mouth twitch in a way that says he’s proud of whatever it is Mara’s working toward. “She’ll have Hope volunteering for a dozen committees before you leave.”

Somehow I doubt that. As sweet as my wife is, she rarely gets talked into doing anything she doesn’t want to do. “I hear you’re running for State Senate.”

“I am. Figured I could do some good there.”

“I don’t doubt it. If I can help out, let me know.”

His expression freezes and I almost laugh at his discomfort. “I’m not offering to break any kneecaps for you, Damon. Just a regular campaign donation.”

Like a good politician he smooths over the awkwardness with a bland smile. “Of course. Thank you. That’s very generous.”

We stop at the bar before searching for the girls. Unsurprisingly, my friend Tony is there and he gives me an enthusiastic handshake. We speak for a few minutes. Mostly pleasantries about his family. I spot Glassman, the attorney who handles the club’s legal work across the room and he nods at me. If he’s surprised to see me here, it doesn’t show.

Hope and Mara are standing in a small circle of people. Damon and I head their way. I quietly walk up behind Hope and slip my arm around her waist.

She turns to give me a hint of a smile and accepts the small glass of ginger ale I hand her. “Thank you.”

When there’s a break in the conversation, Hope introduces me to her colleagues. They’re far more interested in talking to Damon, and I’m not insulted. Damon manages to smoothly transition the conversation back to his wife.

Hope tips her glass back, taking a sip of her soda, and flashes three fingers at me.

Chuckling at the subtle signal, I excuse us.

Hope gives Mara a triumphant smile and waves at her over her shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to leave so early? We still have time before the party at CB starts.”

“I’m sure,” she answers without a trace of doubt in her voice.

At the edge of the room, Glassman stops us. “Rock, good to see you.” He turns to Hope and holds out his hand. “Ms. Kendall, I don’t usually see you at these events.”

“I try to avoid them as much as possible,” she answers with an awkward laugh. If there’s one thing I love about my wife, she’s unflinchingly honest. Even when I know she doesn’t mean to be. “My friend, Mara, is on the board.”

“Ah, Judge Oak’s wife. I see,” he says as if that makes it all click into place for him.

I don’t care for the condescending tone Glassman uses with my wife. Is this how he would normally speak to her? Or does he think I’ll be impressed?

“And I spoke to Angie. They need a co-chair for the small firms committee,” Hope adds, surprising me.

“Uh, oh. Better stop her now, Rock. She’ll be dragging you to more of these events if you let her do that.”

Let her do that? My fists curl, but punching Glassman isn’t the solution in this situation. Instead, I pull my face into a mask of confusion, cock my head, and use my own condescending tone. “Care to explain your reasoning?”

Glassman clearly didn’t expect a question like that out of me. He opens his mouth, sputters, seems to realize how rude his comment actually was, and shakes his head. “They’ll be lucky to have you, Ms. Kendall,” he finally says.

“Well, we were just heading out. Good to see you again,” Hope says, taking my hand.

We make it three steps closer to the door when Mara calls out, stopping us.

“You sneaky wench. You’re leaving already?” she asks, hugging Hope to her chest. “Thank you so much for coming.” She glances up at me. “Both of you.”

Damon joins us and walks Hope to the coat closet. I’m so focused on my wife’s backside that when Mara stops, I almost knock her over.

Unfazed, she turns and presses one hand to my arm. “Thank you, Rock.”

“For?”

“For being so good to her. Not getting in her way. Making her stronger. Take your pick.”

Not sure what to say, I stand there, waiting for her to elaborate.

Her lips curl into a teasing smirk. “I know you’re used to being the king in your world, but here you step back and quietly support her without trying to dominate the conversation.” She flicks her wrist toward the party. “You don’t try to make it all about you.”

“I’m not a lawyer.”

She tilts her head in a way that says don’t be dense. “You know what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

“Good.” She walks me to the door where we meet up with Damon and Hope.

Once we’re outside, Hope sucks in a deep breath and immediately starts coughing as the cold air shocks her lungs.

“Careful, Baby Doll,” I murmur, patting her back.

“What were you and Mara talking about?” she asks as we walk up the street.

I’m not sure what to make of Mara’s assessment of me yet. “She just thanked me for coming.”

While my brief talk with Mara was nice, I’m still pissed about the conversation with Glassman. Once we’re in the car, I decide to ask her about it. “Is Glassman always that…dismissive when he talks to you?”

“Uh, yeah.” She snorts. “It’s not like he’s the only one. A lot of male attorneys can’t help themselves. He’s more polite than most.”

“Maybe the club needs a new law firm,” I mutter.

“Don’t you dare. He’s an excellent attorney. Besides, your response was beautiful. It might have helped him realize he sounded like a sexist ass.”

“I doubt it.” I put the truck in drive and steer us toward the highway. “Damon doesn’t seem to be like that.”

“He’s not. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a terrifying judge to argue in front of. Low tolerance for pontificating and wasting his time. But he’s equally hard on the male attorneys, has never asked me when I plan to start a family, and doesn’t suggest I’d appear more “professional” in a skirt suit when I wear pants to court.”

“Jesus Christ, seriously? Who’s said that shit to you?”

“Are you going to beat them up for me?” she taunts.

“Maybe. Now I feel shitty I’m taking you to a strip club.”

She lets out a huff of laughter. “Why? At least it’s honest.

“Glassman aside, are you happy you went?”

“Yes and thank you for coming. I felt better having you with me.”

“I always have your back, baby.”

“I know you do,” she answers quietly.

“And now you get to do the same for me.”

She reaches over and slides her hand up my leg, resting it on my thigh, distracting the hell out of me.

“It’s not quite the same,” she says. “You’re the president. Everyone respects you no matter what. And you’re always calm and controlled in every situation.”

I prefer her version to the truth. Which is, “Most of the time I bite my tongue more than I want to.”

“Oh, I know you do,” she teases. “I can tell by the tight smile that forms right here.” She traces her fingertip over my cheek, down to the corner of my mouth. “And the muscles in your neck tense up.” Her finger moves lower, blazing a path over my skin.

“Are you trying to get us into an accident?”

I glance over long enough to catch her batting her eyelashes in an innocent who me expression.

“I’m just trying to explain that I want to help make things less tense for you tonight.”

“I have some suggestions.”

“I’m sure you do.” Her hand drops from my neck to my lap and slides over my crotch, squeezing enough to scramble my brain.

“Jesus, woman. Control yourself.”

She takes her hand away and sits back.

“I didn’t say don’t touch me at all.”

“No, you’re right. I can’t control myself.”

At the next stoplight, I reach over and settle my hand on her knee. “Spread your legs for me.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet.”

Hope teasing and challenging me—there’s nothing I love more. I’m tempted to keep driving just to continue our conversation. I attempt to slide my hand under her dress again. “What does that mean?”

She giggles and pushes my hand away. “The light’s green.”