" Debriefing was a lot of bullshit. Sam wanted to leap out of his seat and go find his woman. He’d never actually had a woman to come home to, and now that he did, he had to sit like a kindergartener, wiggling around his chair, anxious to see her—inspect her—and make certain she didn’t have so much as a scratch on her. Fucking Whitney, attacking the compound when there were just a few men and women to defend it. She wasn’t hurt . . .
“Sam, you with us?” Ryland asked.
He wasn’t the only one with a wife. Ryland had to be just as anxious. His son had been a target. He scowled at Ryland.
“He’s got ants in his pants.” Tucker snickered.
He’s got somethin’ in his pants,” Gator mocked, shoving at Sam’s boot with his foot. “And I don’ think it’s ants.”
“Go to hell,” Sam said good-naturedly. “Like all of you aren’t just as antsy.”
Ryland sighed. “Our women fought off Whitney’s men while we were in the field. It’s getting a little old.” He looked at Sam. “Get out of here.” And I want a full briefing from her later.
Sam’s nod was barely perceptible. He leapt out of the chair and rushed from the room, an arrow shot out of a bow. Laughter followed him, but he didn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered but to get to her. Azami. His. "

― Christine Feehan , Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)