Page 162 of Protective Heroes

Red Hot Naughty Vixen

One

Lieutenant Dyson Ward was going to kill his best friend and end up in a Mexican jail before the night was through.

He turned the offensive shot glass around several more times, looking for the best angle to drink along with all the other guests in the room. Didn’t seem to matter. Every way he tried, he either got a mouthful of ear or ass.

Didn’t really surprise him, though. Compared to the jokes Diego pulled on them back on base, this was tame. This just proved there was nothing sacred when it came to a man’s funny bone.

Giving up, Dyson pushed the burro-shaped shot glass to the side and turned toward the room full of wedding guests. Taller than most, he scanned the heavily decorated room with no problem. Tables covered with bold reds, golds, and royal blues took over the majority of the space with a glimpse of cream silk here and there.

Warm air flowed through the makeshift reception hall, the heavy smell of salty sea air a balm to his overworked mind. Coming off almost a year without leave took a toll on a man, no matter how badass the Marine was. Truth be told, he didn’t see much use in time off when there was nothing keeping him tied down. His CO saw it differently. Something about burnout.

So here he was, eight hundred miles south of the border, drinking tequila out of an ass, or trying to anyway. There was some irony there, but it would take looking deeper than he liked to find it.

Warm wooden floors eased up to wide-open partitions with whole sections removed to allow a better view of the Pacific and its long sandy beaches. From what he gathered, the place served the residents of Cabos as a quaint beachside restaurant. A few hours and a little feminine touch from one particular Torres family member had transformed the old town’s local dive into a festive place fit for a good Mexican shindig notorious for lasting long past any sensible hour and bordering insane.

Multicolored decorations hung from the palapa and swayed in the lazy breeze. Her touch lingered in every lovingly-placed detail. From the red roses offset by the white roses to the silk ribbons and candles. The woman had a flair for colors and textures that amazed him. And that was who he looked for now, Shay Torres.

He scanned the room again, but couldn’t pinpoint a firm location on her now that the official ceremony was over. Everyone had been in a hurry to usher out the newly married couple and move on to the festivities of the evening. Tropical weather and tuxedos didn’t mesh with his world, any world if you asked him, and the faster he ditched the suffocating monkey suit and into his civies the better.

Still no sign…

He’d first caught a glimpse of her in passing as he handed over his keys to the valet back at the church. The little vixen casually waltzed right past him with only an air kiss and a wink as a hello. Given how they last said hello, with a bottle of her favorite tequila in her hotel room after her cousin’s birthday party over six months ago, he’d expected a little more. And she knew it.

It was a testament to his years in the service that kept him focused during the ceremony as she stood across from him as maid of honor and he the best man, her attention zeroed in on him. Or parts of him. Her gaze darted between his cock and mouth so many times there was no way his dick missed the memo. Thank God his jacket covered him, or the rocking grandma to his left cranking out the tunes on the piano would have had an eyeful.

To top off the fuck-tacular job he was doing as best man, toward the end, he fumbled taking the ring out of his too-damn-small jacket pocket—give him his dress blues any day.

With a hard tug of his hand he had quickly produced the ring, but he didn’t miss Shay’s faint giggle. Or the death glare from the groom.

He cringed just thinking about it. The guys would rip him hard for being such a damn klutz, but that flirtatious laugh of hers eased inside him and touched a part of his heart he thought closed off for good due to his grade-A asshole of a father who thought taking lit cigarettes to a child was a good sport. The bastard wouldn’t stop until he’d made Dyson cry, and sometimes that didn’t even stop him.

Dyson ran a hand down one arm, then the other. The red, puckered marks had faded over time, but the memories were there if he went hunting for them.

He raked a hand through his hair, pushed back from the table he shared with five other guests, and stood, watching as the band ushered in the start of an all-nighter filled with heavy drinking and salsa dancing.

Low chords twined through the crowd and strummed into the late afternoon light. The heavy beat of the ocean waves added to the sensual vibe of the first song. A spicy number. Wasn’t his strong suit, but he could hold his own thanks to a very dedicated dance instructor—a.k.a. his mother.

Dyson turned to the side opposite the band, catching the hint of a melodious voice on the warm air currents. It reminded him of silk sheets and long nights of sex. Delicate, rich, and exotic. Her words were marked with a Latin inflection that added sultriness no matter if she was ordering a drink or begging him to make her cum one more time.

His gaze flitted over the crowd until his gaze landed on his target.

He looked on mesmerized by the lovely Latina dressed in a knee-length skirt. With every move, the sequins decorating the front of her strappy top captured the low sunrays. Waves of warm light danced around her like magic.

A rush of heat hit his system and his balls drew up tight, remembering the treasures hidden beneath all those hand-stitched sequins and the all-nighters they’d enjoyed over the past year.

During the ceremony wild fantasies played out in his mind like a nonstop train with how her full-length royal blue gown for the wedding damn near made love to her sweet curvy figure with elegance.

But the number she’d chosen for the after party was a another story. Deeply tinted red outlined every feminine curve from her perfect round breasts to the hint of silky tanned thighs that teased his vision every time she moved or the wind caught the hem.

Damn. There was a softness about her his life lacked. A delicateness that called to his protective side.

He was vaguely aware of the crowd building around them, unable to peel his eyes off her. Soft in all the right places and tight where it mattered. And damn if his cock didn’t like the direction of his thoughts.

He straightened his pants a little to the right. Shay provoked the same reaction from him each time he came home on leave, but therein lay the problem. The last several weeks he could feel her pulling away. His absence while on duty was like a third wheel in their relationship, but that ended tonight. He was going to claim his little sex kitten once and for all.

He couldn’t ignore it any longer or he could lose her for good and honestly, that scared the shit out of him.

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