Red Hot Steamy Romance Boxed Set: A Steamy Military Romance Series Collection

by Penelope Wylde

  He wrapped his arms around her and hoisted her to straddle his waist. This was fast becoming his favorite position. “So, I take that as a yes?”

  “¡Sí, mí amor! Oh, Nathan, yes. Yes. And I meant my answer earlier.”

  “I had to make sure it wasn’t in the heat of passion.”

  “I understand.”

  He gathered her hand in his arms once more. Gently, if not reverently, he eased the diamond engagement ring around her finger.

  “Do I want to know how you managed an engagement ring on such short notice?” The tease pulled her beautiful lips into a smirk that made him want to kiss her long after the Christmas lights came down. On sultry summer nights and freezing winter nights for years, decades to come.

  “It took a few favors, ones I’ll probably be paying back for years to come, a couple run red lights and a parking ticket, but I managed just fine, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes lit up with such joy he didn’t ever want to see them filled with pain again. Especially if he could help it.

  “Te amo. You know that right? That I love you?” she purred into his ear.

  With those two words, he was home. “Love you too, amor.”

  His Spanish sounded rough and little off-key even to his ears, but the giggle for his efforts, and the way her breasts swayed temptingly in front of him made it worthwhile. No way could he resist plucking the sweet plums for a taste.

  “Don’t think for a minute that I’m done with you. Now, about that resignation. I think a spanking for Christmas is in order.”

  She winked. “Yes, Captain!”

  THE END

  No strings.

  No questions.

  Just one forbidden night of pleasure with my best friend.

  That's how it all started.

  I'm a cold, calculating war-hardened Marine with no business wanting an angel like Shay, but after tasting heaven, what can I say? I'm addicted.

  She's sassy, feisty, gorgeous and tells me there's no room for love in her life. She's dead wrong and I plan on changing her mind. But before I have a chance our combined pasts reappear in the form of a dark, manipulative drug lord out to seduce his way into Shay's life, by force if necessary.

  I won't let that happen. I'll fight back the demons of hell to keep her safe because no one threatens what is mine. Once I secure her safety, I'm taking those sweet, delicious curves and claiming the woman I’d give my life for.

  Tonight, I'm claiming her.

  Author's naughty note: If you love an obsessive, growly alpha AF hero who will stop at nothing to protect his woman, this one is for you! We're talking over-the-top, friends-to-lovers romance that's extra dirty, super filthy, and sweet. If that's your jam, you're going to love this one! As always, with a Penelope Wylde book, this one is safe with a HEA & NO CHEATING!

  Chapter 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.

  He’d accepted his best friend’s request of being best man with all the love for the man, but he had his own reasons and every single one of them started and ended with Shay Torres.

  Her soft lips turned up in a radiant smile that lit her beautiful chocolate-colored eyes with a tenderness at something someone said to her.

  Anticipating Shay’s path, he pushed through the growing crowd, his target the bar in the corner, conveniently situated next to an exit he intended to use to his advantage.

  “Hey there.” Dyson leaned on his elbow and flashed a grin at the bartender. No matter where in the world the job took him or his unit, the grin worked in any language. “You gotta have something better than this glass to drink out of, right?” He passed over the little burro double shooter, hoping for the best.

  “Hmmm…let me check for you, señor.” The faux redhead attempted to flirt with a few bats of her lashes and a sweet smile as she gathered his used glass.

  It did nothing for him. Nothing and no one did after he had a taste of Shay. That made him sound pussy whipped but he liked to think of it as having the best of the best and he didn’t see any reason for going back to anything less.

  “Gracias. Anything you have back there will do, and if you could make it two?” Dyson glanced to his right, quickly locating his target. He followed her slow progress in his direction. Or he tried. Would’ve been easier, but some slick with a fine taste for custom-made suits well above his own pay grade blocked his view.

  He pushed up from the bar and eased around for a better look. Hands Dyson bet were as greasy as the stranger’s slicked-back hair stroked the outer part of Shay’s arm, slowly making a move farther south.

  The stranger worked his arm around her waist, pulling her close as he guided them onto the dance floor.

  Dyson cocked his head. Son-of-a-bitch. Anger clawed at his insides as recognition dawned. If his talent for facial recognition held any salt, the man currently pawing Shay was a wanted man.

  He turned for a better angle.

  Holy shit.

  Only one man has that unique square jaw with dark, deep-set eyes. Memorizing every fucking line of it came with the job requirements. They’d hunted him down for acts of terrorism and for being the mastermind behind a crew running powder across the border and into the US a little less than a year ago.

  Their CO had labeled the mission textbook. Get in, get their man and get out. That was before Bautista took a young woman as leverage to help facilitate his exit strategy when they pinned him down in what was thought to be an abandoned condo complex.

  Anger singed the insides of his veins.

  After suiting up, they’d pinpointed the dirt-bag’s location in less than an hour. Between his captain and himself, they’d dropped five hostiles, both men taking a bullet in the process.

  He’d been the first one through the door. They’d fanned out, searching for Bautista, but what they turned up was a whole different nightmare. Three women with their bodies split open from breastbones to pelvises. Traces of powder provided proof of what Bautista had used them for. Mules for his product. Once they served their purpose, he moved on.

  They hadn’t.

  Dyson’s stomach pitched with barely contained vileness as he watched the hunted man place a hand on Shay’s delicate shoulder and lead her onto the dance floor.

  Red picked that moment to slide a double shooter across the bar filled with Mexican gold. He caught the shot and tossed back its contents, the warm liquid immediately going to work on his nerves. He didn’t know if the woman could read minds or if his face had murder written on it, but her timing was impeccable.

  “His name is Alek Bautista.” She confirmed what he already knew.

  Dyson nodded. While they’d taken down the puppets who worked for the drug lord, the head of the organization had slipped past them and it fucking boiled his blood, but his hands were tied. Starting something in the middle of his friend’s wedding where more innocent lives on his conscience is not what he needed either.

  “If he is dancing with that woman,” Red gestured toward Shay. “…errr, that, mí amigo, is a problema.”

  He heard the worry in the bartender’s tone.

  “Con cuidado, señor. Be careful, if he’s dancing with the woman you haven’t taken your eyes off since she walked in, there’s going to be a problem. That man is a jealous one. Everyone around here knows he gets what he wants. I’m a woman and I see. He wants her. Just walk away.”

  Not a chance in hell. There were two rules he lived by. Never get close to lovers. A rule he broke hard and fast with Shay. And protect the innocent.

  Till now the second rule held strong. Walking away would mean letting the murderous drug lord have his way.

  Danger was nothing new to him, but there’d never been someone he cared about caught in the middle. He knew he should back off, wait and watch, but that was never his style to begin with. On leave and in Mexico, there wasn’t really a damn thing he could do about it.

  But that didn’t stop him.

  Red poured another double before walking off to tend the other guests. Time to see what his woman had stepped into and ruffle some local feathers in the process.

  An edgy tango eased into a hot salsa number made for seduction.

  The thought of that asshat touching Shay the way Dyson’s dirty mind pictured touching her to this beat forced his feet to move faster and storm through the crowd earning several muttered curses as the rhythm picked up.

  “Pardon me.” Eyes level and voice about as warm and polite as a pissed off viper, Dyson blocked Bautista’s next step.

  “I believe the lady promised this dance to me. Right, Shay?” He turned to the sable-haired woman currently staring up at him, her face flushed a pretty pink, her soft brown eyes full of surprise.

  “Dyson?”

  Growing up, he never had much to call his own. Not with a father who wasted every dime on cigarettes and booze. But he’d learned something from the broken man despite the old man’s best efforts to trash his life.

  He’d learned how to fight for what he wanted. It was what took him from boot camp to Recon, and he had no plans on backing off the fight now. He and Shay never talked about anything close to a family, but if it ever happened—God how he hoped it did—they would fight for something better.

  How had Diego failed to mention a wanted criminal had made it to the VIP list? He made a mental note to ask later after Shay was safe.

  “You’re welcome to wait.” Bautista flashed
a grin meant to send a man’s heart into his ass with fear. Lucky for him intimidation stopped working somewhere around boot camp years back.

  Trying to avoid a scene and get Shay as far away from danger as possible, he went the nice route and buried his need to break a few bones the longer that piece of shit clung onto his woman.

  Dyson offered his hand, palm up to Shay. “Sweetheart, time to go.”

  She looked at him a moment, the fire simmering in her eyes, but slowly placed her hand in his. Smart woman.

  She may not know what was going on but she had good sense.

  Tension uncoiled and tightened every muscle in his body.

  Bautista’s eyes darkened as Dyson wound an arm around Shay’s shoulders.

  The movement brought the sleeve of his shirt up and Bautista’s attention darted to Dyson’s arm where his unit’s tattoo peeked out from the short sleeve of his cotton shirt.

  “I thought you Marine boys always move in packs? Where I see one there’s two or three. You’re all like fucking dogs.” His voice, thick with a Mexican accent deepened with anger to match his soulless black eyes.

  Dyson leveled his stare at the man. Their heights leveled out to the same, but Dyson’s build across the shoulders and arms dwarfed Bautista’s thinner frame.

  Dyson knew better than to mistake a small man for a small enemy though.

  “That’s devil dogs to you, asshole.” His voice just as smug as Bautista’s.

  Shay obviously wasn’t as thick-skinned as he was. Her body tensed beneath his touch and her nails dug into the skin of his arm. “Señor Bautista, you’re talking about my family and my friends.” Her tone harsh and just as sharp as her nails.

  Cold, calculating eyes turned to Shay, disgust twisting Bautista’s features. He tilted his head to the side as if assessing her worth, and it took all Dyson had not to plant his fist in the other man’s face. Bautista’s eyes darted between them before landing on his. “I didn’t realize the dog had his bitch.” Bautista shifted his weight and focused squarely on Shay. “Running with this Marine marks you as a traitor to México and your mama, Señorita Torres.” Bautista snarled, his words barely audible above the music.