Protector Of Convenience (Rogue Protectors Book 2)

by Victoria Paige

  “You can have all the guacamole you want,” Migs deadpanned as his long strides closed the distance between them and he crouched in front of her. “So what do you say?”

  “Marriage seems like an excessive solution for endless guac,” she laughed.

  “My grandmother is a good cook.” His eyes were nostalgic. “I’m sure I could entice you with her tacos al pastor.”

  This was a Migs she’d never seen before, and her heart ached for him knowing that choosing his job over his family must have been difficult. His cousin said four years. What happened four years ago? Ariana was sure he’d been in the CIA already by then, but that would be a question for another day.

  “I still don’t know, Migs,” she said honestly, trying to fight the urge to jump into this, the promise of a home, of a grandmother’s cooking. But more than anything else, and if she was honest with herself, it was the promise of finding out the layers beneath this man in front of her. “What will your family say when you suddenly show up with a wife?”

  “They’ll be horrified.” He chuckled as he got up and sat beside her and then nudged her shoulder. “Just kidding.”

  She probably looked horrified herself. “No, you’re not.” She blew out a breath. “Weddings and quinceañeras, those are big affairs in our culture. I should know, even if I haven’t been back to Mexico in a long time, I have friends in the Latino community. Well, at least I used to.”

  “I’m sorry, Ari.”

  Leaning back against the couch, she shook her head. “I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

  She took that moment to lift her gaze straight to his eyes and was smacked by the fierceness in them and she couldn’t look away.

  “Migs,” she whispered.

  “I want to kiss you so badly,” he murmured. His face grew closer and she stared at his mouth, but before their lips could touch, she pulled back.

  “We shouldn’t complicate things.”

  His brows furrowed. “What?”

  “If we are to do this, it has to be in name only.” She buried her face in her hands. What the hell was she doing? Was she agreeing to this? “Oh my God, this is going to be so bad when we divorce.”

  She felt his gaze singe the top of her head and when she looked up, there was an amused yet irritated gleam in his eyes.

  “You have us divorcing before we’re even married?”

  “Miguel, we need to set expectations so no one gets hurt.”

  He stared at her for a long time as if he was studying her, as if he was figuring out what made her tick. She squirmed under his scrutiny.

  “Stop doing that,” she mumbled.

  His mouth quirked at the corner. “Stop doing what?”

  “Making me feel like I’m under a microscope.”

  Finally, he scooted back into the arm of the couch, spreading his arms and cocked his ankle over the knee, giving her space and yet holding her captive with his gaze. “So I’ll give you my name, but no sex?” He grinned. “Are you sure? That’s the best part of marriage I hear.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Miguel!”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “What if we aren’t compatible?”

  His eyes grew heated. “There’s one way to find out.”

  She huffed. “No. We’re doing this the wrong way.”

  “All right, babe. How about this? Nothing physical until you ask for it, but I am fucking kissing you when Elvis says, ‘kiss the bride’.”

  She squinted. “You’re certain I’m going to say yes.”

  “Ariana, you like cutting a man’s ego into pieces, don’t you?” he sighed.

  Her heart leapt. What the hell was he talking about? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What I mean, Miss Oblivious, is I’ve listed all the reasons why it’s a good idea to marry me—to protect you and in name only if that’s what will make you comfortable with this arrangement. I can even have Hector’s legal team draw up a contract that you can divorce my ass at any time. You have nothing to lose, while I have everything on the line. So it leads me to believe that you find me so ugly you can’t stand the idea of being married to me even if it’s in name only.”

  “Is this a form of reverse psychology?” she demanded, because that was exactly the opposite of what she was feeling. Any physical intimacy between them would put her heart in danger. She just knew it. This charming, brusque rascal would be easy to fall in love with. If she allowed herself.

  His brows shot to his hairline. “No.”

  Her own brow arched. “A form of misplaced chivalry?”

  And yet his grin nearly displaced her heart in its chest cavity. “You can say that.”

  Her tattooed knight riding to the rescue.

  “So what’s it gonna be?”

  She exhaled in resignation. “Okay.”

  7

  “You may now kiss the bride.”

  All thoughts of how he wanted to throttle his cousin for arranging a gangster-themed wedding for him and Ariana disappeared when the Al Pacino lookalike, channeling Tony Montana from Scarface, spoke the words he’d been waiting for.

  He turned to his bride, radiant in a simple white dress, and lowered his head to capture her lips while drawing her in. Ariana’s hands clasped his biceps. He felt rather than heard her gasp as his tongue invaded her lips and he tasted her for the first fucking time.

  Migs deepened the kiss and did the whole dipping-her-body move. He could hear Hector heckling them, but he didn’t care. Her fingers tightened, clung to him as if for dear life.

  Ariana was in his arms and he was relishing this moment because she became his.

  Even if it was in name only.

  He could work with that.

  He reeled her back to her feet, and her eyes flashed at him in annoyance. He winked at her. A reluctant smile curved her lips and her thumb came up to rub at the corners of his mouth.

  “You’ve got lipstick on you,” she chided.

  He slowly wiped it off with the back of his hand. “It was worth it.”

  Her brows furrowed and what she was about to say was cut off by Al Pacino’s twin.

  “May I present, Mr. And Mrs. Miguel Alcantara Walker!”

  They turned to face Hector and his secretary who acted as witnesses. Two of his cousin’s bodyguards were also in attendance.

  “Congrats, cuz,” Hector said, walking up to them and shaking his hand, before clasping his jaw and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Then Hector turned to Ariana and did the same. “Welcome to the family.” As his new bride accepted the well wishes from the others, his cousin leaned into his ear. “Have you thought about how you’re going to break it to Tia Delia?”

  “No.”

  “The five Marias?”

  Shit.

  Seeing his face, Hector burst out laughing. “Now this I don’t want to miss.”

  After a quick dinner with Hector, Migs took Ariana back to their suite, declining his cousin’s invitation for a night on the town.

  “My wife needs her rest.” He had his arm around Ariana and her body froze at the word ‘wife.’ That only made him tug her closer possessively.

  Hector smacked his forehead. “Of course! How insensitive of me. I’ve been single too long.”

  “You’re barely thirty. I’m thirty-six, so …”

  “Still, I should know it’s your wedding night, huh?” He waggled his brows and if Migs wanted to throttle his cousin earlier, he wanted to string him up by his balls now.

  “Hector,” he said quietly, glancing down at his bride who had taken on the color of the wine she drank at dinner.

  So here they were, back in the opulence of the sweeping King suite.

  They stood just inside of the foyer where the things they’d purchased this afternoon were still in shopping bags. Ariana needed a whole new wardrobe following their mad dash to Vegas.

  They stared at each other, awkward as you please.

  Ariana broke the lock of their gazes first and went straight to th
e kitchen. “I’m thirsty. Do you want anything?” she called over her shoulder.

  Migs followed her leisurely, enjoying how her ass shook as she walked. Sexy as fuck. He wanted to sink his fingers into that pillowy flesh, lift her against him, and rub her luscious form against his. He flexed his hands. They were itching to grab her.

  “Migs?”

  His gaze lifted, and he smirked as she rolled her eyes.

  She leaned a hip against the counter. “Staring at my ass again?”

  When he’d been her bodyguard, she caught him several times watching that particular part of her anatomy. At that time, he’d been embarrassed at being caught. He fought hard not to stare, but sometimes with Ariana’s penchant for body-hugging dresses, it was a futile endeavor. And he was a hypocrite for cutting other men off with his death glare whenever he caught them ogling her ass. “It’s perfect. Can’t help it.”

  “So my husband is an ass man, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her smile was almost a shy one, the one she gave whenever he complimented her, and she couldn’t quite accept it. She gave an amused shake of her head and resumed her initial quest for water. “Want a beer?”

  “No. I’m switching to Scotch.” Migs went to the drink cart, and sure enough it was laden with expensive liquor and a gift from his cousin.

  “Hector left us a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”

  Ariana walked over, taking a sip of her water. She’d kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot. Migs loved her toes. She hated them for being square, indelicate and fat she’d said, but he found them adorable to look at.

  He was more than an ass man—he was more like an Ariana man.

  His wife.

  Fuck. Now that they were married, he didn’t quite know what to do with her. His throat went dry at the thought.

  “We haven’t talked about sleeping arrangements,” he said.

  She looked at him, puzzled. “I can stay in the same room I slept in this morning.”

  They had exactly four hours of sleep before he’d whisked her off to shop for her wedding attire and his, and he remembered her quip from this morning.

  “You want me to marry you, we’re going to appear properly before the officiant,” Ariana had said. “You’re not wearing faded jeans with holes in them.”

  Most of his jeans were threadbare and ripped around his thighs. Hours riding the Harley would do that. Though shopping wasn’t his favorite sport, he’d been trained well by the women in his family. And it was all worth it in the end. He watched her now, her cream dress with that dangerously low neckline that teased the valley of her generous tits while the rest of the fabric draped sexily into her tiny waist and flared to hug the rest of her hips.

  “Miguel?” She called him by his full name when she wanted his attention.

  What was she asking? Oh, yeah, right. “We need to get used to staying in the same room.”

  She stared at a spot on his chest. “So soon?”

  “We’re driving down to see my family tomorrow. Might as well get used to it.”

  He stepped into her and as she tried to step back, he grabbed one of her hands. “You can’t flinch when I come close to you. We need to start practicing this now.”

  She took a healthy gulp from her bottled water and set it down. “You’re right.”

  “Maybe we should break out the champagne?”

  She looked at him dubiously.

  Migs didn’t know whether to get ticked or amused. “Ari, I’m not going to take advantage of you. I promise. Even if you beg me to fuck you—”

  She gasped.

  “I won’t. Not tonight.” He pressed closer until her tits brushed against his torso.

  Fuck this was torture. His head lowered by her ear. “Get used to me talking dirty to you.” He trailed the fingers of one hand up and down her bare arm. “Get used to me touching you like this.” Migs leaned back and noticed she was panting in sharp bursts. “When I kiss you, kiss me back like you can’t breathe without me.”

  Then he fastened his mouth to hers, moving her arms to wind around his neck and his hands slipped down her sides, tentative at first, until her rigid body relaxed against his and she started kissing him back. Their tongues dueled and twisted wildly and without rhythm. Ari pressed closer and he couldn’t concentrate keeping his erection down and keep this whole practice session under control.

  Because that was what it was.

  Practice.

  He tore his lips away, groaning. “Wait … wait…”

  Her eyes glazed with her own want, and he wished he hadn’t promised not to fuck her.

  “What?” she asked.

  Migs gave a puff of laughter. “I guess we’ll pass the family.”

  A wry smile formed on her lips. “It wasn’t too hard.” She turned from him and walked away.

  “Where are you going?”

  She swung back around with a teasing smile on her face. “I’m going to change into pajamas. The ones with little sheep on them. The ones that a woman would never wear on her wedding night.”

  “We need to share—”

  “Then I’ll come back, and we can sip champagne,” Ariana paused. “Then we have to make sure we get our story straight.”

  “Then?” His voice lowered.

  “Then we’re going to sleep in the same room.” She smiled teasingly. “But you’re sleeping on the floor.”

  Late that night, with Ariana a little buzzed from the champagne, she stared at the glass ceiling, watching their reflection lit by the fractured beams of moonlight.

  She was on the bed. Migs was on the carpeted floor beside her. The couch in the room was too small for his frame. He could have picked one of the four bedrooms in this suite, but no, he said, they had to get used to sleeping in the same room. He could have requested a cot, but according to Migs, the floor was more comfortable. He folded a comforter in half and grabbed one of the pillows on the bed.

  “Run it by me again,” Migs said below her, his voice thick with sleep.

  Ariana groaned and rolled to her side and looked at him. “You’ve asked me several times.”

  “If you can say it in your sleep, that means we’re good.”

  She laughed lightly. “I met you when I was having my car serviced. Your schedule was full for the day but you said you would work overtime to fix it if I agreed to a date. Our first date was a street corner taqueria. You wanted to find out if I was as high-maintenance as my car.”

  “Why do you keep on inserting that high-maintenance part? And it was your idea to have the taqueria as our first date. Do you know my sisters will be horrified?”

  “You did take me to a taqueria the first time I asked you to surprise me with lunch.”

  Migs chuckled, that brief chuckle of his that vibrated deep in his chest and made her feel doubly warm. “I was tired of you torturing yourself with that vegan place that thought it could make tofu taste like chicken. Just no, babe.”

  She smiled in remembrance. “You made me cheat so much.”

  “That ass of yours was wasting away—”

  “Again, enough with my ass. You’re obsessed with it.”

  “What’s the first movie we watched?”

  “Avengers. Not exactly a romantic one.”

  “But it’s a safe one, even my sisters love it.”

  “You really have five of them?”

  “Yes. Although sometimes I wonder if I’m adopted,” Migs deadpanned.

  “I can’t imagine you with five sisters, but I guess that explains why you were very patient on our shopping trip. I can tell they have you well-trained.”

  He grunted. Then they both rehearsed the basic favorites: color, food, first vacation together, both of them loved tacos—she loved fish tacos, he loved carnitas and al pastor, and cars. Of course Migs would make cars as a necessary knowledge. Ariana just wanted a car that wouldn’t break, and he was hoping to restore a sixty-four Shelby.

  They agreed to be honest about her relationship to Raul. Th
ere was no hiding it anyway since the manner of his death was still being discussed in online chatrooms. The public had no idea how close the conspiracy theorists were to the truth of CIA involvement.

  “Would they think I married you just for the protection of your name?”

  “That’s an insulting question, Ari.” There was laughter in his voice, so she knew she hadn’t offended him.

  “I’m sure they consider you a good catch. El único hijo,” she teased.

  Migs grunted again. She could only imagine the pressure as being the only son of a rich landowner and belonging to a prominent family.

  “Are your parents disappointed that you didn’t get into the family business?”

  Migs didn’t answer for a while and she thought he’d fallen asleep. Ariana flopped on her back and saw that he had his arms crossed under his head and his eyelids fluttered.

  “I was not meant to work the land,” he said after a while. “I’d rather be a part of policing the cartels.”

  “But you joined the Army.”

  “The Army has a way of making a man out of a boy,” Migs laughed. “You saw Hector, right? I could be an older version of him if I hadn’t signed up for the military. The plan was always to get into the DEA. I did that for a couple of years and then the CIA picked me up.”

  “Is that all I need to know because my memory recall with the nitty gritty might be a problem. You’ve led a colorful life.”

  “So did you, my Sinaloan princess,” he said.

  “Opposite sides of the law,” she murmured. “And here we are.”

  Ariana didn’t know how long they chatted. Her eyes got heavier and heavier and Migs’ voice grew thicker. She just fell asleep.

  They left Las Vegas before noon and were approaching San Diego before evening. A trip that normally would have taken Migs five hours took almost seven with Ariana as a passenger. Every time he asked if she wanted to stop, she said yes. Not that he didn’t enjoy their road trip.

  He did.

  Immensely.

  He couldn’t believe this woman beside him was his.

  Migs couldn’t remember a time he’d been committed to exploring a relationship with another woman. Apparently when he did, he did it without any brakes and went full throttle.