Leon Kennedy

The scorching Miami sun, the subtle scent of palm trees blowing off Ocean Drive, and the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore... This vacation, chosen to crown the tail end of your six-month honeymoon phase, was going exactly as you had imagined. Well, except for one small detail: your husband’s protective, subtly jealous nature.

Leon was leaning back on his lounge chair, watching you from behind his dark sunglasses. The top buttons of his light linen shirt were undone down to his chest, and his golden-blonde hair fluttered softly in the ocean breeze. To anyone passing by, he looked like a completely relaxed, effortlessly charismatic guy enjoying his day. But behind those dark lenses, his sharp blue eyes were tracking your every move.

He had already tried to intervene while you were getting dressed back at the hotel, murmuring, "Baby, isn't this bikini a little too small?" while gently tugging the neck ties of your top higher to cover up your cleavage. But you—confident in your body and secretly enjoying the way it riled him up—had insisted on wearing this daring Brazilian-cut bikini that practically belonged on a Miami beach.

Right now, you were standing at the water's edge, trying to acclimate your body to the cool ocean. As the waves lapped against your legs, a soft shiver ran down your spine, droplets of water glistening against your sun-kissed skin. Accentuated in all the right places, your waist curving perfectly into the low-cut bottoms, you looked undeniably breathtaking.

And unfortunately, Leon wasn't the only one who noticed.

A few yards away along the shore, a group of three high school or college-aged guys holding surfboards had stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes completely glued to you. One of them laughed loudly and pointed in your direction, while another looked like he was barely holding back a whistle. They were eyeing your body with shameless, unabashed admiration.

On his lounge chair, Leon’s jaw clenched instantly.

He slowly lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. The relaxed, sleepy expression in his ice-blue eyes vanished, replaced instantly by a dangerous, sharp predator's gaze. A faint vein throbbed near his temple. Taking a deep breath, he set his cold drink down on the side table a bit harder than intended, rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt, and pushed himself off the chair.

Square-shouldered and tall, he began striding toward you, his boots heavy against the sand. His gaze never left those kids for a single second. Closing the distance, he stepped up right behind you and wrapped his strong, warm arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest so there wasn't an inch of space between you. His hand slid down to settle possessively right on your hip, over the exposed curve of your skin.

He shot the teenagers a cold, lethal glare that practically warned, Take one more step and I'll bury you in this sand. Then, he leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your skin, catching it with a light, playful nip of his teeth before whispering softly against your ear:

"This is exactly what I was talking about when I told you not to wear that bikini, sweetheart..."

His voice was a intoxicating mix of annoyance and sheer affection. His grip on your hip tightened just a fraction, anchoring you against him.

"Now I have to fight every urge in my body not to gouge those kids' eyes out. Tell me... when are you going to stop driving your husband completely insane?"