Pleasing Her SEAL

by Anne Marsh

  “Yeah, but how does it rank in comparison to paying the electric? I need to hit the ball out of the park on my blog, so that’s where I should be focusing. Right?”

  “When’s the last time you had great sex?”

  “Full disclosure?” Maddie considered opening the laptop again. This would make great content. “It’s been so long that I’m rusty. Instead of lube, I’m going to need WD-40.”

  Ashley gestured toward the pool boy. He was a tall, good-looking guy, muscled but still lean. He moved with a lazy confidence that promised great sex with no strings attached, so he certainly ticked all the right boxes. Unfortunately, he was the marzipan in her sexual fantasies, pretty to look at but nothing she actually wanted to eat. Which meant she was, apparently, Team Mason all the way.

  Ashley nodded knowingly, then examined the pool guy herself. “So the question is, does anybody else do it for you, or is this a Mason-specific thing?”

  She knew the answer to that one.

  “Stop looking at that dude’s ass.” Busted. Please let him not have heard that crack about his butt. A pair of hands closed over Maddie’s eyes, eclipsing her view of the pool boy bending over a stack of towels and effectively blindfolding her. The move was probably unprofessional. Except—she was practically a Fantasy Island employee herself, wasn’t she, if she was blogging about them for money? Did that make it better? She’d have to think about that.

  “Earth to Maddie. No imagining the staff naked.” The amused male voice in her ear recalled her to her current situation. Blindfolded and—almost—wrapped in Mason’s arms. If that wasn’t fantasy fodder, she didn’t know what was.

  “Are you offering alternatives?”

  “My ass is at your disposal,” he said drily.

  And didn’t that make her breathless? Bringing her hands up, she tugged on his wrist. Of course Mason was as immovable as a brick wall, although she was 100 percent certain that said wall lacked Mason’s sex appeal. Which she really appreciated. Along with all that warm, male skin. She rubbed her fingers over his smooth inner wrist, bumping against his dive watch.

  “I could be convinced to get my kinky on,” she murmured.

  Totally true, except he was already removing his hands from her eyes. Darn it. Through a fog of lust—which she was so not admitting to—she heard Ashley call her goodbyes and disappear. Chicken.

  “You’re incorrigible,” he growled. “Come on.”

  “No more blindfold games?” Because she was all for expanding her horizons and exploring her inner sex kitten. Or just having a really, really good time with Mason. Outlining a few possible bedroom options seemed like fun, but he was already striding away from her.

  “You can’t tease a girl and then not wait for her.” Hopping off her lounger, she grabbed her laptop and her bag and scurried after him as fast as her espadrilles would allow. It wasn’t terribly dignified, but Mason in a playful mood was appealing, and they both knew she had no willpower. He smelled like coconut and spice today, which was another vote in his favor. Mason always smelled so good—how could she resist?

  When she caught up with him, she slid her hand into his. Mason stared at their linked fingers, no expression visible on his face. Playing poker with him would be inadvisable, unless it was a game of strip poker and she wanted to lose. Making a mental note of that new, fabulous idea, she reached up with her free hand and poked at the corner of his mouth. He raised a brow.

  She shrugged. “You should smile when we’re holding hands.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?” He looked down at where they were joined and a shiver worked its way up her spine, her nipples doing a little happy-to-see-Mason dance. She’d bet he knew it, too, because when he dragged his gaze back up her body, he paused at her bikini top.

  “What else would you call this?” She held their hands up.

  “Towing me?” But a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. And, okay, somehow she was in front of him, leading. The guy wasn’t wrong.

  “You don’t even know where we’re going,” he pointed out, taking over.

  “What’s the point in going slow?”

  “Someday, I’m going to show you.”

  “Promises,” she said lightly. That was the problem with Mason. He said these things, but then he didn’t follow up. So it was entirely possible that he did just see her as one of the guys, and that his teasing was just that—teasing—and not a preview of coming attractions.

  He led her inside the resort’s gourmet restaurant. It was closed right now in the three-hour window between lunch and dinner, but its emptiness made it easier to appreciate the way it fronted the lagoon with picture-perfect views of the water. It was a romantic place to dine, with rattan furniture, white tablecloths and crystal. Her first thought was that he wanted to show her a new place setting. Or point out the view. Maybe even run a menu by her, which might be fun. But...other than Mason and herself, the restaurant was empty—except for the cakes lined up with neat precision on a table. Five miniature, ornate, magazine-worthy wedding cakes.

  “Is there going to be some mass cultlike wedding later today? Because I have to admit, that wasn’t quite how I imagined my wedding.”

  Dropping her hand, he exhaled roughly, as if maybe she’d pushed him a wee bit too far. When she sneaked a peek at his face, however, he looked as calm and controlled as always. Which was too bad. She really liked the idea of Mason hot and bothered. Out of his element. She fidgeted with her top, smoothing the V that exposed her boobs, and his eyes dipped briefly.

  Gotcha.

  “You write a wedding blog,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “Give the man a cookie.”

  “So I asked the pastry chef to bake you some cakes. You can sample them for the blog. Take some pictures.” He shrugged as though it was no big deal, but it had to have taken hours to bake and decorate these. And he’d convinced the pastry chef to do this for her? Holy. Wow. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. Then equally quickly let go. The man’s mad organizational skills were not an invitation to touch, although they were technically dating, right? In a normal universe, that meant she got snuggling privileges. While her imagination started fantasizing some creative and potentially naughty scenarios, she set her bag on the floor, grabbed her camera and got busy.

  “Describe each one for me.” She zoomed in for a close-up.

  He pointed. “Lemon. Red velvet. White chocolate with raspberry. Coconut and lime. Vanilla.”

  Those weren’t descriptions. They were lists. Of adjectives. It was kind of cute.

  “Do you guys bake a lot of wedding cakes here?”

  He shrugged, as though he’d produced a tray of simple cupcakes. “The pastry chef baked these. He didn’t complain, so we’re good.”

  He grabbed a knife and a plate and advanced on Cake Row, clearly ready to start slicing and dicing.

  She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt. “Wait. It seems a shame to eat them.”

  “Cake is for eating. I can get more.”

  God. She could love a man like that. Who knew cake was so bad for her? Without waiting for an answer, he expertly sliced her a thin wedge from each cake and motioned her to a table. She felt a surge of something, and it wasn’t just cake lust. She sat on the edge of the table and the first bite was heaven. Lemon and vanilla. Not too heavy and just the right amount of frosting with some kind of almond cream between the layers. Possibly she moaned, because he grinned.

  She was halfway through the second slice when she realized he was leaning against the wall, watching her. She liked cake. She wasn’t afraid to own that, although she definitely got the feeling that she might like Mason even more. His gaze dropped to her mouth as she slid the frosting-covered tines between her lips.

  “You’re not eating.” Granted, he didn’t look as though he ate c
ake. A body like his probably came from a diet of wheatgrass and protein bars.

  He looked calm and unruffled, a sexy ocean of cool. She’d dated good-looking guys before. But Mason was different. He was actually a nice guy. Thoughtful. Sweet in a take-it-or-leave-it kind of way. She budged the cake on her plate toward him. Nope. Cake wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Hello? Cake. Hungry isn’t a prerequisite.”

  He reached down and snagged a bite of hers. “Satisfied?”

  Not even a little.

  “This is fantastic,” she said, giving up on the idea of self-restraint and moving on to the third slice.

  A grin tugged at his mouth. “You’re the expert.”

  “I am. Do you have any idea of how many weddings I’ve been to in the past year?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “Thirteen.”

  He smiled. “That’s a lot of cake.”

  “Yeah.” She pointed to her butt. “And I’m packing most of it with me.”

  His gaze dipped south for a moment. “Then, cake is a good look for you.”

  Perfect answer.

  “Let’s play twenty questions,” she said, needing to distract herself before she said something she regretted.

  He gave her an amused look. “Is this where you ask me boxers or briefs? Or how I feel about kinky sex?”

  “I won’t ask you anything I won’t answer myself,” she said instead of yes, please. She could show some restraint.

  “You don’t seem to have much of a filter,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if it was merely an observation or a complaint. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. He did that a lot—put himself on the sidelines and just watched. She preferred to be in the center of things.

  “Tell me about your sisters.” She’d start him off with the easy stuff. She had plenty of practice with getting-to-know-you stuff. The thirteen bridesmaid gigs had meant thirteen groomsmen to chat up.

  Mason hesitated, and her internal warning system blared an alert. She realized he didn’t have to share personal details with her, but she craved that kind of closeness, too.

  “Are the details a state secret? Are they performing superninja stealth missions for Uncle Sam?” She licked the frosting off the fork and eyed the fourth slice that was pink and white with a caramelized raspberry. “Hint...you already told me how many siblings you have, unless you’ve buried one in the basement and are debating whether or not you should include her in your count. Older? Younger? Let’s start there.”

  “All older.” His mouth curved up in a rueful grin. “I’m an uncle a half dozen times over. I’m also your man if you need a makeup test dummy, someone to paint your nails or muscle to explain dating rules to your boyfriend.”

  “How many are married?” She forked up another bite of cake. God. How could this slice be even better than the other two?

  “Three of them. The fourth’s still looking.” He clenched his jaw. “Personally, I don’t think anyone’s good enough for any of them, but I was told my opinion didn’t count.”

  “You’d interview every guy in your hometown for her, wouldn’t you?”

  “That’s my job, although San Francisco is a big place.”

  “You’re from the city?”

  “Originally,” he said. “I’ve moved around some for work.”

  “I’m from Burlington,” she mumbled around a mouthful of cake that was so good that her eyes might just possibly be rolling back in her head. Whatever culinary school he’d gone to had taught him magic. “In Vermont. And, in case you were planning on asking, we don’t have more cows than people there. We’re a perfectly respectable lakeside city.”

  “Duly noted.” He deftly sliced a third cake, sliding the fluffy wedge onto a clean plate. “Coconut,” he said. “With pineapple cream in between the layers.”

  “Have you lived in San Francisco all your life?”

  He shook his head. “We moved there after my father died. He was a hotshot firefighter until he was killed in a wildfire flashover. My mom packed up my sisters and me and took us to a house in Ocean Beach. Nine hundred square feet. One bathroom. Five women and me. I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call us in to the cops once a week just for the noise.”

  “You? Breaking the law? I’m shocked.” She took a bite of cake and moaned.

  He ran his thumb over the corner of her mouth, capturing an errant trace of frosting. “There’s plenty you don’t know about me, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  “I’LL PLAY. DID YOU get your start as a chef in San Francisco?”

  With a mischievous grin, Maddie pulled her legs up to her chest, hugging her knees to herself because God forbid she use an actual chair. Her bikini was little more than a strip of white wrapped around her boobs with another tease-worthy strip hugging her ass. The sarong thing appeared to be held together by a series of big, loopy bows that had his fingers itching to unwrap her. The thin fabric revealed more than it concealed, starting with a spray of sun freckles that began on her chest, and he wanted to kiss his way up. Distracting her from asking any more questions would be an added bonus.

  “Red velvet and yes, in San Francisco,” he said and handed her another plate. Surprising her with thoughtful gestures and presents? Another item checked off the perfect-boyfriend list.

  She scowled at him as if he was the devil passing out apples in the Garden of Eden. “Your metabolism isn’t fair.”

  If he was smart, he wouldn’t touch that one. He knew how much PT he did each day. His body was a tool. A means to get the job done. Concentrate on slicing the cake. Don’t think about kissing her.

  “When’s the last wedding you went to?” she asked, licking frosting off her lower lip.

  My own. Yeah. That wasn’t the answer she was gunning for and he didn’t need a Cosmo article to know that bringing up his ex wouldn’t endear him to Maddie. There was no explaining how naive he’d been at eighteen. Raised to be a stand-up guy, he’d dropped to one knee as soon as he got his high school diploma, produced a ring for his first girlfriend and popped the question. She’d accepted, but neither of them had been really ready for what had come after the vows. He’d done his best, including joining the Navy, because that had seemed like his best shot at a steady paycheck.

  That early marriage had ended in annulment two years after he’d shipped out. He’d been away from home more often than not, and the long separations had been hard on Bethany. He hadn’t known how to fix it, so they’d let each other go and moved on. It was water under the bridge, and it had taught him some important lessons about relationships. He still loved sex and appreciated a beautiful woman—he just had one rule. Don’t fall in love. Besides, getting shot, stabbed and banged up was worth it because keeping people like Maddie safe was the most important thing he could ever do.

  Instead of answering, he shoved a piece of cake into her mouth with his fingers. Maddie, being Maddie, couldn’t just eat it and maybe tell him it was the best cake ever. Instead, she curled her tongue around his finger and—Jesus—sucked his finger clean. He felt the sensual tug all the way to his dick, and possibly somewhere a little more north. Like his heart.

  Since that was dangerously close to violating the don’t-fall-in-love rule, he did something out of character. He traced her cleavage with a frosting-covered finger. She didn’t pull back, either, as he drew a swirl of sugar and cream over her skin. Just watched the progress of his finger as he skimmed lower.

  “Are we friends?”

  He thought about that for a moment, then thought about pressing his mouth against the sweet spot he’d created. Licking her clean—or very, very dirty—definitely trumped anything else he’d rather be doing right now.

  “Absolutely,” he said, confused.

>   “Just friends?” She narrowed her eyes and he got the feeling that his answer mattered a hell of a lot. Back it up, sailor. If the answer mattered, he wanted to give it some thought.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “I feel the need to check because—” she shrugged, as if it was no big deal, as if he wasn’t stroking his finger up and down the warm V of her breasts “—I’ve made this mistake before.”

  “We’re a mistake?”

  Because he really didn’t think so.

  She blushed, the bright pink a really interesting combination with her red hair. It was actually kind of cute, although he’d bet she was mad about the blush. Maddie liked being in control, and she definitely preferred being the person saying something outrageous. He kind of liked being the one to shock her for a change.

  Funny how smiling seemed to be his usual condition when he was around Maddie. She made him feel good. She also made him hard but, if he was really lucky, she might be willing to help him with that particular problem.

  “I’d like to have sex with you,” he admitted gruffly, withdrawing his finger and stepping closer. “I’d also like to get to know you better, because I like you. The friends part is good, too.”

  “Friends with possibilities,” she said, sounding happy.

  He felt a surge of something he decided to label as lust, and reached for her sarong. The little bow-tie knot had been driving him crazy. Thank God she tied lousy knots. One firm tug and the fabric parted, pooling around her so she just sat there cross-legged in her bikini.

  “You want to have possibilities right here?” She sounded slightly scandalized. Good. Usually he was the one off balance around Maddie. It was nice to return the favor.

  He flashed a grin. “Are you offering?”

  “Maybe.” Her eyes darted around the restaurant. “But it seems kind of unhygienic to have sex on a table where people eat.”

  He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You really don’t have a filter, do you?”

  “Hey, I call it like I see it.” She leaned back on her elbows, propping one foot up on his shoulder. She had a tattoo inked over her left hip. He’d noticed it before, but he’d never been close enough to read the words hidden in the delicate swirl of flowers and...feathers. She had freakin’ feathers tattooed on her hip. Feathers that were excessive and bold and one flourish after another. He liked it.