by Anne Marsh
But the perfect woman? He had a bad feeling that he’d watched her gorgeous ass storm away from him on a naval cruiser. As soon as he’d gotten Maddie to the ship waiting off the coast of Belize, she’d walked away without so much as a backward glance, a muttered curse or an attempt to get even. He’d seen SEAL teams take a stretch of sand with less determination. Her initial hurt and anger weren’t unexpected, but her willingness to believe he cared for her? Yeah. That was a knee to the emotional balls he hadn’t realized he’d grown. A woman hadn’t made him think about playing for keeps since Bethany.
Which made this whole situation with Maddie difficult. He’d been pursuing her since he’d spotted her on Fantasy Island, and he wasn’t good at the whole dating thing. In fact, he pretty much sucked at it. The sex was fantastic, but he was seriously out of practice at having a relationship. Maybe he should have been asking Gray for pointers, because the last he’d heard, his lieutenant commander was getting mighty serious with the surgeon he’d met on Fantasy Island.
Levi eyed him. “You gonna sulk all night? Or are you just striving for perfection as the strong, silent type?”
“Don’t push your luck.” He wasn’t in the mood for Levi’s brand of shit.
“Okay.” Levi bumped his shoulder companionably. “Then, think less loudly about your AWOL girl, because your mental whining is louder than the skeeters they’re growing down here, and it’s clear Mr. Fantasy Fodder misses Maddie.”
“I’m never living that down, am I?”
“In about a century.” Levi sounded way too cheerful. “She took photos of your ass and shared them with ten thousand women. You’re an internet sensation.”
“I’m imagining introducing your head to my fists. Or the ground,” he growled.
Levi, being Levi, didn’t back off. Nope. He just wiggled his hips suggestively and kept right on talking as they sprinted toward the extract point. “You’re gonna have to watch out for the paparazzi next time you’re on the mainland. You’ll have women stuffing dollar bills in your wetsuit.”
“Maddie’s better off without me,” he said, because he wasn’t touching Levi’s vision of him as a male stripper.
His teammate blended into the shadows, dropping low as the Black Hawk started to drop overhead. “You bet. Santiago’s neutralized and she’s back on her home turf. She doesn’t need a bodyguard. If I was the kind of guy who had feelings, though, I’d tell you I was worried about you.”
Okay. Despite knowing that he should let her go because she deserved far better than his sorry ass, that didn’t really make him feel any better. Bottom line? He couldn’t stand the idea of losing her for good. He wanted to be with Maddie in ways that had nothing to do with standing guard from the shadows and everything to do with that relationship he didn’t know how to have.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Sure you do. You wait until the chopper is about two feet above the ground and then you run like hell, hoping the Marcos brothers haven’t hired a team of snipers to shoot at your fine ass.”
“Relationships,” he gritted out, surveying their surroundings. Given the lack of welcoming gunfire, he doubted the lack of movement inside the compound was a decoy. “I’m completely out of practice at having one. Hell, I’m reading articles from girlie magazines.”
“Actually, you’re following the directions.” From the gleeful expression on Levi’s face, the other SEAL was enjoying this way too much.
“Screw you,” he said, without heat, because Levi was right. It was kind of desperate, but this was Maddie... Apparently, he’d do whatever it took to win her. He hated the idea that he’d lost her.
“If we’re getting our grade school on, I need to tell you that I think Maddie likes you. I should probably write it down and pass the note to you in study hall, but I’ll give you the heads-up now since we’re going to be busy extracting later on.”
“She doesn’t like me.” Funny how that hurt. “She likes Mr. Fantasy Fodder, aka the guy pretending to be her perfect boyfriend based on a bunch of stupid magazine articles.”
“Wake-up call.” Levi forged ahead. “What did you do as the perfect boyfriend?”
“It’s not as though we had a real relationship.”
Levi grinned. “I’ll try it a different way. Did Mr. Fantasy Fodder do anything that Mason Black wouldn’t have done?”
Mason opened his mouth. Closed it. Because the answer, honestly, was no.
“I’m betting not,” Levi said quietly. “Which means it wasn’t a lie, was it? You’re still the same guy you were. She just had your job description wrong.”
Damn it. Levi actually had a point. Just because he’d never done well in the relationship department didn’t mean that what he and Maddie had had was any less real. It just wasn’t something he’d been ready to slap a label on.
“SEALs and relationships don’t mix.” He and Bethany had learned that together.
“It’s not easy.” The carefree smile vanished from Levi’s face. “It’s tough as hell, actually. We both know that, but you’ve got family stateside. They’re okay with waiting for you to come back, right? Maybe they’d rather have you full-time, but they understand you’ve got a job to do and that you’re gonna be back when and if you can.”
Yeah. He did. The emails always piled up in his account when he was on a mission, but they understood that he couldn’t communicate while he ran an op. But all those emails were just words, while he missed the little moments. An inbox full of photos couldn’t really make up for all of that.
“You think a woman like Maddie could do that?”
“There’s only one way to find out. You have to put it to her, see what she says. If you want to keep her.”
“Hooyah,” he growled, because keeping Maddie was apparently all he could think about.
He put on a tough act and, most days, he was tough. Tough like shoe leather, pizza that had been microwaved ten minutes instead of ten seconds, tough like Levi’s campfire steak. Sometimes, though, particularly when he checked those emails, saw those photos of his loved ones waiting for him back in San Francisco, he got a funny marshmallow feeling somewhere in his stomach.
Maddie was tough and funny—but she was also tremendously sweet and more than a little sentimental. She wrote about weddings and dresses, cakes and flowers and exotic honeymoons. All those things were about as foreign to him as clearing a compound in Afghanistan was to her. But he was willing to learn, not least because he enjoyed the hell out of her approach, both to cake and to life in general. She didn’t hold back. At all. Her sexy little whimper of pleasure at the first bite made him think dirty thoughts about what else—okay, who else—might make her moan. Like him. He’d start with her thighs and...
“I want to keep her.”
“Then, I highly recommend groveling.” Levi moved, heading for the open door of the chopper. “Go after her. Beg. Tell her she’s right, you’re wrong and you’d like to spend the rest of your sorry life making it up to her.”
It was a start. Mason jogged along behind him.
“When did you get so smart?”
The other man laughed and swung himself into the chopper. “I got married on Fantasy Island, remember?”
Right. That fucking perfect sunset and perfect moment on the beach. No way he’d forget that, or the way Maddie’s face had lit up when he’d kissed her afterward. She made these husky moans when he really got her going, purely unforgettable. Yeah. He’d be happy hearing those sexy sounds of hers again. Like once or twice a week, or once a day for the next forty years or so. The chopper lifted off, taking them away from the empty compound and their no-show target. BUD/S had prepared him for a compound full of hostiles, but nothing had prepared him for Maddie.
Groveling it was, just as soon as he could cart his sorry ass back to her.
15
Ladies, there is a reason Fantasy Island is all about fantasies. Fantasies are fun, but they’re not real life. I screwed up big time. Let’s just say that Mr. Fantasy Fodder was living a few fantasies of his own and he didn’t share those fantasies with me. I’m feeling kind of stupid right now. All that hot kinkiness must have short-circuited something critical in my brain, because when I opened my mouth the last time I saw FF, I asked him to marry me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s time to stop hiding my head, though, because I’ve got another wedding this weekend. I’ll be sure to report back to you with all the details about the wedding favors, the cake and the drunk groomsmen.
—MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle
THE WEDDING UNFOLDING in front of Maddie wasn’t on an island, or even remotely tropical. The bride had gone with a purple palette and there probably wasn’t a single orchid left in the entire state. She couldn’t bring herself to care that the bride had employed approximately fourteen different shades of purple in her color scheme. It was ambitious. It was kind of an eyesore. And it didn’t freaking matter, although the open bar was a plus.
The happy couple had waltzed down the aisle, and then the wedding guests had reassembled on the front lawn of what purported to be a fully functioning farm on a bona fide historic site. The big Victorian farmhouse looked more like a mansion, and most of the guests had booked rooms for the night. The bride had opted for a four-course dinner served under an enormous lilac tent, and fireworks would be shot off over nearby Lake Champlain when it got dark. As over-the-top fun as this particular wedding was, Maddie couldn’t bring herself to care.
As the best man had brought the room to tears describing the groom’s romantic proposal—something involving spelling out “Will you marry me?” in the snow with about two thousand tea lights—Maddie’s own head was replaying a never-ending loop of her own proposal. Now that the embarrassment had faded, she missed Mason. Sure, she wanted to kick his fine butt, but she ached for him, too.
Stop thinking about the SEAL.
Waiters were clearing away the remains of the dinner, and the happy couple would be cutting the cake soon. Maddie had wandered over and taken a look at it earlier, snapping pictures of the four layers of purple-fondant goodness with crystalized violets. Her blog followers would definitely have an opinion on this one, and it was her duty to taste test it for them. After her Fantasy Island stay, her blog traffic was way up, and she was finally bringing in enough money to keep both the lights and the water on.
“Where’s your date, honey?” Maddie looked over at her neighbor because, even though she’d heard that particular question at least a half dozen times since she’d stepped out of the limo in her purple bridesmaid dress, it still sent a stab of pain through her.
The bride’s aunt stared back at her expectantly. The elderly woman was almost swallowed up by the ruffles of her pastel dress, making it was clear where the bride had gotten her taste for colors from.
“I’m—” Flying solo. The words stuck in her throat.
“With me.” The deep male voice behind her was all too familiar. She’d dreamed about the bastard every night since she’d left Fantasy Island three weeks ago. Oh, no. For a moment, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she turned around, Mason was standing there. He wore a white dress uniform with a chestful of medals, a dark-brimmed hat with a gold trident insignia tucked under his arm. Given the number of female heads turning his way, she wasn’t hallucinating.
Maddie had no idea what to say to him. Her body didn’t seem to share the same problem though, and was already leaning toward him. It probably made her pathetic, but her heart did an up-and-down leap in her chest, all the anger washing away. He’d dressed up. He’d come to the wedding. She didn’t know what it meant, but he couldn’t possibly be here by accident.
Her breath caught in her throat, wheezing from her lungs in a little gasp of surprise.
“Tell me you’re not about to have an asthma attack,” he said mildly. “Because that’s the kind of thing that gives a guy a complex.”
She sucked in a deep breath. Forced it out. “What are you doing here?”
“Dancing with you?” He held out a hand and she caved completely, letting him pull her out of her chair and onto the floor. For a few moments, they just danced, Mason smoothly navigating them around two giggling flower girls who were tossing leftover rose petals at the dancers’ feet and an usher who had already hit the open bar too hard. The dancing was one of her favorite parts of the reception, everybody getting up and cutting loose because they were happy, there was music and it was always a good day when two people were willing to stand up and tell the whole world how much they loved each other. It also didn’t matter if you couldn’t dance or had no sense of rhythm, because you could get lost in the bobbing, weaving sea of tulle and poorly glued sequins.
He tugged on one of the ribbon straps holding up her dress. “Nice color.”
She didn’t want to talk about her dress.
“Why are you here?” And why was she dancing with him?
“Can I show you something?”
“Is that code for something dirty?” Instinctively, she fell back into the sexy banter they’d shared on the island. She’d kind of used up her honesty quota when she’d proposed to him.
He stared at her somberly. “Not yet,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or not. Instead, he maneuvered her to the edge of the dance floor and then out of the reception tent altogether. It was almost dark, the stars popping out in the sky overhead. He walked her over the lawn, toward the formal gardens that edged the woods. The rich scent of roses and lavender filled the air. Purple aside, the bride had picked a gorgeous spot for a wedding.
“So,” she murmured. “You wanted to play show-and-tell?”
Because they were a long way from Fantasy Island, whatever he wanted to show her had to be good. He dropped her hand and shrugged out of his dress jacket. When he handed it to her, she couldn’t stop herself from smoothing the fabric with her fingertips, the material warm from his skin. She shrugged into the jacket, trying to tamp down the feeling of anticipation spreading through her. Maybe he’d just stopped by to say hello. Two thousand miles from where he’d last seen her.
It was possible. Lots of things were possible.
“You really are a SEAL.”
He shot her a look. “Yeah. I am.”
It fit him—and it also explained a lot. Things like the way he moved with such purpose, and his confidence underwater. The way he’d pinned her so effortlessly when she’d surprised him sleeping. While he went to work on his sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff, she asked the question that had been bothering her.
“So you’re not a chef?”
“I love to cook.” A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “I wasn’t kidding about the four sisters. They loved to eat. I loved to make them happy.”
He shoved his sleeve up and held his arm out. Black and pink—pink—words scrolled across his inner forearm: “That’s how much I love you.” He’d finished the Ogden Nash poem inked on her hip. Her heart gave a pathetic little stutter while other parts of her melted.
“I looked up the rest of your poem,” he said gruffly. “And I thought I needed to tell you that’s how much I love you, too.”
Too. She ran her fingers lightly over his skin. The tattoo had healed, so he must have done it almost as soon as she’d left.
“But you don’t like needles.” Stupid.
He shook his head. “No. I don’t. But I like you. Hell, Maddie, read the words. I more than like you.”
She kept waiting to wake up, because she’d had some pretty awesome dreams about him these past few weeks, but she didn’t, and reality was apparently better than anything she could concoct on her own. “You have to say it or it doesn’t count.”
He pulled her up against him. “Is tha
t so? Because I want you back, and you should know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Tell me I’m not too late.”
“That’s a good start.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry it took me longer than it did you to figure out that what we have is something rare and truly special. I’m sorry I made you propose first, when I should have known it was a privilege to love you and that I was a crazy fool to let you go when I could have held on.” He tightened his arms around her. “How am I doing so far?”
“You’re getting warmer. Keep going.”
“We’re supposed to be together. I love you and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you.” He swept her backward into a deep, passionate kiss that rocked her world. Rocked her heart.
Long minutes later, when he broke off their kiss and rested his forehead against hers, she felt too much. The emotions rushing through her made her heart swell and bang against her rib cage. Mason had come for her.
“One more thing,” he said.
“Okay.” Why had he stopped? And why was he still talking?
“I’m a US Navy SEAL.”
Yeah. She could see that for herself. “Kind of showed me back there on the island,” she reminded him.
“It’s who I am,” he continued thickly. “I don’t know if I’ll serve for five years or fifty, but it’s part of me, part of who I am. I need to know you’re good with that.”
“Waiting for you?” God. He was going to have to yell his answer, because her heart was thundering in her ears.
He held her gaze, as though her next words were more important than any mission go. “Yes. In our bed, in our house. I’d like to tell you that we’ll figure it out, that it maybe gets easier with time and with practice, but I don’t know. I’ve never had to be the one waiting and it’s every bit as hard as being the guy out there in the field.”
