Pleasing Her SEAL

by Anne Marsh

  “Do you want it to be?” She returned her attention to the contents of the box. Unfortunately for her curiosity, he’d left the BDSM arsenal in the hotel gift shop.

  “You don’t want to play games with me, sweetheart.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

  “I always win.” Even before BUD/S training, he’d learned the value of winning. Older sisters were merciless when triumphant.

  “Don’t be so sure of that, either.” She grinned cheekily at him. “Your pancakes are bubbling. Even I know that means it’s time to flip.”

  Shit. He rescued the pancakes, turning them over and adding the chocolate chips, before setting out a plate.

  She watched him work, swinging a bare foot. She pouted. “You’re not eating with me? Because it’s just wrong to ignore chocolate chips.”

  Silently he added a second plate to the counter. Guess he could be tempted after all.

  * * *

  MAYBE SHE COULD blame Fantasy Island. Maybe the place simply had sex in the air, like perfume at the mall. Or maybe Maddie was just lonely. That last option wasn’t her favorite, but she had to admit the possibility. Her recent dating history consisted of long stretches of drought peppered with spectacular failures. Since working from home on her blog ruled out a workplace romance, she’d had to rely on the guys she met at weekend weddings. While she found a guy in a tux as hot as the next woman did, she’d also discovered that a tux was a version of dating wallpaper. The sexy suit covered up a wealth of issues. She didn’t need another DIY fixer-upper man.

  Been there, done that.

  A year ago, she’d naively thought her then boyfriend had been on the proposal train. Unfortunately, the special dinner she’d anticipated all week had turned out to be the breakup dinner. He’d picked up the check, though, after explaining that he’d accepted a work transfer to the other side of the country—and that he thought they should take a break while he “got settled.” She’d ordered both the lobster and the Kir Royal cocktail. Three times. The rest of the night had been a mindless blur, although she’d apparently drunk texted her sisters the sorry details of her sex life. Twelve months later, she still hadn’t lived those texts down.

  Hot vacation sex with Mason might seem like the best of ideas, but it could all too easily end like her last relationship. Being the punch line in a bad joke wasn’t funny. At all. She had an adjective for every finger on her hand for wrestling Mason into bed: risky, impulsive and...tingly. While she’d enjoyed the casual postwedding hookup, Mason was dangerous to her peace of mind. Once might not be enough with him.

  Maybe it was all the weddings. Thirteen of them in eighteen months. Once upon a time, weddings had been her favorite way to spend a Saturday, but she was tired of standing on the sidelines. Tired of watching other people hook up and live out their fantasies. She didn’t need a groom of her own, but a man? Temporarily? That worked for her. Where was the harm in borrowing Mason for the rest of her vacation? The hunk definitely brought out her inner tease.

  Bad Maddie.

  He was big and built, powerful shoulders flexing beneath his white T-shirt. She had no idea how he stayed so pristine in the kitchen. There wasn’t a smear of flour or chocolate on him anywhere she could see. It was like her own personal challenge to see if she could crack his stoic surface and mess him up. Only in the best possible ways, she thought virtuously. Nothing mean or petty. Just...sexy.

  God, was he ever sexy.

  And that was before he said the magic words. “Strawberries or whipped cream?” The smile quirking the corner of his mouth was downright naughty. “Or both?”

  “You have to ask?” Because, seriously, was there more than one possible answer?

  “A vote for both.” With a flourish, he spread strawberries over the topmost pancakes and followed with whipped cream, and not the kind from the aerosol bottle. Nope. He had a fancy stainless-steel number that promised all sorts of dairy goodness. There was definitely something to be said for a man who cooked. He picked up the two plates and nodded his head toward the small table. “Sit down.”

  Fresh whipped cream was a motivator. She hopped off the counter and sat at the table.

  He wasn’t much of a talker. He didn’t open up and tell her all about himself, or even share the usual dating details like favorite movies, favorite songs or favorite sexual positions. Instead, he sat there and listened. She told herself that wasn’t a turn-on, but really...yeah. It was.

  “What made you decide to blog about weddings?”

  “I was laid off. I knew how to type.” She wiggled her French-manicured fingers at him. “And I had a stack of wedding invitations as high as Bill Mountain.”

  “A fresh start.” He nodded grimly, as if he understood, although she had to wonder what he’d ever failed at. He seemed pretty darn perfect to her.

  She and failure, on the other hand, were BFFs. She’d been an executive assistant before the software start-up folded. No Silicon Valley billionaire had crossed her path, although she’d had a few conference room fantasies to go with a social life that consisted of online dating, dating apps and friends of friends. She gave good first dates, but guys didn’t call back. Or email back, text back or IM her back, and it was partly her fault. She knew what she wanted in a man and she knew she had things to offer. He’d be honest and reliable and, when she was around him, she’d feel safe enough to be herself. He’d like her first, and then he’d love her. In exchange for all of himself, she’d offer up all she had. She definitely wouldn’t have sex just because or to cross the next step off in some dating checklist. But even if she was looking for Mr. Right, she’d also settle for an attractive Mr. Right Now as long as he came with an orgasm for two.

  “Bills are an excellent motivator,” she admitted softly.

  He laughed. “Yeah. Electricity and running water are kind of addictive.”

  She’d marked the date on her calendar when she’d earned enough from affiliate marketing to pay her rent. Forget celebrating dating anniversaries—because that had been a day to remember.

  “Why weddings?” he continued. “Other than a pressing need to keep the lights on.”

  “You don’t think I’m a personal expert?”

  He gave her another lazy grin. “Are you admitting to being a serial bride?”

  “I was a bona fide expert. I’d been to a dozen in five months because my college friends paired off like randy rabbits. I’d also worn out my copy of Wedding Crashers and thought, ‘I could do that.’ One big party with free food and bad dresses, right? Then I found out that I actually like weddings. I like the food, the flowers, the really bad and over-the-top dresses. And, yes, I like the look the groom gets on his face when he sees his bride walking up the aisle toward him.” She paused. “Does that scare you?”

  He finished his last pancake and stole a bite of hers. “Not particularly. Is this where your other dates run screaming for the exit?”

  “Honestly? Yeah.” She sighed. Blogging about weddings was like having the best-ever paper-dolls set, where she could try on all the clothes and the locations for herself, but without committing. Guys, however, seemed to assume she had to score a ring of her own ASAP. At the very least, they expected an endless series of boring Saturdays dressed up in a tuxedo. And while she wanted to find The One and get hitched, it didn’t have to happen this week, this month or even this year. Just...sometime. Sometime would be good.

  “Who knew?” He’d eaten with neat efficiency, dividing each pancake into even sections. Finished, he lined up his knife and fork on the edge of the plate with military precision.

  She, on the other hand, had only a passing familiarity with the word neat. It had zero practical applications to her everyday life. She pointed a fork at him. “Finish your thought.”

  “That someone could make a living writing about weddings on the
internet.”

  “Not a good living,” she muttered. “This Fantasy Island gig is my shot at serious advertising revenue. If I do a good job here, other clients should follow. Hopefully before the electric company turns off my power.”

  He laughed. “So you’re the Pied Piper of the blogosphere.”

  “Except the Pied Paper was kind of creepy—and he had thousands of rats following him.” She, on the other hand, had an entourage of one. “You’re a good listener.” Whoops. The words had come out more accusation than not.

  He shrugged. “I have sisters.”

  And she’d bet they worshipped him. The twinkle in his eyes said the feeling was mutual. “How many?”

  “Too many?” A smile tugged at his gorgeous mouth as he relaxed, his arms stretched out over the back of the bench. His bare feet brushed against hers. He was in her space.

  And she liked it.

  “Four,” he continued. “I have four sisters. A mother. Three aunties and three female cousins. I get plenty of practice listening.”

  She could just imagine. “No wonder you’re not much of a talker.”

  “Pick a topic.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re willing to make a blanket commitment to talking about anything?”

  “You’re right. That could get me in trouble.” He pushed to his feet. Oh, yum. All smooth male power. “I should clean up.”

  No. He should get really, really dirty.

  “I have a few ideas.” Reaching out, she hooked a finger in the hem of his T-shirt.

  “Of where to start?” Now he looked amused. Or maybe that was the strawberry smear she’d just deposited on his shirt. Switching hands, she stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean. He made a hoarse sound as if he felt the pull of her mouth in interesting places.

  Definitely not interested in letting go. “Are you cursing?”

  “I’m cleaning,” he said firmly, grabbing her plate as if she didn’t have a stranglehold on his shirt.

  She tugged a little harder. Come closer. “You need one of those maid’s aprons.”

  “You see me in white-and-black frills? Besides, I think that might count as sexual harassment.” He set the plates down and freed his shirt. She couldn’t help but notice, however, that he didn’t step back.

  “Are you complaining?” Because if he was, she could take the hint.

  He shook his head, gave her a mock-stern look. “I should.”

  “You have whipped cream on your mouth.” Since he was so conveniently close...she tucked her fingers in the waistband of his pants and pulled. No need for words—his new position put him almost on eye level with her.

  “Bossy,” he said with another one of his slow, sexy smiles. And then, “Prove it.”

  She loved a good dare.

  “Right here.” She scooped up whipped cream from her plate and pressed a fingertip against the corner of his mouth. “I’ll help you with it.”

  Mason’s eyes darkened and he slammed his hands down on either side of her legs, leaning in. His shoulders pressed her thighs wide and she fought the urge to drape them over his shoulders and tell him to dive on in, but she didn’t want to put him off. She knew what she liked and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it, but some guys were scared off by that. It was their loss, but if Mason was a card-carrying member of the Men With Small Penises Club, their pancake-eating fun would be over.

  On the other hand...she had Fantasy Island’s hunkiest guy almost on his knees in front of her. How could she not take advantage of that? Every romantic chick flick she’d seen flashed through her head, followed by more than one scene from her favorite romance novel. She really shouldn’t tease him, but her body ignored the caution and leaned closer and closer until she ran the risk of falling off the chair and all she could see was Mason. God, he was gorgeous.

  And he was kissing distance away, his chiseled lips mere inches from hers.

  Since her mouth was so close to his, she brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. He inhaled. Exhaled something that might have been her name. Yes, please, her hormones sang and she licked him, bracing her hands against his hard, warm shoulders just so she wouldn’t topple him to the floor. He tasted sweet, a sweet that was deceptive because, darn it, there was absolutely, positively nothing sweet about Mason. He was 100 percent trouble, even kneeling before her.

  “Problem solved,” she whispered and kissed him.

  5

  “YOU’RE ASKING FOR TROUBLE.” The gruff words came out of Mason’s mouth uninvited. He didn’t know why he was complaining. He wasn’t opposed to kissing. In fact, completing his mission practically called for it, what with the whole “make her feel butterflies” plan. This was also the part where he kept her busy with his mouth and won her trust, so he had an ironclad reason for sticking by her side. Plus, over her shoulder, he could see the front door open silently as Levi slid inside and made for the coffee table to swap the laptops.

  She smiled down at him. Not a teasing grin, but a big, wide smile that lit up her pretty face and made him want to smile right back. It was hard not to get pulled into Maddie’s orbit. She was Planet Sexy to his Moon of... Christ. He didn’t know. He sucked at metaphors. Or whatever.

  She ran her finger over his bottom lip and heat streaked through him, almost driving all nonsexual thoughts out of his head. “I prefer to think of it as creative rule bending.”

  Maddie was the best kind of trouble, her fingers skimming over his mouth, leaving whipped cream and destruction in her wake. How the hell was he supposed to stick to the plan now? He sucked her finger into his mouth, exploring her skin with his tongue. When he bit gently, she moaned. And smiled again. He had a bad feeling she’d let him do far more than simply kiss her. Was he that much of a jackass that he’d seduce her in the name of his mission?

  “What’s the punishment for getting in trouble?” Blissfully unaware of his inner dilemma or the SEAL leaving her living room with a quick flash of the finger, she caught his lower lip between her teeth and bit right back. Jesus. She wasn’t shy at all. A bright, hot flare of pleasure shot straight from his mouth to his dick. He didn’t know if that had been her intention, but damn, she was good. And...screw the mission. Poor choice of words. He put his hands on her thighs and slid his palms up over smooth, silky skin. Her barely there shorts were no barrier, more like a teasing end goal. He could keep touching her, have his fingers beneath the cotton in seconds, and then... She gave a purr of approval.

  “Go on a date with me.” The words shot out of his mouth before he could bite them back. He wanted it all, right now.

  She nibbled on her lower lip, clearly thinking about his offer. And...so much for restraint or sticking to the plan. The plan had been a terrible idea. The worst ever. Kissing her, on the other hand, was the best. He slanted his lips over hers and she gave a sigh of pleasure, melting into him.

  Her new position pulled her off balance and he liked that, too. Damn it. She was half perched on her chair and he was crouched before her. Her nails dug into his shoulder as she reached for him.

  “I like a man on his knees.”

  She clearly thought she had the upper hand, but he was happy to prove her wrong. He reached, too, cupping her neck with his hand and bringing her face down to his. He gave her three seconds to decide whether or not she wanted this and to fall back, but all she did was exhale softly, her gaze fixed on his mouth. Definitely a yes in his book. Since she apparently liked her kisses sweet, and whatever she liked was more than fine by him, he swiped a finger of whipped cream from his plate and painted the stuff over her mouth.

  “Oh.” She sounded pleased, her lashes fluttering shut in delicate submission.

  Slowly, he closed the distance between them, spinning out the moment because she was so goddamned pretty, brushing his lips over hers again, when she finall
y remembered to breathe and exhaled. Her mouth was slick and sugar sweet, a wicked invitation to explore. Unable to resist, he licked her bottom lip, drinking in her husky moan. The sultry little sound cut off, as if she wasn’t so sure about letting go for him. He’d just have to convince her. He made a list of the places he could coat her with whipped cream, starting with her lovely breasts and moving south.

  He pressed his mouth against hers and her lips parted. A little more pressure and he was in, his tongue tangling with hers. Deeper, hotter. He tasted the sugary bite of the cream and something else that was all Maddie. She was a bright, hot flavor, like sunshine and happiness, and he had absolutely no basis for comparison. He was no kissing virgin, but Maddie was someone special. He recognized that truth even as he stroked his tongue into her mouth, taking more. She was addictive, too.

  With a whimper of encouragement, she met him, giving as good as she got, and, dear God, he was a lucky man. The morning was perfect. She was as sweet as she tasted, although he already knew she had a side of sass and tart and would kick his ass if she ever found out about the undercover SEAL mission. He’d deserve it, too, but right now he had Maddie in his arms and no way he was giving that up. He might have offered pancakes under false pretenses, but there was nothing fake about their kiss.

  When he broke away, her lips clung to his as if she wasn’t done with him yet. Thank God. He wasn’t done with her, not by a long shot.

  “You got an answer for me, sugar?” Yes worked for him. Tonight was even better.

  Her lashes drifted up slowly, as if she was lost somewhere pleasurable, in another world. He found that incredibly intoxicating. He’d touch her for hours, love on her every way possible. He rubbed a trace of cream he’d missed with his thumb, relishing the way she turned into the little caress.

  “Remind me of the question.” She sounded dazed and content. Damned if he didn’t like that, too.