Pleasing Her SEAL

by Anne Marsh

  “I’d like to see you again,” he said gruffly. He was no Mr. Suave, but he meant every word. Hell, it was the understatement of the year. He more than liked. He needed. He...was in over his head.

  * * *

  “YOU WANT ME to go out with you?” It was official. Kisses could make a gal stupid and her brain had stopped working somewhere about half a kiss ago. Maybe that had something to do with the man on his knees before her, his thumbs stroking a naughty pattern over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. So good. She was on fire for him, needing and achy in ways she hadn’t felt for months. Years. He lifted her hand to his mouth, gently sucking the last bit of whipped cream from her finger. Oh. His lips moved, repeating something, but English wasn’t on her radar right now.

  “On a date,” he said, his mouth brushing over hers again.

  Whatever he wanted, a million times yes, as long as it meant more kisses now. When she didn’t answer right away, he continued, “I’ve decided that you said yes. Or at least ‘I’ll think about it’ or ‘maybe.’ Because the way you kissed me back? That wasn’t a ‘when hell freezes over and thaws out again.’” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and stood up.

  “Um. Wait. You’re leaving?” Because that definitely hadn’t been part of her fantasy when she’d put herself out there. She’d moved full steam ahead to bedroom things. And orgasm things. She might not be good at long-term relationships and her dating skills were a bit rusty, but her bedroom skills? Rocked.

  Plus, as soon as she got back from Fantasy Island, she had her fourteenth wedding of the year to attend and she was once again going solo, so she deserved a Mason-size treat right now. She could totally do sex.

  With this man.

  It was true that around him she felt like the sexiest woman in the world. But despite the heated sensations coursing through her body, he made her feel something else, too. Something...warm. And entirely unfamiliar. He needed to stay so she could figure it all out.

  “Afraid so, sweetheart.”

  “But what if I’m not done kissing you?”

  “More kisses could be arranged.” The man had an impressive serious face. Still, how hard could it be to talk him into more kissing? He was a guy. He was biologically hardwired to put out.

  She stared up at him for a moment before bolting to her feet. Staying where she was put him in a serious power position. “How about now?”

  He started across the room, clearly not on board with the take-Mason-to-bed plan, and suddenly she didn’t feel so sexy anymore. The fun was gone and what she felt was—

  Disappointment.

  Instead of making for the door, however, he grabbed her phone from its precarious resting spot beside her bag.

  “I’m going to give you my number,” he said. “Unlock your phone for me.”

  The “tell, don’t ask” approach shouldn’t have been such a turn-on, but she nodded her head and tapped in the passcode to her phone when he handed it to her. Really, he was every bit as pushy as she was. He just did it more nicely. Sucker, a little voice in her head catcalled. Sexual drought, other parts of her chanted right back.

  He gave her a small, crooked smile that made her melt in all the best places. Then he typed in a number and handed her phone back to her. “Call me.”

  What was wrong with right now?

  “I have to go to work,” he continued, as if he’d read her mind.

  Which was scary. Her head thought up things she had positively no intention of sharing with anyone, even if the “anyone” in question was six feet plus of masculine hotness. Of course, if she wanted to share any of those fantasies with him, she was going to have to call him after all, because he hotfooted it out her door as if his mighty fine ass was on fire.

  * * *

  USUALLY MASON LOVED his job, but the slow pace of this particular mission made him itch. Fast rope in, M4 at the ready, clear the site, secure the target and extract. That was his favorite mode. Instead, he was stuck on an island holding daily meetings as if he’d taken up residence in the corner office of a skyscraper.

  It took almost twenty minutes to reach the camp. For a small private island, the place had a surprising amount of jungle. He eased a vine out of his way and moved past palm trees, palm trees and more palm trees. Fantasy Island also had a large selection of tropical plants, too many bugs and howler monkeys that chattered more than his sisters. Good times. When he finally stepped into the clearing, he found Levi leaned back against a palm tree, disassembling a M4—with the business end of a second gun trained on Mason’s heart. The man wasn’t their weapons expert for nothing. Sam, the team medic, crouched beside him. It was always good to have someone to pass out the Band-Aids.

  “You might want to ring the doorbell and let a guy know you’re coming,” Levi drawled.

  If Levi wanted a fight, Mason was more than happy to give him one. After all, he hadn’t been trying to chat up a perfectly nice woman so he could rummage through her stuff. He slapped the magazine article against the other man’s chest. “Being the perfect boyfriend was a spectacularly bad idea.”

  He didn’t do boyfriend. Which, apparently, was just fine with Maddie. Maybe it was all the women in his life already, but when a guy had as many sisters and female cousins as he did, it was hard to not imagine how he’d feel if that was his sister and some guy was coming on to her under false pretenses. Maddie was cute and funny, and he’d run out of her villa before he gave in to temptation. Taking advantage of what she was offering was wrong. Really, really wrong and ten flavors of tempting. Damn it.

  Levi flipped him the bird. “Implementation issues?”

  “I implemented just fine.” Including the part where he’d passed off a burner phone as his personal phone number. That was definitely a new low there.

  “Uh-huh.” Levi slotted the magazine into the stock and sighted down the barrel. “Then, why are you bitching?”

  “She’s off-limits.”

  “Morals. Nice. I’ll see you with this—she’s a nosy photographer who does not have a cache of incriminating photographs parked on her hardware, although she may be the only person on the island who can identify the brother of a notorious drug dealer.” Levi didn’t look up from his weapon. “Our objective was to confirm the existence or nonexistence of said cache and take appropriate follow-up action, while simultaneously preventing Santiago from taking her out. We’re halfway to our goal, FYI.”

  Nicely put. “Her laptop was clean?”

  Levi shrugged. “Except for copies of the time-lapse photos we already know about. Ashley installed a program to reroute all her outbound internet through the CIA. She’ll think she has crappy vacation internet, we’ll look at her stuff before she posts and everyone lives happily ever after unless it turns out that Santiago is on the island.”

  “I’ll stick to her like white on rice. If I’m not with her, one of you has eyes on her. Do we have an update on Santiago’s whereabouts?” Comfort-wise, sitting here beat the hell out of waiting in a foxhole, swimming in sand or shit, but it was boring. The most fun he’d had was his fake date with Maddie yesterday, but he wasn’t the guy she thought he was, and he knew she wouldn’t understand the reasons for his deception. His next date needed to be with a jumpmaster and the open door of a helo—not with a gorgeous redhead.

  “You want to fast rope out of here in the middle of the night?” Levi laughed, amused. “Subtle.”

  Ashley pointed to the satellite radio. “If we’re done with the social chitchat, I’ve got Gray. He’s still stateside, but he’s got an update for us on Remy and new intel on Santiago.”

  A few minutes later, wondering if he hadn’t been overly hasty when he’d wished for action, Mason listened as Gray laid out the details. Remy was headed stateside for more surgery and what looked to be months of recovery, although his doctors were “cautiously optimistic” he’d
make a full recovery. Remy was stubborn, driven and a SEAL. Mason knew who he was betting on.

  The new mission plan was equally optimistic. The team would insert by helo, meet up with the recon team and take up positions around the brothers’ compound. From the looks of the satellite photos, infiltrating would be a bitch. Santiago Marcos’s secret hideaway backed onto some prime mountain real estate a hundred miles away on the Belizean mainland. What wasn’t cliff-side was surrounded by thick jungle. His decorating scheme also appeared to feature concrete walls, barbed wire and a small army of bodyguards. Since it still wasn’t clear if Santiago was home or not, they’d pay a house call and confirm for themselves.

  “Meet Santiago Marcos.” Ashley tapped the tablet, displaying a photograph of a fortysomething Hispanic male. “Two years younger than Diego Marcos. Five feet eight inches tall, brown hair, charcoal-brown eyes and no distinguishing marks other than a tattoo on his right biceps. Nice-looking dude.”

  “You looking to get laid?”

  Ashley glared at Levi as Gray’s voice came over the radio. “The FBI just got an indictment handed down in federal court, accusing him of drug trafficking and money laundering. We’re cleared to bring him into US custody.”

  Levi sighed. “Is our guy a jogger? Do we think he’s planning on taking a walk outside his place to check his tomato plants? Or do we get to do more than wander by and tackle him?”

  Their actions at the objective were straightforward. Fly under the radar into the surrounding jungle and then infiltrate closer. Demolitions experts on the other team would blow a new front door in the compound walls, they’d storm in and then search the place from the bottom up. If they found Santiago in residence, they’d transport him to the extraction point from where it was a quick ride to US jurisdiction and a court date. After they’d gone over what was required from each member of the team and the weapons they’d bring to the party, Mason only had one question.

  “What are our rules of engagement?” Shooting the guy on sight would be good.

  Gray issued a clear negative. “ROE says we can shoot only if Santiago offers provocation. In the meantime, you continue to patrol Fantasy Island and make sure no one shows up uninvited.”

  “Roger that.” Maddie would never be alone. “Timeline?”

  “We move in four nights,” Gray said. “That gives us time to search Fantasy Island for Santiago while the recon team tries to verify that he really is holed up inside the compound.”

  They switched to discussing backup plans. Per standard operating protocol, they covered every what-if. Gray would rejoin them when they were on the Belize mainland, but until then Mason would lock down Fantasy Island. Nothing and no one got to Maddie on his watch.

  Levi punched him in the arm. “We having fun yet?”

  There was only one possible answer. “Hooyah.”

  6

  Best first date ever! Guys, take note. Instead of doing the dinner-and-drinks thing (and did I mention that Fantasy Island has a very, very sexy cocktail menu?), Mr. Fantasy Fodder came by my villa super early in the morning (which wasn’t so sexy—I had a serious case of bedhead) and made little old me chocolate-chip pancakes. Added bonus? Strawberries and whipped cream! Since FF was being a little standoffish (translation: insisted on keeping his hands to himself and being the perfect gentleman), I had to take offensive action, and all that whipped cream came in handy. Somehow, he ended up with a whipped cream mustache, and of course, I had to kiss it off. I’m sure he appreciated my efforts because he promptly asked me out on a date. I’m not sure where this is headed, ladies, but this is shaping up to be The Best Business Trip Ever. I’ll report back soon!

  —MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle

  MASON SEEMED LIKE a genuinely nice guy with a rocking body. Maddie had dated her share of fun men, but she had a bad feeling that Mason was in a league of his own. The League of Supersweet Keeper Guys. If she was being honest, her area of expertise was first dates. She’d had plenty of them after all. It was making it to the second, third and fourth dates that posed a challenge. Plus, a long-term relationship was rarer than the dodo bird in her universe. Mason made her think that she had herself a bird sighting.

  Besides, when had she ever held back? Mason, aka Mr. Fantasy Fodder, tempted her, so why not treat herself to a little taste of him? She was on a workcation and he was here. She saw him daily—in fact, now that she thought about it, pretty much every time she turned around—and her blog readers loved the guy. When she posted about him, her website traffic soared. Her readers had been begging for pictures, so she’d decided to tease them. She’d snapped a photo of Mason when he wasn’t looking. Despite being fully dressed, he’d looked downright yummy. She’d also grabbed some extreme close-ups of the man’s butt, front and every other fine attribute she could point her camera lens at. She was posting one piece a day so her readers could build their own island hottie.

  She thunked her head on the bar. Okay. She had it bad for Mason, and not just because she lusted after his parts. Nope. She wanted the whole man. The warm look he got in his eyes when she said something particularly ridiculous, the killer grin he trained on her when she got him smiling, the big heart he hid just north of his six-pack abs...

  “Writing not going well?” Ashley slid onto the bar stool next to her. “Nice shirt.”

  The writing was fine. It was her dating life that was having a crisis. She’d picked out today’s outfit to take her mind off Mason and the desirability of wearing no clothes at all. The result was a white bikini with a bandage top that crisscrossed her boobs and exposed her belly button. Just in case he didn’t receive the “I’m so sexy” message—because clearly he wasn’t getting something—she’d wrapped herself up in a slinky and sheer-as-hell sarong and slipped on high-heeled espadrilles. As long as she didn’t have to win a footrace across the beach, she was all set. Pretty clothes were like armor. Most people didn’t bother to look past them.

  Compliment dispensed, Ashley pointed at Maddie’s laptop. “What’s the topic for today?”

  “I’m brainstorming blog topics.” No way she’d admit that her Mason crush was currently fueling her blog’s soaring popularity.

  Ashley shrugged. “Why not write about the cocktail menu? The secret one,” she emphasized, flicking the menu disparagingly.

  “Then, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

  “I bet lots more people would visit the resort,” she pointed out, nudging her sunglasses into place.

  Maddie kind of liked the idea of a secret menu. Or possibly, she didn’t want to share Mason with anyone else. Not that she had him, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. She had no idea how anyone could be so darn perfect and yet maintain so much distance at the same time. He’d had his tongue in her mouth, for crying out loud. That was practically a dating commitment right there.

  “You could try it.” Ashley flashed a cajoling smile. “Just for your readers’ benefit.”

  “You’re a bad influence...but I’ll think about it. Okay?”

  Ashley shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  Sighing, Maddie tapped a key. Pressed it again. And then again. Shoot. Her computer was sluggish today, operating on island time. Since there wasn’t a Genius Bar within a hundred miles of her, she really needed her hardware to behave.

  Ashley’s eyes followed her finger. “Problems?”

  She banged the key again. Again—nothing. “My computer is acting funky.”

  “Define funky.” Ashley peered at her over the edge of her sunglasses.

  “I don’t know.” She wasn’t an IT professional. She turned the laptop on, she typed, she uploaded to her blog. That left plenty of uncharted territory. “Plus, the internet connection on this island sucks.”

  “You’re on a minuscule island in the middle of a really big ocean. You’re not getting a T1 connection here.”

  Shutt
ing the lid, Maddie gave up on getting any more work done. She could write tonight in bed. Or tomorrow. She’d managed to feed the internet yet another picture of Mr. Fantasy Fodder, so she’d log back in later to see how her readers had reacted to the butt shot. The bartender walked by, carrying a bucket of limes, and she discreetly leaned around to give him the once-over.

  Darn it. None of the few available men on the island stacked up against Mason. The bartender had been her last hope because she’d already checked the others out. One by one. Bottom line? She was desperate and pathetic—and couldn’t stop thinking about Mason.

  Ashley sighed. “No more work? Or is scoping out the local scenery part of your job description?”

  Maddie snorted. “If you make me laugh too hard, I’ll wheeze,” she warned. Conveniently, she had both her inhaler and a replacement inhaler in her bag by her feet, but why break out the meds if she didn’t have to? “We have to be the last two single people here,” she complained when Ashley didn’t say anything.

  The other woman grinned. “You’re not my type.”

  “Thanks.” Maddie poked her. “Not even if the world came to an end and we were the last two people standing?”

  “If zombies surround the island, I’ll reconsider,” Ashley promised. “So...you decided to pass on the handsome hottie chef?”

  He was a really good kisser. He knew exactly how to touch her and he didn’t seem to mind her sass. In fact, he seemed to like it. Like her. That possibility sent her up in flames.

  “He’s playing hard to get,” she admitted.

  “He’s a guy. How hard can he be? Wait.” Ashley made a face. “That sounds pornographic. I take it back.”

  “Too late.” Having a vacation girlfriend was fun. Maddie hoped she and Ashley would stay in touch after they both left the island.

  “Besides,” she continued, “this is a workcation, not a vacation. I should be focusing on my blog, not getting distracted by Mason’s butt.”

  Ashley snorted. “Granted, the man does have a great ass.”