"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 cake. 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."