Pleasing Her SEAL(13)

"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."