Not that she'd tell him that-or that she'd been dying to see him again. After she'd accidentally on purpose woken him up at the lookout point, he'd walked her back to her bungalow, but he hadn't come in. Hadn't so much as given her a kiss goodbye. Which, okay, had kind of sucked. She'd known he had to work-after all, she did, too-but she'd been disappointed about the brush-off and had been secretly hoping he could carve out some time for them. However, she'd exercised amazing self-control and had resisted chasing him down. His text had been her reward.
When he knocked on her front door, Maddie opened it. Her heart fluttered as she slowly drank him in. The man had the best taste in shirts. Today he wore a faded navy blue T-shirt that hugged his taut chest and exposed his muscular forearms, along with blue jeans that were white around the seams and a pair of rugged black boots. God. She loved boots on a man. She doubted he'd picked out his clothes with her fantasies in mind, but just the sight of him, rumpled and strong and a little battered around the edges? Yeah. That sight got her going.
"Listen, uh, about the tattoo. If you want it removed-"
Not that she actually had any idea how to fix the letters she'd finger painted onto his arm, but the offer had to count for something, right?
Mason cut her off. "Don't worry about it. We have better things to do." He held up a wicker basket as though it was Exhibit A.
"Picnic?" She eyed the sky doubtfully. "It's dark. Don't picnics require daylight?"
He shrugged. "Since when do you follow all the rules?"
She knew she had a reputation for winging it, but she wasn't sure the weather had gotten that particular memo, because the sky was overcast. She didn't mind getting wet in a swimsuit, but eating in the rain seemed damper than necessary.
"It's going to storm," she pointed out, just in case he hadn't noticed the clouds forming overhead.
He produced an umbrella. "Voilà."
"Wow. He brings food and he speaks French."
He rattled off a few phrases. The words sure sounded good, but he could have been reading her the French tax code for all she knew. "What did you say?"
His eyes warmed, getting that gleam she liked so much. The look that made her heat up, her girl parts jump up and down and go "Pick me!"
"Dirty French words I learned from a sailor. In alphabetical order."
"God. That's fabulous. Tell me more."
She stepped outside, shoving her feet into her sandals. Since "you busy?" hadn't spelled out the date-night possibilities, she'd opted for wearing a yellow-and-white-checkered sundress. The straps were tiny scraps of lace, more like a really nice picture frame for her boobs. She liked the way the full skirt felt swishing around her thighs, like a Southern belle.
"You look gorgeous," he said, his voice husky. Mission accomplished. He clearly liked her dress, too. Maybe, if she was lucky, he'd like her out of the dress even better. Smiling, she followed him.
He'd picked out the perfect spot for a picnic on the beach. Palm trees surrounding them, the surf beating gently on the shore and the moon shining over the water.
"You give good dates," she said softy.
He settled her on the sand on a blanket and popped the top on the basket. He'd brought champagne, which scored him immediate bonus points on her dating scorecard. He also had cold chicken, rolls, a chilled crème brûlée and strawberries. There were advantages to dating a chef.
She spooned up the last bit of her dessert. It was every bit as good as it had looked, and she must have made a noise.
Mason nudged her shoulder with his own. "Happy noise?"
"You bet." She eyed the remnants of their picnic ruefully. "You have to know you're an amazing cook."
"Practice," he said humbly.
"Where have you cooked?"
"Lots of places." He stared out at the ocean, and she'd bet he wasn't seeing the waves. "Do you cook?"
The last time she'd baked something from scratch had been...never. "I'm more of a cake-mix gal, although I do make a mean cake-tini."
In fact, a cake-tini was her all-time favorite drink. Who didn't like pineapple vodka and whipped cream?
He shuddered. "Cake mix doesn't count."
"Hey. If I want cake, I make cake. Duncan Hines and I are best friends."
"Tell me what you want," he said, watching her now and not the ocean. "And I'll get it for you."
"Cake?"
"That, too," he answered.
* * *
MASON WASN'T ROMANTIC. In fact, he was a resounding hell no in that particular department. He'd fought battles in all four corners of the world. He knew a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands. He'd spent two weeks in a foxhole, drinking his own piss when the water ran out because that was what it took to get the job done and bring his team home. Dating Maddie to someone else's script sucked.
Worse, it seemed to be working. Her eyes glowed as she grinned at him from the other side of their picnic blanket. She appeared to be enjoying herself, which made him want to smile himself. Instead, he filled her plastic champagne flute.
"It is Fantasy Island." Her mouth curved up in the prettiest smile. "You going to tell me a fantasy?"
Good thing he wasn't a drinking man, because that request made him choke.
"What do you know about fantasies?" Gray had explained the resort's kinky cocktail menu to the team, but Mason hadn't been entirely sure if he believed the team leader. Was that how Gray and Laney had gotten together in the first place? Did hotel guests really use drink names as code for the sexual fantasies they wanted to act out? It seemed simpler just to ask outright, but people got uptight about what they liked, or thought other people would judge them. Frankly, he was too old to surprise. He'd also spent plenty of time propping up the wall in various bars around the world while he waited for his fellow SEALs to wrap up a night of drinking, and the drinks lists were fairly predictable. Blowjobs, cherries and virgins. He got why that appealed to a bar full of men, but why would Maddie be interested?
She sighed and knocked back half of her champagne.
"You need to loosen up," she informed him. "When's the last time you had fun?"
"I'm having fun right now," he pointed out.
"Oh." She blinked and held her glass out. "That's all right, then."
He knew how to have fun. True, he didn't do it like Levi, but he'd had plenty of good times. He topped off her glass, although he suspected she needed to go a little easier on the champagne. She snuggled into his side and he wrapped his arm around her, tugging her closer.
"Would you order off the drinks menu?"
He thought about that for a minute. "I'm not much of a drinker," he admitted. "Maybe I could play bartender in this fantasy of yours."
She stabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Not the alcohol menu. The sex menu."
He should check the alcohol content on that champagne. "You know about that?"
She shrugged. "Everyone knows about it. I'd heard rumors before I landed. You can't keep a thing like that secret. Point and pick."
"Is that what you're planning to do?" he asked hoarsely.
She set her glass in the stand, where it promptly fell over. "It doesn't seem like my kind of thing," she admitted. "It seems awkward. And what if the person you're ordering with likes something different? Or didn't realize you'd be asking?"
He met her gaze. "Ask me for anything."
Because in all honesty, he'd be happy to have sex with her under pretty much any circumstances. If she wanted to say "I'd like a Long Slow Screw Against the Wall" instead of "Take me to bed and fuck me, big boy"? Well, those were just words, and all he cared about was her intent. And giving her multiple orgasms.
"True." She wet her lips with her tongue, an expression of something on her face. He wasn't sure what that something was, but he could guess because he was feeling plenty of things himself. Things like need and lust and an intense desire to strip her clothes off her and lick the champagne from her mouth. From other places, too, if she was feeling adventurous. He might not be much of a drinker if his drink came in a glass, but a Maddie-shaped cup was one big hell yeah.
He planted his hands on the picnic blanket and leaned in. She didn't retreat. "Can I make you a drink?"
She breathed out unsteadily, the small puff of air teasing his mouth. Any closer and they'd be kissing. Kissing was good, but he really, really needed to hear her answer. She searched his face, as if he had a menu printed there. He didn't know what she was choosing, but damn if he didn't hope it was him.