Pleasing Her SEAL(2)

       
           


       

* * *

MORNINGS SUCKED. PREDAWN ALARMS  sucked even more because no one,  ever, had accused Madeline Holmes of being a  morning person. Still,  she'd given it a shot, scrambling up the hill even as she  willed  the sunrise to hold off. Hitting the snooze button the third time had   been a mistake.

In order to make the sunrise, she'd rolled out of bed and  settled  for a tank top, shorts and sneakers. Usually, she put some thought into   her clothes. Okay. Lots of thought. Clothing was like armor. Pretty  armor. Instead of rocking her suitcase full of  brand-new vacation  wear, however, she was climbing Mount Everest. She hadn't  shaved  her legs or brushed her hair and she stank of eau de bug spray.

Go, her.

As the air lightened around her, she pushed harder because the  sun  was coming up fast and, color her romantic, but she wanted to catch  the  first rays of dawn, the colors exploding over the edge of the  horizon. This was  probably her one and only chance to visit a place  like Fantasy Island, so every  moment needed to count-and the  pictures would be awesome blog material. And the  more footage she  got, the better. Everything rode on this trip.

She was lucky to be here, even if she'd come alone. The Fantasy   Island marketing team had reached out to her about advertising on her  blog and,  ka-ching, she'd found herself here on an  all-expenses-paid vacation. Now she had  to earn her keep or her  chance at big-time success would go poof.

The place was paradise, so how hard could it be to talk the  island  up on her blog? The only thing missing was the naked hot guy. Or   loincloth-wearing hot guy. She preferred a man of mystery to a   letting-it-all-hang-out-in-the-breeze guy. If she'd understood the  island's  advertising correctly, she might be able to have her  choice of either. Or  both.

Whatever she wanted.

Fantasy Island advertised itself as an idyllic slice of  paradise  located on the Caribbean Sea-the perfect place for a destination   wedding or honeymoon. The elegant type on the resort brochure promised  barefoot  luxury, discreet hedonism and complete wish fulfillment.  Maddie's job was to  translate those naughty promises into sexy web  copy that would drive traffic to  her blog and fill her bank account  with much-needed advertising dollars.

The summit beckoned and she stepped out into a small clearing  overlooking the ocean.

"I need to work out more." At least her asthma hadn't kicked  in.  After a quick check of the camera that she'd set up yesterday to do   time-lapse photography, she unwrapped her breakfast. She had a  purloined  croissant and a mocha, which was the perfect  sunrise-watching food. While she  munched and she shot, the air  lightened around her, the birds and the howler  monkeys competing to  see who could make the most raucous noise. Being awake this  early  was...almost okay.

The noise of a boat coming in hard and fast on the quiet side  of  the island was a surprise. With her camera lens, she zoomed in on a pair  of  black rubber dinghies bouncing over the lagoon's calm surface.  Huh. She squinted, trying to make out the details. Not  only did the  guys riding the Zodiac look mean, but they were toting a small   arsenal, too.

"Good view?" At the sound of the deep male voice behind her,   Maddie flinched, arms and legs jerking in shock. Her camera flew forward  as she  scrambled backward. As adrenaline surged through her, she  sucked in air-happy place, happy place-but her lungs betrayed her   anyhow, her airway closing up tight. It felt like an elephant had parked  its ass  on her chest.

Strong male fingers fastened around her wrist. Panicked, she   grabbed her croissant and lobbed it at the guy, followed by her coffee.  He  cursed and dodged.

"It's not a good day to jump without a chute." He tugged her  away  from the edge of the lookout, and she got her first good look at him.  Not a  stranger. Okay, then. Her heart banged hard against  her  rib cage, pummeling her out-of-air lungs, before settling back into a  more  normal rhythm. Mason. Mason   I-Can't-Be-Bothered-To-Tell-You-My-Last-Name-But-I'm-A-Stud. He led the  cooking  classes by the pool. She'd written him off as good-looking  but aloof, not  certain if she'd spotted a spark of potential  interest in his dark eyes. Wishful  thinking or dating potential-it  was probably a moot point now, since she'd just  pegged him with her  croissant, followed by her mocha. Usually she couldn't hit  the  broad side of a barn, but she'd scored a bull's-eye on the front of his   T-shirt.                       
       
           


       

She sneaked a peek at him. He didn't seem pissed off. On the   contrary, he simply rocked back on his haunches, hands held out in front  of him.   I come in peace, she thought, fortunately too  out  of breath to giggle. The side of his shirt sported a dark stain from  her  coffee. Oh, goody. She'd actually scalded him. Way to make an  impression on a  poor, innocent guy. This was why her dating life  sucked.

She tried to wheeze out an apology, but he shook his head.

"Let's get you breathing."

She had to agree with his priorities. Plus, if he wanted her   breathing, he clearly hadn't morphed from resort chef to serial killer,  so he  had some other reason for being up here. Who knew? Maybe he  was a secret sunrise  aficionado. With a grimace, she dumped her bag  upside down on the ground,  looking for the inhaler hiding  somewhere in the mountain of stuff she carted  around. Mason made a  choked sound, but she ignored him. So she had a lot of stuff.  Preparation was the key to surviving,  right? Plus, she really,  really hated cleaning out her bag. Mason rifled through  the  contents, his fingers skimming over her secret chocolate stash, mini  samples  from her Birchbox subscription, three pairs of sunglasses, a  paperback and a  clear plastic pouch of emergency tampons. Since he  didn't look as if he wanted  to run back down the hill screaming,  she concentrated on breathing.

"Got it." Uncapping her inhaler, he handed it to her. Dark  brown  eyes watched her as she primed the device and shoved it into her mouth.  "I  scared you."

"You think?" The albuterol went to work, her lungs opening up  like  her puffer was a magic wand and she'd just chanted open sesame. She  hated having to rely on the device, but sometimes  she couldn't talk  herself out of panicking.

"That wasn't my intention." The look on his face was part  chagrin, part repentance. Worked for her.

"I'll put a bell around your neck." Where had he learned to  move so quietly?

"Why don't we start over?" He stuck out a hand. A big,  masculine,  slightly muddy hand. She probably shouldn't want to seize his fingers   like a lifeline. "I'm Mason Black."

"I know who you are." Or mostly. The last name was new  information.

Belatedly, she shoved her hand into his. Good Lord, the man had   her acting as though she was fifteen. Not that she'd mind having her   fifteen-year-old body back, but that year in high school had been  the Year of  Brody. Brody had sat next to her in her chemistry  class, his mere presence  driving textbooks straight out of her mind  and reducing her to a stammering,  drooling idiot. He'd made her  tingle and flush, transforming chemistry class  into both her  favorite and her worst period of the day.

Mason Black was even more devastating. And, like her chemistry   crush, she wasn't entirely positive he knew her name. After all, he'd  just  introduced himself to her as if they were total strangers and  she hadn't ogled  his body while he taught Fantasy Island's guests  to make ceviche. Which she  totally had.

She was also still holding his hand.

Oops. Letting go, she took a step back.

"I'm Maddie Holmes."

"Uh-huh." He cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology."

She leaned toward him before she could stop herself.  "Okay."

Did she still sound breathless? Maybe she could blame her  asthma.  He examined the ground and her gaze followed his. Right. Her   camera...and her breakfast. Her breakfast was beyond repair-even she  wasn't  going to eat a chocolate croissant that had bounced off Hot  Chef's chest and hit  the jungle floor-but her camera was a  different story. He picked it up, turned  it over in his hands and  then handed it to her.

"The first apology is for scaring you. It wasn't intentional."  His  lips curved up in a grin. "And the second apology is for your camera.  And  your croissant." She liked the slow way he smiled at her. It  made her feel all  melty, like the insides of her croissant.