Pleasing Her SEAL(3)

"It was chocolate," she pointed out. "One apology may not be  sufficient."

"Call me crazy, but aren't cameras a bit more expensive than  breakfast pastries?"                       
       
           


       

"I have more than one camera," she explained. "But at the  moment, I'm completely croissant-less."

"I make a mean chocolate-chip pancake," he offered, surprising   her. With that brawny body, she'd assumed he was an oat bran and protein  powder  kind of guy. "I could make you a replacement."

Somehow, she didn't think his pancakes would take second place.   Nope. Just like his smile, she had a bad feeling his pancakes would be   addictive. He was a big, scary-looking guy offering homemade  breakfast. Talk  about checking all the right boxes.

"You cook," she blurted out when the silence stretched on too   long, and then wanted to smack herself. Duh.  Obviously, he cooked.  He was a chef at the resort, even if he wore camo pants, a  black  T-shirt and combat boots, and looked more like a badass than a chef.

"Yeah," he agreed, rocking back on his heels to survey her,   presumably for further damage. "I do. Really well, although I'm hearing a  no on my offer."

Only because she was biting her lip. She wanted to scream "yes,  please" and not just for his pancakes.

"That's not what chefs wear." She flicked a finger up and down,  indicating his clothes.

He grinned. "I'm not in the kitchen right now, sweetheart. I'm  allowed to be out of uniform."

And now she was thinking about him naked.

"I'm playing paintball with some of the guys," he  continued.

"At dawn?"

He shrugged. "You all like to eat. I have a job to do most of  the time."

"You don't have any paint on your shirt." Although if his  alleged  teammates had hit him on the butt, she'd be happy to check out that   portion of his anatomy, too.

He sighed. "That's because I'm good."

Again...maybe. Not that he had any reason to lie to her about   paintball, but she had a suspicious nature. She tried to peer over his  shoulder,  but it was roughly the size of a small tree and offered  plenty of places for a  gal to dig in. His black T-shirt clung to  him in all the right places, and black  and green paint streaked his  face. The colors drew attention to the strong line  of his jaw and a  really great pair of brown eyes.

She was staring.

Shoot.

"I saw boats." She pointed to the lagoon over his shoulder.  "Two of those black inflatable dinghy things."

He turned around, crossing his arms over his broad chest. That   move pulled the shirt tight. Since she was an equal-opportunity kind of  gal, she  checked out his ass, too. Which was tight and firm, unlike  hers. She definitely  needed to take up paintball.

He shrugged and pointed to the dinghy-less, bad-guy-less  lagoon. "There's no one there now."

"But there was." She hated mysteries.

"It could be the Belizean police doing a routine drug check.  They  patrol up and down the coastline, and we're only a few miles offshore."

That sounded feasible. On her last visit to Cancun, back when   she'd had vacation time, benefits and a nine-to-five job, she'd spotted   AK-47 – toting Mexican police patrolling the beaches. The hotel had  assured her  that was standard operating procedure, although she'd  almost choked on her  margarita the first time she'd spotted the  patrols. She stared at the camera in  her hands.

"I have photos," she said.

"I didn't say I didn't believe you," he pointed out. "But I'm  happy to look at anything you want to show me."

That almost sounded like a double entendre, but he said the  words  with a straight face, making it impossible to be sure. Instead, she   focused on her camera and-damn it-its trip to the ground hadn't done it  any  favors.

"The memory card's gone. It must have popped out when I dropped  the camera."

And flown over the edge, she decided a few minutes later, on  its  way down, down, down for a tropical swim. Mason helped her look, but  the  card was nowhere to be found. Of course, since she was  searching for a teeny  piece of plastic in the great outdoors, her  odds hadn't been high to start  with.

"I'm thinking I owe you more than a short stack," he said with  a grimace. "Now you've lost your pictures, too."                       
       
           


       

This was where being prepared came in handy. "Not really. I had   the camera set up to do time-lapse, and all the shots should have been   transferred to my laptop if the Wi-Fi isn't moving on island time."

"Good to know," he muttered, his eyes on the camera in her  hands. "What were you shooting?"

"Not what you were shooting." When he gave her a lopsided grin,   she told him the truth. "Sunrise pictures. Romantic stuff for my wedding  blog.  Brides will love having their pictures taken up here. I'm  shadowing a wedding  later this week, and the bride already picked  out this spot for her photos.  They're a gorgeous couple."

She whipped open her planner and flipped to the section where   she'd jotted down her notes for the beach wedding. There were certain  shots she  definitely wanted to make sure she captured, and she did  better with a list.

"This is my bride and groom. He's a hottie. My blog readers  will love him."

Mason took the groom's picture from her. "This is your  guy?"

"Uh-huh." She'd been in correspondence with Julieta, the bride,   more than once before she'd arrived. The Mrs. Guzman-to-be was a pretty  blonde,  while her groom had the Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome part  down. He rocked a white  linen suit in the photo Julieta had sent to  give Maddie an idea of what they'd  be wearing and, if he showed up  looking like that, her photos would be  outstanding. "What do you  think?"

Mason snorted. "Not my type, sweetheart."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, Mr. Guzman clearly  appeals to the future Mrs. Guzman, and that's all that counts."

"They here on the island already?" He returned the photo and  she stuck it back in her planner.

"Not yet." Which was both surprising and not. "Julieta's dress  is  here-that's the bride-to-be-but I haven't actually seen them check in  yet.  Mr. Guzman runs some kind of import-export business and has  stuff come up at the  last minute all the time. Maybe he had a  business thing. It must be nice to have  a private plane and go  where you want, when you want."

"Maybe." Mason gestured at her tripod. "You done here? Want a  hand bringing this back to your villa?"

"A hand down the hill would be great," she said, still thinking   about her missing bride and groom. She'd been counting on shooting their  wedding  for her blog; if they were no-shows, she'd need to make  alternative  arrangements. "Maybe I'll see if his brother has  arrived yet. Ask him if Mr.  Guzman's plans have changed."

Mason started breaking down her tripod. "He's bringing family  to his wedding?"

She shrugged. "Just his brother, Santiago, according to  Julieta.  He was planning to get to the island a few days before her, so she was   hoping to pawn some of the prewedding tasks off on him. He should  have arrived  yesterday or today."

She let him help her fold up the tripod, and then they headed   toward the path that led back to the resort. Since the sun had risen,  the  lighting was no longer ideal, and she now had a date with her  bed. A date that  would be even better if Mason followed her home.  No.  He wasn't a stray puppy. She didn't get to bring him home.

He strode ahead of her, so she followed along, admiring the way   his cargo pants bunched over his butt as he walked. What he didn't know  wouldn't  hurt him-and she'd definitely take a rain check on those  pancakes.





2

WHEN THEY REACHED the base of the hill, Mason called squad halt on the  operation. Maddie had given him permission to lead her down the hill,  and down the hill only, so he handed over the tripod and flashed her a  quick salute.

She blinked at him, taking the tripod automatically. "Uh. Thanks." Her  gaze dipped to the coffee stain on his shirt, her face radiating  embarrassment. "Sorry about that. And about scalding you."

She turned pink as if he were actually bothered by a few ounces of hot  coffee. He'd been shot at, pinned down and ambushed more times than he  could count. Coffee was the least of his worries, although her blush was  cute.