"You think a woman like Maddie could do that?"
"There's only one way to find out. You have to put it to her, see what she says. If you want to keep her."
"Hooyah," he growled, because keeping Maddie was apparently all he could think about.
He put on a tough act and, most days, he was tough. Tough like shoe leather, pizza that had been microwaved ten minutes instead of ten seconds, tough like Levi's campfire steak. Sometimes, though, particularly when he checked those emails, saw those photos of his loved ones waiting for him back in San Francisco, he got a funny marshmallow feeling somewhere in his stomach.
Maddie was tough and funny-but she was also tremendously sweet and more than a little sentimental. She wrote about weddings and dresses, cakes and flowers and exotic honeymoons. All those things were about as foreign to him as clearing a compound in Afghanistan was to her. But he was willing to learn, not least because he enjoyed the hell out of her approach, both to cake and to life in general. She didn't hold back. At all. Her sexy little whimper of pleasure at the first bite made him think dirty thoughts about what else-okay, who else-might make her moan. Like him. He'd start with her thighs and...
"I want to keep her."
"Then, I highly recommend groveling." Levi moved, heading for the open door of the chopper. "Go after her. Beg. Tell her she's right, you're wrong and you'd like to spend the rest of your sorry life making it up to her."
It was a start. Mason jogged along behind him.
"When did you get so smart?"
The other man laughed and swung himself into the chopper. "I got married on Fantasy Island, remember?"
Right. That fucking perfect sunset and perfect moment on the beach. No way he'd forget that, or the way Maddie's face had lit up when he'd kissed her afterward. She made these husky moans when he really got her going, purely unforgettable. Yeah. He'd be happy hearing those sexy sounds of hers again. Like once or twice a week, or once a day for the next forty years or so. The chopper lifted off, taking them away from the empty compound and their no-show target. BUD/S had prepared him for a compound full of hostiles, but nothing had prepared him for Maddie.
Groveling it was, just as soon as he could cart his sorry ass back to her.
15
Ladies, there is a reason Fantasy Island is all about fantasies. Fantasies are fun, but they're not real life. I screwed up big time. Let's just say that Mr. Fantasy Fodder was living a few fantasies of his own and he didn't share those fantasies with me. I'm feeling kind of stupid right now. All that hot kinkiness must have short-circuited something critical in my brain, because when I opened my mouth the last time I saw FF, I asked him to marry me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It's time to stop hiding my head, though, because I've got another wedding this weekend. I'll be sure to report back to you with all the details about the wedding favors, the cake and the drunk groomsmen.
-MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle
THE WEDDING UNFOLDING in front of Maddie wasn't on an island, or even remotely tropical. The bride had gone with a purple palette and there probably wasn't a single orchid left in the entire state. She couldn't bring herself to care that the bride had employed approximately fourteen different shades of purple in her color scheme. It was ambitious. It was kind of an eyesore. And it didn't freaking matter, although the open bar was a plus.
The happy couple had waltzed down the aisle, and then the wedding guests had reassembled on the front lawn of what purported to be a fully functioning farm on a bona fide historic site. The big Victorian farmhouse looked more like a mansion, and most of the guests had booked rooms for the night. The bride had opted for a four-course dinner served under an enormous lilac tent, and fireworks would be shot off over nearby Lake Champlain when it got dark. As over-the-top fun as this particular wedding was, Maddie couldn't bring herself to care.
As the best man had brought the room to tears describing the groom's romantic proposal-something involving spelling out "Will you marry me?" in the snow with about two thousand tea lights-Maddie's own head was replaying a never-ending loop of her own proposal. Now that the embarrassment had faded, she missed Mason. Sure, she wanted to kick his fine butt, but she ached for him, too.
Stop thinking about the SEAL.
Waiters were clearing away the remains of the dinner, and the happy couple would be cutting the cake soon. Maddie had wandered over and taken a look at it earlier, snapping pictures of the four layers of purple-fondant goodness with crystalized violets. Her blog followers would definitely have an opinion on this one, and it was her duty to taste test it for them. After her Fantasy Island stay, her blog traffic was way up, and she was finally bringing in enough money to keep both the lights and the water on.
"Where's your date, honey?" Maddie looked over at her neighbor because, even though she'd heard that particular question at least a half dozen times since she'd stepped out of the limo in her purple bridesmaid dress, it still sent a stab of pain through her.
The bride's aunt stared back at her expectantly. The elderly woman was almost swallowed up by the ruffles of her pastel dress, making it was clear where the bride had gotten her taste for colors from.
"I'm-" Flying solo. The words stuck in her throat.
"With me." The deep male voice behind her was all too familiar. She'd dreamed about the bastard every night since she'd left Fantasy Island three weeks ago. Oh, no. For a moment, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she turned around, Mason was standing there. He wore a white dress uniform with a chestful of medals, a dark-brimmed hat with a gold trident insignia tucked under his arm. Given the number of female heads turning his way, she wasn't hallucinating.
Maddie had no idea what to say to him. Her body didn't seem to share the same problem though, and was already leaning toward him. It probably made her pathetic, but her heart did an up-and-down leap in her chest, all the anger washing away. He'd dressed up. He'd come to the wedding. She didn't know what it meant, but he couldn't possibly be here by accident.
Her breath caught in her throat, wheezing from her lungs in a little gasp of surprise.
"Tell me you're not about to have an asthma attack," he said mildly. "Because that's the kind of thing that gives a guy a complex."
She sucked in a deep breath. Forced it out. "What are you doing here?"
"Dancing with you?" He held out a hand and she caved completely, letting him pull her out of her chair and onto the floor. For a few moments, they just danced, Mason smoothly navigating them around two giggling flower girls who were tossing leftover rose petals at the dancers' feet and an usher who had already hit the open bar too hard. The dancing was one of her favorite parts of the reception, everybody getting up and cutting loose because they were happy, there was music and it was always a good day when two people were willing to stand up and tell the whole world how much they loved each other. It also didn't matter if you couldn't dance or had no sense of rhythm, because you could get lost in the bobbing, weaving sea of tulle and poorly glued sequins.
He tugged on one of the ribbon straps holding up her dress. "Nice color."
She didn't want to talk about her dress.
"Why are you here?" And why was she dancing with him?
"Can I show you something?"
"Is that code for something dirty?" Instinctively, she fell back into the sexy banter they'd shared on the island. She'd kind of used up her honesty quota when she'd proposed to him.
He stared at her somberly. "Not yet," he said, and she wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not. Instead, he maneuvered her to the edge of the dance floor and then out of the reception tent altogether. It was almost dark, the stars popping out in the sky overhead. He walked her over the lawn, toward the formal gardens that edged the woods. The rich scent of roses and lavender filled the air. Purple aside, the bride had picked a gorgeous spot for a wedding.
"So," she murmured. "You wanted to play show-and-tell?"
Because they were a long way from Fantasy Island, whatever he wanted to show her had to be good. He dropped her hand and shrugged out of his dress jacket. When he handed it to her, she couldn't stop herself from smoothing the fabric with her fingertips, the material warm from his skin. She shrugged into the jacket, trying to tamp down the feeling of anticipation spreading through her. Maybe he'd just stopped by to say hello. Two thousand miles from where he'd last seen her.