Pleasing Her SEAL(34)

"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.