Pleasing Her SEAL(35)

It was possible. Lots of things were possible.

"You really are a SEAL."

He shot her a look. "Yeah. I am."

It fit him-and it also explained a lot. Things like the way he moved  with such purpose, and his confidence underwater. The way he'd pinned  her so effortlessly when she'd surprised him sleeping. While he went to  work on his sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff, she asked the question that  had been bothering her.

"So you're not a chef?"

"I love to cook." A slow smile tugged at his mouth. "I wasn't kidding  about the four sisters. They loved to eat. I loved to make them happy."

He shoved his sleeve up and held his arm out. Black and pink-pink-words  scrolled across his inner forearm: "That's how much I love you." He'd  finished the Ogden Nash poem inked on her hip. Her heart gave a pathetic  little stutter while other parts of her melted.

"I looked up the rest of your poem," he said gruffly. "And I thought I needed to tell you that's how much I love you, too."

Too. She ran her fingers lightly over his skin. The tattoo had healed, so he must have done it almost as soon as she'd left.

"But you don't like needles." Stupid.

He shook his head. "No. I don't. But I like you. Hell, Maddie, read the words. I more than like you."

She kept waiting to wake up, because she'd had some pretty awesome  dreams about him these past few weeks, but she didn't, and reality was  apparently better than anything she could concoct on her own. "You have  to say it or it doesn't count."

He pulled her up against him. "Is that so? Because I want you back, and  you should know that I'm willing to do whatever it takes. Tell me I'm  not too late."

"That's a good start."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry it took me longer than it did you to  figure out that what we have is something rare and truly special. I'm  sorry I made you propose first, when I should have known it was a  privilege to love you and that I was a crazy fool to let you go when I  could have held on." He tightened his arms around her. "How am I doing  so far?"

"You're getting warmer. Keep going."

"We're supposed to be together. I love you and I'll do whatever it  takes to prove that to you." He swept her backward into a deep,  passionate kiss that rocked her world. Rocked her heart.

Long minutes later, when he broke off their kiss and rested his  forehead against hers, she felt too much. The emotions rushing through  her made her heart swell and bang against her rib cage. Mason had come  for her.

"One more thing," he said.

"Okay." Why had he stopped? And why was he still talking?                       
       
           


       

"I'm a US Navy SEAL."

Yeah. She could see that for herself. "Kind of showed me back there on the island," she reminded him.

"It's who I am," he continued thickly. "I don't know if I'll serve for  five years or fifty, but it's part of me, part of who I am. I need to  know you're good with that."

"Waiting for you?" God. He was going to have to yell his answer, because her heart was thundering in her ears.

He held her gaze, as though her next words were more important than any  mission go. "Yes. In our bed, in our house. I'd like to tell you that  we'll figure it out, that it maybe gets easier with time and with  practice, but I don't know. I've never had to be the one waiting and  it's every bit as hard as being the guy out there in the field."

With the guns and the danger. She didn't like thinking about Mason  getting hurt or being out there where things like Santiago Marcos  happened on a daily basis. What she did know, though, was that she  absolutely, 200 percent wanted to be the woman he came home to.

"We've got this," she said finally. "Just as long as you swear you'll always come home."

"I promise." His breath shuddered out, as if he'd been holding it and  doing some waiting of his own. "And I accept your proposal, if it's  still good. I didn't hear an expiration date, and you're going to have  to cut me some slack for being slow. Let me marry you and I'll be the  happiest goddamned SEAL ever."

* * *

MADDIE TEARED UP. She stared at him and he could see-see-the tears welling up in her eyes. Crap. "You're not supposed to cry."

Not sure how to fix this, he hauled her close, letting her blubber all  over his dress shirt. She already had his jacket and his heart. She  could have everything else, too.

She pressed a hand against his chest. "You're in uniform."

"Yeah." He looked back at her steadily. "This didn't seem like a T-shirt affair, and you're worth getting dressed up for."

"Or naked," she said hopefully.

"Or naked," he agreed. He suddenly had a whole new appreciation for how  the animals felt at the zoo. He'd liberated a palace's worth once in  the Middle East, busting the locks on the cages and letting the beasts  free. It had seemed like the right thing to do, then and now, because  with an entire sea of unfamiliar faces staring at him from an enormous  purple tent, he felt the same way. Plus, he itched just looking at the  clothes. This wasn't his kind of scene.

What Maddie was wearing wasn't so bad, however. Apparently, she'd  lucked out in the bridesmaid sweepstakes this time. Her  blueberry-pie-colored dress was made out of a floaty fabric that brushed  the floor, and it had those skinny spaghetti straps that seemed too  thin to hold up her gorgeous breasts. He had plans for those straps,  like thumbing them off her shoulder. Not that he'd get too far, because  the top of her dress was a little snug and they spilled over the top,  tempting him to touch. She looked ravishing, even if her hair had been  pinned up in an elaborate series of curls and braids. He'd probably  stormed beaches in less time than it had taken to do her hair.

She sniffed.

He hadn't fixed anything, hadn't fixed them. "Don't cry. I'll make this right."

White knighting was dangerous. He sucked at being a hero. He was also,  apparently, a sucker for her curves. When she looked at him, her  beautiful brown eyes gleaming with mischief, he felt it right down to  the toes of his dress shoes.

"I'm happy," she whispered, and then she launched herself at him again.  "I love you, too." When they finally came up for air, however, she'd  thought of another question. "How did you get here?"

For a moment, his tongue got stuck and he felt more than a little  light-headed. That happened when he was around Maddie. Nothing he could  ever do would be enough to earn her love and the privilege of standing  by her side. She was giving it to him, though, giving herself to him,  and he planned to spend every minute of the next eighty years proving to  her that she'd made the right call. She was his everything. It was that  fucking simple, so he ought to be able to answer her question.                       
       
           


       

"Motorcycle." He jerked a thumb toward the entrance of the fancy  pavilion thingie. A guy in a uniform had offered to "Valet this for you,  sir?" But he'd declined, because he liked to keep his lines of retreat  open.

She glowed up at him as he steered her through the tent, where the  reception he'd crashed was being held. Coming in uniform had its  advantages, because the valets and the lady with the headset running the  op hadn't questioned him. He'd do whatever it took to keep that look of  happiness on Maddie's face. As they moved through the crowd of guests,  he focused on the exit. He wanted to get her out of here. Partly because  he wanted to find out what she had on under that dress, but more  because he was ready to get on with them.

She elbowed him. "Are we leaving?"

"You want to go for a ride?" Say yes. He'd wait out the reception if  that was what she wished, but they were definitely eloping when it was  their turn. He wasn't starring in any dinner-dance spectacle.

"Can I drive?" She looked up at him hopefully.

"The keys are in my pocket." She looked good in his jacket. Maybe he  could convince her to wear just the jacket later on. She fished in the  pocket for the keys-and came up with both the keys and a little black  box.

"That's for you," he said. That damn magazine article had better have been right, or he'd go hunt down the writer personally.

She opened the box. He'd spotted the ring in the jeweler's window. It  was bold and blingy, with enough carats to blind someone from across the  room. The ring had pizzazz and it made him smile. Maybe he should have  let her pick out her own ring. Waiting until she'd said yes might have  been smart, too.

"I read on a blog that proposals should be memorable," he said when she  didn't say anything. Her fingers patted the velvet sides, stroked over  the stones. He didn't hear a no. In fact, he didn't hear anything at  all.