Pleasing Her SEAL(8)

       
           


       

"The sun's not up yet," she mumbled, patting the mountain of curls into some semblance of order.

It was eight o'clock. And the only thing not up yet was Maddie. He was  also fairly certain her eyes were shut, even if her mouth was open. She  was a rumpled, adorable mess and she looked as if she'd rolled right out  of bed-so, naturally, he wanted to roll her right back in.

"Pancakes." He held up his box of ingredients.

"Right." She leaned against the door as if she planned on going back to  sleep right there. Time for a new strategy. He set the box down on the  ground, reached in and gently lifted her out of the way so he could open  the door. Then he nudged the box inside with his foot, stepped in and  closed the door behind him.

"Wow." She blinked at him as if he'd managed to surprise her. He only  hoped it was in a good way. "Way to make a girl feel good about her  weight."

He ran his eyes over her. She looked fantastic. Given his overabundance  of sisters, however, he knew better than to touch that particular  statement. There was absolutely, positively no crowd-pleasing answer.  Instead, he gave her a slow smile. The corners of her mouth turned up in  response.

"You're not a morning person." He picked up his box.

"I'm at my best at night." She turned and padded away, waving a hand toward the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."

Her sleep shorts were riding up her gorgeous ass. He wanted to squeeze  and cup, nip that sweet, soft curve. And she wanted breakfast. He kicked  off his shoes at the door and did a quick check of the room. Bingo.  She'd left her laptop in its case on the coffee table. Snagging it, he  stepped back to the door, opened it and signaled. Levi appeared on the  path, pushing a housekeeping cart.

Thirty seconds elapsed. Levi passed him a stack of towels and a laptop;  Mason handed over Maddie's laptop and performed a little case  switcheroo. "Time?"

"I'm making breakfast. You should have at least an hour."

"Aww...how domestic." Levi tucked Maddie's laptop into the housekeeping  cart, just hotel staff delivering towels. "I'll have this back in  twenty, unless our girl actually practices password security. In which  case, give me thirty."

"Laptop goes on the coffee table facing the front door. Walk it in, go straight. You can't miss it."

"Got it." Levi nodded and stepped off the porch. Mason put the decoy  laptop back on the coffee table and made for the kitchen. Coffee was his  next priority. Black for him. Since she seemed to like sweet stuff, he  laced hers with dulce de leche and then added chocolate sprinkles and  whipped cream.

When she padded back into the kitchen five minutes later, he smelled  toothpaste, but she hadn't bothered to get dressed. Instead, she'd  tossed a kimono over her pajamas. Cheerful, loud red flowers on  something that was sheer and turquoise and... Jesus. He could see her  sun-kissed skin through the fabric.

Remember the magazine strategy.

Ogling her in her own kitchen wasn't endearing. It was creepy.  Unfortunately, the peekaboo glimpses of her delectable curves drove the  magazine quiz straight out of his head. Ten steps to success. It was a  nice plan. Simple. Easy to implement. Instead of working on "forging an  intimate connection," however, he nearly swallowed his tongue at the  little whimper of pleasure she made when she took her first sip of  coffee.

"God. That's so good." Her fingers stroked the side of the coffee mug.  Which was white ceramic and not his dick, so the bolt of heat that shot  straight to his groin was completely unexplainable. She didn't stop the  tiny orgasmic sounds as she drained his coffee and, who knew-his dick  could, in fact, get harder.

He stepped closer to the stove. Pancakes, not sex. He needed to  remember the mission. Which was not "get Mason laid," no matter what  certain iron-like parts of his body suggested.

He'd mixed the batter before coming, so it shouldn't take more than ten  minutes to make her breakfast. He turned on the stove, which heated up  far more slowly than he had. He brushed a pan with butter, turned to  grab the batter and slammed into her. So not the romantic plan.  Involuntarily, his hands shot straight to her hips to steady her and his  fingers brushed the top of her ass in an all-around, worst-ever Whiskey  Tango Foxtrot.                       
       
           


       

"Whoops," she said, flushing. She didn't take a step backward, though.  He couldn't help but notice that. No, she stayed plastered thigh to  thigh and front to front with him. And she had a spectacular front.

"You okay?" No one got the drop on him, but this one woman was apparently the exception.

"Can I help?" Avoiding his eyes, she reached around him and started  rummaging through his box. Any semblance of order vanished at  approximately the same speed her shorts rode up her curvy ass. The  kimono did nothing to shield it from his gaze, and, boy, was he enjoying  looking. That had to be why he didn't mind the mess. That, and the fact  that Maddie could break him down faster than he could an M4.

Without waiting for his answer-which was, he realized, typical-she  pulled herself up on the counter, parked her sweet butt next to his gear  and crossed her legs. She waved a spatula she'd found in the box.

"What a girl could do with this," she said, slapping the plastic  against her palm. His brain stuttered to a halt while his body went into  autopilot pouring batter onto the griddle. Had she really gone there?

She grinned and held out the spatula. When he took it, her fingers slid over his. Lingered. She was definitely trouble.

"Is that a dare?" Breakfast. Compliments. Long walks on the beach. A  few slow, wet kisses. And then, according to the magazine master plan,  he got to have sex with her. Except that he had to substitute screwing  with her electronics for sleeping with Maddie, he reminded himself.  Clearly, he had his priorities skewed and should have focused on  bringing the kink.

Equally clearly, she planned on skipping straight to the climax, so to  speak. Or she was just messing with him. Either seemed like a  possibility. The wicked gleam in her eyes had him voting for option B.

"Do you want it to be?" She returned her attention to the contents of  the box. Unfortunately for her curiosity, he'd left the BDSM arsenal in  the hotel gift shop.

"You don't want to play games with me, sweetheart."

She shrugged. "Don't be so sure of that."

"I always win." Even before BUD/S training, he'd learned the value of winning. Older sisters were merciless when triumphant.

"Don't be so sure of that, either." She grinned cheekily at him. "Your  pancakes are bubbling. Even I know that means it's time to flip."

Shit. He rescued the pancakes, turning them over and adding the chocolate chips, before setting out a plate.

She watched him work, swinging a bare foot. She pouted. "You're not  eating with me? Because it's just wrong to ignore chocolate chips."

Silently he added a second plate to the counter. Guess he could be tempted after all.

* * *

MAYBE SHE COULD blame Fantasy Island. Maybe the place simply had sex in  the air, like perfume at the mall. Or maybe Maddie was just lonely.  That last option wasn't her favorite, but she had to admit the  possibility. Her recent dating history consisted of long stretches of  drought peppered with spectacular failures. Since working from home on  her blog ruled out a workplace romance, she'd had to rely on the guys  she met at weekend weddings. While she found a guy in a tux as hot as  the next woman did, she'd also discovered that a tux was a version of  dating wallpaper. The sexy suit covered up a wealth of issues. She  didn't need another DIY fixer-upper man.

Been there, done that.

A year ago, she'd naively thought her then boyfriend had been on the  proposal train. Unfortunately, the special dinner she'd anticipated all  week had turned out to be the breakup dinner. He'd picked up the check,  though, after explaining that he'd accepted a work transfer to the other  side of the country-and that he thought they should take a break while  he "got settled." She'd ordered both the lobster and the Kir Royal  cocktail. Three times. The rest of the night had been a mindless blur,  although she'd apparently drunk texted her sisters the sorry details of  her sex life. Twelve months later, she still hadn't lived those texts  down.

Hot vacation sex with Mason might seem like the best of ideas, but it  could all too easily end like her last relationship. Being the punch  line in a bad joke wasn't funny. At all. She had an adjective for every  finger on her hand for wrestling Mason into bed: risky, impulsive  and...tingly. While she'd enjoyed the casual postwedding hookup, Mason  was dangerous to her peace of mind. Once might not be enough with him.