Pleasing Her Seal. Anne Marsh

       4

      I’ve got a breakfast date this morning with Mr. Fantasy Fodder (and I should sign off because, yep, it’s three in the morning and the purple shadows under my eyes are not a sexy look). I’ll report back on whether or not FF lives up to the promise of his mighty fine butt! I’m taking bets on which approach I should take:

      A) Point him in the direction of the Cheerios in my kitchen. They’re heart healthy—and probably not too stale.

      B) Hop out of bed and throw together a quick Sunday brunch for two because the way to his heart is either through his stomach or his libido—and I’m the kind of gal who likes to have all the bases covered.

      C) Offer to split the last package of Pop-Tarts with him. Naked. In bed.

      —MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle

      STEP ONE IN becoming the perfect boyfriend? Cook Maddie a romantic breakfast and make her feel butterflies when she looked at him. No pressure. Since Maddie had agreed to a chocolate-chip pancake date, Mason had breakfast covered. He’d cook her a short stack, suss out her electronics and wipe any data that needed wiping. Easy-peasy and a guaranteed success, according to the magazine article Mason had checked out. Keep the doubts to yourself.

      She looked like the girl next door, the queen of diamond rings, tulle and happily-ever-afters. So not his style. But until SEAL Team Sigma had ruled out the possibility of finding Santiago Marcos on the island, Mason would stick by her side. That was the only reason he was knocking on her door this morning, he told himself. Security reasons...not personal pursuits. SEALs shipped out. He’d known a few married men in the teams, but he wasn’t going to be a part-time husband, lover, father. His Mrs. was the military.

      Maddie’s villa was the first in a row of picture-perfect bungalows dotting a white sand beach. He knew from the team’s orientation that she’d have a small kitchen because apparently some of the island’s guests liked to throw intimate dinner parties or have a private chef come in to whip up dinner. It was a different world from the loud, noisy family culinary sessions he’d grown up with. Today though, the secluded-elegance crap worked for him. Cooking in the resort’s immaculate industrial kitchen wouldn’t have let him get close to Maddie.

      Although he had a staff passkey, he knocked. And then waited. Double-checked the bungalow number to make sure he was in the right place. Waited some more while he considered the possibility that there had already been a security breach and Santiago had gotten to Maddie. His gut tightened. There were no visible signs of forcible entry, and it was more likely she’d simply overslept. At this rate, she’d be eating breakfast for lunch. The third time he knocked, he finally heard footsteps.

      When Maddie eventually cracked the door and peered out, he stared back because he couldn’t help himself. She was wearing a pink tank top and cotton sleep shorts that barely skimmed the top of her curvy thighs. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a death-defying, messy bun. Red strands escaped around her face, already curling in the island’s humidity.

      “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