Pleasing Her SEAL

He peeled her crepe off the bottom of her pan and gave it a quick QA check. The top was raw and the bottom blackened. With a sigh, he substituted his crepe for hers.

She flashed him a dazzling smile. “Thank you. For the rescue,” she added after a brief pause. He didn’t know whether she meant yesterday on the hillside—or the mangoes.

“I still owe you makeup chocolate,” he said gruffly.

Her head whipped around, her ponytail slapping him in the mouth. “You meant that?”

“You bet.” He wiped a smudge of honey off the corner of her mouth. “I live to serve.”

That much was true. His family served. It was their tradition and he was proud to continue it. He’d do what he could do, push to be the best that he could be. Sure, he’d been the first to do it for Uncle Sam rather than Fish & Game or the Forest Service, but he figured service was like Christmas presents. It came in different sizes and shapes and sometimes you had no idea what you were getting, but it was all good. His dad had been a hotshot firefighter. His uncles were firefighters, too. He’d simply picked a different kind of fire, the kind that came with bad guys and bullets...and Maddie. Being her bodyguard detail was a whole different challenge.

She stared at him, evaluating something he couldn’t see. “Tomorrow?”

“It’s a date.”

“Like a date date?” Was that a hint of uncertainty in her eyes? He couldn’t tell, but that was nothing new. He wasn’t the kind of guy who dated much and being an active-duty SEAL made relationships near impossible. He never knew when he would be called up or for how long, which made any kind of connection or friendship outside his team difficult.

“Makeup chocolate,” he repeated, skirting the whole thorny issue of their relationship potential.

She gave him another assessing look and then grinned. “Okay. Sounds like fun, so why the hell not?”

He, on the other hand, could think of multiple reasons. He was staring down thirty—from the wrong side of the decade. Although he still had all his working parts, he was banged up something fierce. His knees were good; his trigger finger steady. In short, he was a fixer-upper project and she was no carpenter.

“Give me a time, big guy,” she said, leaning in and patting his chest. “So I can prepare properly.”

Yeah. He was definitely out of his league here. Maddie was a dating guru, unlike his sorry self. At the very least, his instant erection was ironclad proof that she’d mastered the fine art of flirting.

“Eight o’clock,” he muttered and beat a strategic retreat.

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.