Pleasing Her SEAL

He finished his last pancake and stole a bite of hers. “Not particularly. Is this where your other dates run screaming for the exit?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” She sighed. Blogging about weddings was like having the best-ever paper-dolls set, where she could try on all the clothes and the locations for herself, but without committing. Guys, however, seemed to assume she had to score a ring of her own ASAP. At the very least, they expected an endless series of boring Saturdays dressed up in a tuxedo. And while she wanted to find The One and get hitched, it didn’t have to happen this week, this month or even this year. Just...sometime. Sometime would be good.

“Who knew?” He’d eaten with neat efficiency, dividing each pancake into even sections. Finished, he lined up his knife and fork on the edge of the plate with military precision.

She, on the other hand, had only a passing familiarity with the word neat. It had zero practical applications to her everyday life. She pointed a fork at him. “Finish your thought.”

“That someone could make a living writing about weddings on the internet.”

“Not a good living,” she muttered. “This Fantasy Island gig is my shot at serious advertising revenue. If I do a good job here, other clients should follow. Hopefully before the electric company turns off my power.”

He laughed. “So you’re the Pied Piper of the blogosphere.”

“Except the Pied Paper was kind of creepy—and he had thousands of rats following him.” She, on the other hand, had an entourage of one. “You’re a good listener.” Whoops. The words had come out more accusation than not.

He shrugged. “I have sisters.”

And she’d bet they worshipped him. The twinkle in his eyes said the feeling was mutual. “How many?”

“Too many?” A smile tugged at his gorgeous mouth as he relaxed, his arms stretched out over the back of the bench. His bare feet brushed against hers. He was in her space.

And she liked it.

“Four,” he continued. “I have four sisters. A mother. Three aunties and three female cousins. I get plenty of practice listening.”

She could just imagine. “No wonder you’re not much of a talker.”

“Pick a topic.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re willing to make a blanket commitment to talking about anything?”

“You’re right. That could get me in trouble.” He pushed to his feet. Oh, yum. All smooth male power. “I should clean up.”

No. He should get really, really dirty.

“I have a few ideas.” Reaching out, she hooked a finger in the hem of his T-shirt.

“Of where to start?” Now he looked amused. Or maybe that was the strawberry smear she’d just deposited on his shirt. Switching hands, she stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean. He made a hoarse sound as if he felt the pull of her mouth in interesting places.

Definitely not interested in letting go. “Are you cursing?”

“I’m cleaning,” he said firmly, grabbing her plate as if she didn’t have a stranglehold on his shirt.

She tugged a little harder. Come closer. “You need one of those maid’s aprons.”

“You see me in white-and-black frills? Besides, I think that might count as sexual harassment.” He set the plates down and freed his shirt. She couldn’t help but notice, however, that he didn’t step back.

“Are you complaining?” Because if he was, she could take the hint.

He shook his head, gave her a mock-stern look. “I should.”

“You have whipped cream on your mouth.” Since he was so conveniently close...she tucked her fingers in the waistband of his pants and pulled. No need for words—his new position put him almost on eye level with her.

“Bossy,” he said with another one of his slow, sexy smiles. And then, “Prove it.”

She loved a good dare.

“Right here.” She scooped up whipped cream from her plate and pressed a fingertip against the corner of his mouth. “I’ll help you with it.”

Mason’s eyes darkened and he slammed his hands down on either side of her legs, leaning in. His shoulders pressed her thighs wide and she fought the urge to drape them over his shoulders and tell him to dive on in, but she didn’t want to put him off. She knew what she liked and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it, but some guys were scared off by that. It was their loss, but if Mason was a card-carrying member of the Men With Small Penises Club, their pancake-eating fun would be over.