Pleasing Her SEAL

And writing about the pool scene was certainly no hardship. The pool itself was all sleek curves. Private cabanas offered guests superb views of the sea, and staff moved discreetly among the loungers, offering fruit kebobs and Evian water spritzes. Ashley waved from a cabana. She wore an electric-pink string bikini and held a paperback that almost outweighed her.

Ashley shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head. “Are you here for the cooking lesson?”

Not intentionally, but it sounded like fun, particularly if it came with a side of Mason. She dropped onto the cushion beside Ashley, taking care not to slosh the mango margarita she’d acquired at the bar.

“I could be,” she agreed. “I like free food.”

Ashley nodded. “We’re making mango-raspberry crepes with honeyed goat cheese.”

Yeah, that sounded pretty good. “I’m in,” she decided.

And then, wouldn’t you know it, Mason strode toward the pool, and he was the cherry on the sundae. He wore black linen plants that clung to his muscular thighs as he moved. Instead of looking silly in the white chef’s jacket and hat, he looked in control. Confident. He’d rolled his sleeves up, revealing powerful forearms. She was almost certain she was holding her breath, damn it. He was just one guy. One really hot, supersexy guy. His dark gaze slid over her, stopped, and he nodded. She had no idea what that meant. Hi? Glad to see you? Wait, there’s the woman I almost knocked over a cliff? The man should come with a secret decoder ring.

Ashley sat up cross-legged and closed her paperback. “Do you think we have to cook in order to eat?”

Maddie would bet the answer to that was yes. Mason wasn’t the kind of guy you took advantage of, and while she hadn’t asked his policy on free lunches when they’d run into each other at the lookout yesterday, she could certainly venture a guess. While she stared, Mason started dicing mango with easy confidence. She was all thumbs when it came to knives. Mason...was not.

“He’s going to make us work for it,” she said with a petulant frown.

Ashley sighed. “You think he’s a hard-ass about everything?”

“Probably.” If she took her friend’s words at face value, she had to admit that the man certainly had an amazing butt.

“Remember the drinks menu,” Ashley said impishly. “You could take him for a test drive.”

The rumored drinks menu, she reminded herself. The menu existed. She’d spent far too much time flipping through the twelve laminated pages of drinks with sexy names like Leather and Lace and Kinky Sex. The question, however, was whether those drink names were really not-so-covert code names for naughty sex acts that could be requested from the staff or other guests. Laney Parker had certainly made a good case for the menu being fact rather than fiction. She’d hooked up with the resort’s super-sexy masseuse and, from her blushes, done some menu exploring with him. It was too bad the other woman had been unexpectedly called home when a new job had opened up for her at a local emergency room, because Maddie had questions. Like, could you really just point and pick? For some reason, the notion felt kind of slimy. “Do you really think Mason’s available for that?”

Ashley shrugged. “Ask him.”

“A guy who looks like that isn’t available.” Not in her universe and not with her dating bad luck.

Ashley ogled Mason. “Are you offering him to me?”

No. She really wasn’t. “He’s off-limits,” she blurted, surprising herself. She hadn’t decided yet if she was going for him, but she knew she didn’t want to watch Ashley making a move on her chef.

“He’s all yours,” Ashley said, looking at her over the top of her sunglasses. “But you have to tell me what you’re planning for him.”

“He may not be interested,” she warned.

“Oh, he’s interested.” Ashley grinned and, although they both knew she had no way of being certain about Mason’s interest, Maddie appreciated the support.

Maddie didn’t want to explain how many times she’d met a guy and gone after him, only to learn that he thought of her as the fun friend. At the last wedding she’d attended, the usher she’d been paired with had spent the evening reception hitting her up for the maid of honor’s phone number. His patent disinterest in her own charms had rankled, too, because she’d thought they had good chemistry. Clearly, her dating radar was broken.

“Remember,” she said lightly. “I’m always the bridesmaid and never the bride.”