Pleasing Her SEAL

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.

Maybe it was all the weddings. Thirteen of them in eighteen months. Once upon a time, weddings had been her favorite way to spend a Saturday, but she was tired of standing on the sidelines. Tired of watching other people hook up and live out their fantasies. She didn’t need a groom of her own, but a man? Temporarily? That worked for her. Where was the harm in borrowing Mason for the rest of her vacation? The hunk definitely brought out her inner tease.

Bad Maddie.

He was big and built, powerful shoulders flexing beneath his white T-shirt. She had no idea how he stayed so pristine in the kitchen. There wasn’t a smear of flour or chocolate on him anywhere she could see. It was like her own personal challenge to see if she could crack his stoic surface and mess him up. Only in the best possible ways, she thought virtuously. Nothing mean or petty. Just...sexy.

God, was he ever sexy.

And that was before he said the magic words. “Strawberries or whipped cream?” The smile quirking the corner of his mouth was downright naughty. “Or both?”

“You have to ask?” Because, seriously, was there more than one possible answer?

“A vote for both.” With a flourish, he spread strawberries over the topmost pancakes and followed with whipped cream, and not the kind from the aerosol bottle. Nope. He had a fancy stainless-steel number that promised all sorts of dairy goodness. There was definitely something to be said for a man who cooked. He picked up the two plates and nodded his head toward the small table. “Sit down.”

Fresh whipped cream was a motivator. She hopped off the counter and sat at the table.

He wasn’t much of a talker. He didn’t open up and tell her all about himself, or even share the usual dating details like favorite movies, favorite songs or favorite sexual positions. Instead, he sat there and listened. She told herself that wasn’t a turn-on, but really...yeah. It was.

“What made you decide to blog about weddings?”

“I was laid off. I knew how to type.” She wiggled her French-manicured fingers at him. “And I had a stack of wedding invitations as high as Bill Mountain.”

“A fresh start.” He nodded grimly, as if he understood, although she had to wonder what he’d ever failed at. He seemed pretty darn perfect to her.

She and failure, on the other hand, were BFFs. She’d been an executive assistant before the software start-up folded. No Silicon Valley billionaire had crossed her path, although she’d had a few conference room fantasies to go with a social life that consisted of online dating, dating apps and friends of friends. She gave good first dates, but guys didn’t call back. Or email back, text back or IM her back, and it was partly her fault. She knew what she wanted in a man and she knew she had things to offer. He’d be honest and reliable and, when she was around him, she’d feel safe enough to be herself. He’d like her first, and then he’d love her. In exchange for all of himself, she’d offer up all she had. She definitely wouldn’t have sex just because or to cross the next step off in some dating checklist. But even if she was looking for Mr. Right, she’d also settle for an attractive Mr. Right Now as long as he came with an orgasm for two.

“Bills are an excellent motivator,” she admitted softly.

He laughed. “Yeah. Electricity and running water are kind of addictive.”

She’d marked the date on her calendar when she’d earned enough from affiliate marketing to pay her rent. Forget celebrating dating anniversaries—because that had been a day to remember.

“Why weddings?” he continued. “Other than a pressing need to keep the lights on.”

“You don’t think I’m a personal expert?”

He gave her another lazy grin. “Are you admitting to being a serial bride?”

“I was a bona fide expert. I’d been to a dozen in five months because my college friends paired off like randy rabbits. I’d also worn out my copy of Wedding Crashers and thought, ‘I could do that.’ One big party with free food and bad dresses, right? Then I found out that I actually like weddings. I like the food, the flowers, the really bad and over-the-top dresses. And, yes, I like the look the groom gets on his face when he sees his bride walking up the aisle toward him.” She paused. “Does that scare you?”