“You think a woman like Maddie could do that?”

“There’s only one way to find out. You have to put it to her, see what she says. If you want to keep her.”

“Hooyah,” he growled, because keeping Maddie was apparently all he could think about.

He put on a tough act and, most days, he was tough. Tough like shoe leather, pizza that had been microwaved ten minutes instead of ten seconds, tough like Levi’s campfire steak. Sometimes, though, particularly when he checked those emails, saw those photos of his loved ones waiting for him back in San Francisco, he got a funny marshmallow feeling somewhere in his stomach.

Maddie was tough and funny—but she was also tremendously sweet and more than a little sentimental. She wrote about weddings and dresses, cakes and flowers and exotic honeymoons. All those things were about as foreign to him as clearing a compound in Afghanistan was to her. But he was willing to learn, not least because he enjoyed the hell out of her approach, both to cake and to life in general. She didn’t hold back. At all. Her sexy little whimper of pleasure at the first bite made him think dirty thoughts about what else—okay, who else—might make her moan. Like him. He’d start with her thighs and...

“I want to keep her.”

“Then, I highly recommend groveling.” Levi moved, heading for the open door of the chopper. “Go after her. Beg. Tell her she’s right, you’re wrong and you’d like to spend the rest of your sorry life making it up to her.”

It was a start. Mason jogged along behind him.

“When did you get so smart?”

The other man laughed and swung himself into the chopper. “I got married on Fantasy Island, remember?”

Right. That fucking perfect sunset and perfect moment on the beach. No way he’d forget that, or the way Maddie’s face had lit up when he’d kissed her afterward. She made these husky moans when he really got her going, purely unforgettable. Yeah. He’d be happy hearing those sexy sounds of hers again. Like once or twice a week, or once a day for the next forty years or so. The chopper lifted off, taking them away from the empty compound and their no-show target. BUD/S had prepared him for a compound full of hostiles, but nothing had prepared him for Maddie.

Groveling it was, just as soon as he could cart his sorry ass back to her.

15

Ladies, there is a reason Fantasy Island is all about fantasies. Fantasies are fun, but they’re not real life. I screwed up big time. Let’s just say that Mr. Fantasy Fodder was living a few fantasies of his own and he didn’t share those fantasies with me. I’m feeling kind of stupid right now. All that hot kinkiness must have short-circuited something critical in my brain, because when I opened my mouth the last time I saw FF, I asked him to marry me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s time to stop hiding my head, though, because I’ve got another wedding this weekend. I’ll be sure to report back to you with all the details about the wedding favors, the cake and the drunk groomsmen.

—MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle

THE WEDDING UNFOLDING in front of Maddie wasn’t on an island, or even remotely tropical. The bride had gone with a purple palette and there probably wasn’t a single orchid left in the entire state. She couldn’t bring herself to care that the bride had employed approximately fourteen different shades of purple in her color scheme. It was ambitious. It was kind of an eyesore. And it didn’t freaking matter, although the open bar was a plus.

The happy couple had waltzed down the aisle, and then the wedding guests had reassembled on the front lawn of what purported to be a fully functioning farm on a bona fide historic site. The big Victorian farmhouse looked more like a mansion, and most of the guests had booked rooms for the night. The bride had opted for a four-course dinner served under an enormous lilac tent, and fireworks would be shot off over nearby Lake Champlain when it got dark. As over-the-top fun as this particular wedding was, Maddie couldn’t bring herself to care.

As the best man had brought the room to tears describing the groom’s romantic proposal—something involving spelling out “Will you marry me?” in the snow with about two thousand tea lights—Maddie’s own head was replaying a never-ending loop of her own proposal. Now that the embarrassment had faded, she missed Mason. Sure, she wanted to kick his fine butt, but she ached for him, too.

Stop thinking about the SEAL.

Waiters were clearing away the remains of the dinner, and the happy couple would be cutting the cake soon. Maddie had wandered over and taken a look at it earlier, snapping pictures of the four layers of purple-fondant goodness with crystalized violets. Her blog followers would definitely have an opinion on this one, and it was her duty to taste test it for them. After her Fantasy Island stay, her blog traffic was way up, and she was finally bringing in enough money to keep both the lights and the water on.

Tags: Anne Marsh Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net