“We could bring her in,” Mason suggested reluctantly. “Interview her. Or ask US Customs to intercept her on her return trip.”
If Maddie had had her camera trained on the lagoon overnight, there was a very good chance she’d captured faces. Given what even amateur photo-editing software could do these days, leaving any images in Maddie’s hands was a security risk. Put it together with the rest of her vlogging and... Diego’s brother could connect the dots. Plus, if Santiago was here, Maddie could ID him, and he’d bet Santiago had come undercover if he’d come at all.
Gray nodded, apparently coming to the same conclusion. “Worst-case scenario, that works. The customs boys can seize her laptop and go over it, although she’ll be asking questions.”
“Okay, then, let’s go with plan A. I’ll find out what she’s got. If she’s got anything.” For some reason, he wanted to play nice. After all, he’d already scared her once, and she’d almost hyperventilated on the spot. She was a civilian, not collateral damage.
Ashley examined her fingernails. “She’s here for another week.”
Good to know the timeline.
“I’ll make sure she didn’t record anything.” If she had, Mason would wipe whatever device it was.
Gray frowned. “Be discreet, okay? Scrub her media and shadow her in case there’s any blowback from Diego’s people or Santiago.”
Levi whistled as the meeting broke up. “You just scored bodyguard duty. Enjoy.”
Playing bodyguard wasn’t exactly the worst job in the world. He was all for sticking as close as possible to Maddie—up to and including getting naked. No. Wait. Resist that thought, sailor.
Ashley rummaged in her bag. “I’m helping, too.”
“Really?” Levi smirked, and even Mason recognized condescension when it stared at him. “How are you going to do that?”
Ashley pointed to Mason. “Penis angle.” And then she pointed to herself. “Girlfriend angle.”
“You think Maddie’s going to make Mason her new boy toy?”
Mason punched Levi in the shoulder when his teammate snorted. Sure, he was an introvert and no flirt, but he’d dated as recently as this year. He didn’t need Levi’s lousy dating advice. The guy had a different woman for each day of the week, and he seemed perfectly happy that way. But that wasn’t the way Mason planned on living his life.
“Read this.” Ashley shoved a magazine into his hands. The cover was one of those bright pink numbers with a too-perfect model. A brunette with spectacular boobs, her hair flying in an artificial breeze while she gave the camera a come-hither face.
No, thank you. “This is waiting room material.”
Ashley grinned at him. “Maddie has a serious magazine addiction. She loves the quizzes, so think of this as enemy intel. X marks the spot, big guy.”
He paged through the magazine. He’d been on the receiving end of intel more than once and it had never smelled like perfume before, or—he paused—scratch-and-sniff ads for tropical air fresheners. When he hit Ashley’s Post-it note, he stopped reading.
“You think I should take a quiz on how to be the perfect guy?”
Mason had four sisters. Surely that ought to qualify him as something of a girl expert? His jaw tightened. On the other hand, he’d also been married and divorced, so his credentials were rocky.
Ashley slapped his shoulder. “Read it. Then ask questions.”
Since Ashley had to be one of the most tenacious people Mason knew, he read. It was quicker that way. And she was right—it wouldn’t hurt to find out what it took to be a keeper guy. Mason’s sisters loved that crap. So did his cousins. A road map couldn’t hurt. He read the first quiz question.
You kiss her for the first time. After you break your lip-lock, you:
A) Tell her you’ve been fantasizing about kissing her for days—and that the reality is even better than the fantasy.
B) Whisper that she’s the hottest kisser ever—and you’ve got a list of other places you’d like to kiss her.
C) Praise her kissing skills and beg her to do it again just so you can be sure.
Jesus. What had happened to just kissing? “This stuff works?”
Levi ripped the quiz out and tucked it into the pocket of Mason’s pants. “Take notes and have fun, sailor.”
This girl might just have the best job in the world! I’m hanging out on a tropical island, the cocktails are free and hotness is a basic job requisite. Because did I mention the good-looking guys are everywhere? Yum. I even ran into a bona fide single guy yesterday and he’s got yours truly thinking that a vacation fling should be part of my plans. Fantasy Fodder—let’s call him FF for short—accidentally bumped into me when I was snapping you some gorgeous photos of the lagoon at sunrise (ladies, you’re totally going to want to do your wedding photos here, although I recommend a less obscene hour than the ass crack of dawn). Then he jumped right into rescue mode and kept yours truly from going over the edge of the cliff. So there I am with my very own white knight and rescue hottie, and he’s not even mad that I may have christened him with a venti white mocha. A guy with a sense of humor and strong, manly hands? Sign me up, ladies!
—MADDIE, Kiss and Tulle
THERE NEEDED TO be a fourth, hidden option for people who wanted to increase their odds of hooking up because Maddie wasn’t an A, B or C girl. Her generous coating of SPF-100 sunscreen—thanks, Mom, for the redheaded gene—and a blue-and-white-checked retro two-piece definitely didn’t fall into the string-bikini category, although the buttons marching down her hips were a sassy touch she loved. She also appreciated her curves, even if they didn’t always fit into a standard-issue bikini. There was a whole lot of her recently thanks to a post-layoff diet of wedding cake and favors. She needed to plan on buying new clothes or minimizing the sweets.
A mental image of Mason popped into her head. He’d be anything but sweet. Bad girl. Maybe she’d been single long enough to recover from her last disastrous relationship or maybe it was something about Fantasy Island itself, because the resort certainly encouraged her erotic daydreams with their hunky help. She’d posted about her hot man on a hillside early this morning. If she couldn’t get an orgasm from him, she’d at least get a blog post. So far, the yeas outnumbered the nays two to one in her “Would you have hot vacation sex?” poll.
Since it was the low season, Fantasy Island didn’t have many guests at the moment. There had only been two other women on the seaplane that had brought her here. Laney Parker had been using up her honeymoon reservation after her fiancé had ditched her, and Ashley Dixon had won a free getaway in some sort of Facebook contest. The low occupancy was undoubtedly the reason why Fantasy Island’s owners had been willing to fly her here free so she could blog about their awesome resort offerings.
This was her big break. If Fantasy Island bought banner advertising on her blog, she’d be able to keep the lights on in her condo for at least six more months...and having one high-profile client would attract others. Business was like dating. The more popular a girl was, the more guys lined up to buy her drinks and share their contact info. So far, her blog had been a wallflower, but she was determined that those lonely days were over.
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