"I didn't see you."
"Oh, but I saw you."
Well, duh. Plain Jane was kinda hard to miss amid the glitz and cheer. Annabelle rolled her eyes and turned back to her beverage. Gripping the cold, sweaty glass in both hands, she took a sip of bitter goodness. “So where's the food? More importantly, where's dessert?"
Tony circled around and slid onto the barstool beside her. “I'm starting to think you only like me for my cooking."
Her lips twitched. “Anything's possible."
"Just when I thought we were getting to be friends."
She allowed a small smile. “Sure, okay, if that's what you want to call it."
"You're still only here for the food."
"Probably."
"Well then I guess I better play up my strengths if I'm going to impress you.” He flashed her that naughty grin, sending a tickle down the inside of her sweater. “Come on, I'll give you a special preview of the provisions."
Annabelle took her beer with her and followed Tony through a doorway at the back of the room that led to a large, commercial kitchen. Several chefs in white jackets and black Coast Guard baseball caps were busy stirring sauces, arranging platters, and singing along with I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Every single one of them had to be tone deaf. But it was priceless. These guys were actually putting Christmas music to good use!
"This is my crew. We've commandeered the kitchen here for the night. Guys, meet Petty Officer Annabelle Foster, Kodiak's newest, highly esteemed rescue swimmer."
The crew waved, never missing a beat. Every one of them was elbow deep in huge meat, potato, or vegetable platters. Tony led her around the kitchen, pointing out each dish in succession. Sweet Potato Casserole with Pecan Topping. Roasted Red Potatoes with Rosemary and Garlic. Herb Crusted Beef Tenderloin. Honey Ham. Green Bean Casserole. Roasted Butternut Squash with Maple Pecan Butter. The list went on and on and on.
Annabelle mingled and explored the Rec Center while Tony finished up in the kitchen. When the crew finally served the food, the party was in full swing, dancing and all. Tony loaded up plates for each of them and led her to a table next to a stone fireplace. The fire blazed and crackled, sending off waves of heat.
Placing a napkin in his lap, Tony shoveled several bites of ham into his mouth, chewed, and smiled at her. “So, what do you think?"
"It sure beats condiments and frozen peas.” She tore into a slice of beef tenderloin. The savory tastes of garlic, rosemary, and thyme filled her mouth.
"That's all I get, huh?"
She flashed a half smile. “You done good."
"You're a tough crowd."
They ate in silence for several minutes, trading meaningful glances and irrepressible smiles. What was it about this guy that had her mouth twitching and a giggle on the tip of her tongue? There was something about the way he looked at her. That smug smile… That light in his blue eyes… Her stomach was in constant motion every time she looked at him.
Watching her, he plucked a corn muffin off his plate, tore it in two, and ate half in one gulp. Those hands… Large, decisive, and corded. No hesitation in the way they moved. They would probably feel firm and steady planted on her waist. The way it ought to feel when a man held a woman.
Annabelle tore her gaze away and tried to focus on the crowd amassing on the dance floor. She wasn't here to fantasize about Tony Lombardi's mitts. She was here to eat, relax, and enjoy the holiday party comedy routine.
"So what's your pleasure?” he asked. “Dancing? Drinking."
"Negative on the dancing."
"Not even a slow one?"
She slid her gaze over his chest, noting its finely sculpted peaks and valleys. Would it feel as hard against her body as it looked inside that shirt? Hmm… best not to go down that road. Talk about trouble. Not to mention distracting. Her work here at Air Station Kodiak required every ounce of her dedication, focus, and mental strength. No room for mistakes. No room for mooning about some guy.
"I'm better at drinking,” she said.
He pushed his plate aside. “I got an idea. I'll scare us up a couple beers. You go score us some pool sticks and I'll wipe the table with your hide."
Laughter exploded from her chest. Seriously! “You think I can't play?"
"I'm sure you can, just like I'm sure I can win."
"You are such an egomaniac."
Grinning with his lower lip between his teeth, he leaned back in his chair. “I double dog dare you to beat me."
Oh really? Now there was a challenge she wouldn't turn down. “Fine, you want to play it that way.” Annabelle leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “It's on."
Mr. Macho was about to find out that Annabelle Foster never let a man win.
Chapter Three
Tony chalked his stick, eyeing his opponent as she did the same at the other end of the table. She was a hell of a woman, a hell of a human being for that matter, and she was hot to boot. It didn't get much better.
He'd better make this game count.
Annabelle eyed him across the table, her creamy complexion made soft in the glow of the pool table chandelier. Walking toward him, her hips swaying with the Bee Gees tunes spilling from the dance floor in the next room, she tossed her silky, mid-length auburn hair away from her face and pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. His gaze drifted from her angular shoulders, lower to the narrow taper of her waist and beautifully toned forearms.
"I hope you're ready to come to Jesus when this is over,” she said.
"Not gonna happen. I play to win.” At pool, and pretty much everything else for that matter.
"What's winning worth to you?"
Tony twirled the stick between his fingers. This was getting more and more interesting by the second. “What's it worth to you?"
"I asked you first."
Ah, she liked a man to make the first move. Good to know. “I'll make a deal with you.” He never took his eyes from hers.
"Why do I feel like I'm making a deal with the devil?"
His only answer to that was a slow smile.
"What sort of deal?"
"I win, I get a date."
Her brows lifted sharply. “A date?"
"You know, the kind where you get dolled up, I slap on some cologne, we break bread together over candlelight and great conversation, and at the end, well…” He winked. “You get the idea.” There. It was on the table. Her move.
"I was thinking more along the lines of ten bucks."
"Nah, too boring."
"What if I win?” she asked.
He pondered that a moment. “A personal chef for a day."
"I do just fine cooking for myself."
"What do you cook?"
She shrugged. “Oh you know, the basics."
"Like?"
Her gaze drifted away. “Lean Cuisine, Hungry Man, Hot Pockets, Ben and Jerry's. The four frozen food groups."
Tony burst out laughing. “You need help."
"Says you."
"Says every health expert on the planet."
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I get by just fine on my own."
Tony stepped toward her so he had to look down into her face. “And getting by is good enough for you?"
Annabelle blinked up at him. Her eyes grew serious.
Bingo.
"All right, fair enough,” she said quietly. “Let the game begin."
Annabelle's first shot echoed like a lightning crack, scattering balls across the table. Two stripes made it in. Yes. A strong start. Several shots later, she had cleared off two more stripes, and then missed by a hair. Didn't matter. She was still in control of this game.
"Your table.” She straightened.
Tony bent low to take his shot, giving her a bird's eye view of his strong, hard features. He watched a solid red ball sashay off the edge and swish into a corner pocket. Then he lifted his gaze, caught her staring, and winked. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking.