by Lori Avocato
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.
Which was impossible because she didn’t even know what she was thinking, getting involved with a guy like Tony Lombardi. An obvious flirt and player. Not that he’d flirted with anyone else here, but still … just look at him. Glossy dark curls, blue eyes that put the Gerber baby to shame, an imposing, muscled but not-too-large build. In other words, a hunk of burning love.
The kind of burn that left a scar.
Not to mention, getting involved with a fellow Coastie. Yikes. Trouble. And yet, here she was. Suiting up for another go-round. Because either way this game went, he’d guaranteed himself more face time with her.
No one could say he wasn’t clever.
Watching him strut around the table with that square-legged swagger, she couldn’t stand it anymore and turned to watch the dancing. This was unexpected, this … invisible magnetic draw between them. More than unexpected, it was completely off track.
Nothing distracted her from a singular ambition to be the best damned female rescue swimmer in the Coast Guard. Sure, there had been men in her life. Mostly short-lived flings long on good times and short on commitment. That suited her just fine. She was a loner by nature.
But this guy. He was something altogether different.
Annabelle turned slowly to find Tony chalking his stick, watching her. The strangest realization hit her; he liked her. Despite the fact that she was underdressed, she had a smart mouth, and she didn’t do the coy little girl routine. Not to mention he didn’t seem the least bit put off by what she did for a living.
Amazing.
Not many men, or women for that matter, understood why she put herself in danger for the sake of others. Tony accepted it. Respected it. The idea unfurled something inside her, like a cold, clenched hand finally relaxing and stretching toward a warm fire. If this wasn’t unchartered territory, she didn’t know what was. Give her a stormy night, violent seas, danger, and lives to save.
That unknown, she could handle.
“You’re up,” he said.
Annabelle took her shot, landing a stripe in a side pocket. She glanced up, arched a brow. “Take that.”
“I’m still winning.”
“Not for long.”
Another shot. She missed.
He shook his head. “It’s looking pretty grim for you, Foster.”
She straightened and sent him a sidelong glance. From this angle, up close and personal, he looked much more approachable, more … real. If so inclined, she could reach out and trace the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, or press on the indentation in his chin, or feel the rough stubble framing his mouth.
Annabelle turned around and perched a hip on the edge of the table. “So what made you decide to become a Coast Guard chef?”
“Well, I’ve always loved food. Hard not to when you grow up on all day progressive holiday meals.”
“Ah, right, you’re Italian.”
“Hundred percent.” He easily dropped two more balls.
“Where does the Coast Guard fit in?”
He didn’t answer right away, but looked thoughtful. “It all started with an article in the newspaper about a Coast Guard rescue off the New Jersey Shore during a nor’easter. I was obsessed after that with everything Coast Guard. What can I say, I was a kid, my parents had just died in a car accident, and I needed … something.” He shrugged, as if the story were just a piece of his life’s roadmap. “And I guess I’ve always wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself. Plus, I needed an education. The Coast Guard turned out to be my ticket.”
She didn’t say anything, merely watched him. He tried to underplay it, like it all just happened this way. But Annabelle knew one thing; nothing just happened.
“It turned out to be a great place for me. People think I’m a behind the scenes guy, and technically I am, but everyone has to eat. I take care of my people, their stomachs, and their morale, and they take care of business.”
Annabelle took her shot, scratched.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I come from a long military pedigree.”
“Which branch?”
“Navy. Going back two generations.”
“And you became a Coastie?” He set up the cue ball, aimed, and sank his last ball. “Bet that went over well.”
She nodded. “Yeah, it was kind of a given that I would go into some kind of military service, most likely the Navy, but I wanted to do my own thing. I didn’t want to be thought of as Foster’s daughter for the rest of my life.”
Tony shot at the eight ball and missed. “So you’re a trailblazer.”
“You could say that.”
He stared at her for long seconds.
“What?”
“Oh nothing.”
“You’re giving me a look.”
A slight smile softened his features. “I’m impressed.”
The hand unfurled even further. “Flattery will not distract me.”
“I wasn’t trying to flatter you, I was being honest.” He leaned against the table beside her as she took a shot and sank her last stripe. “Not every day I meet a beautiful woman whose resume is also impressive.”
Annabelle straightened and faced him, her fingers inches away from his on the edge of the table. “This doesn’t bother you.”
“Why would it?”
“Why wouldn’t it?” she countered.
“Looks like you’ve been meeting the wrong kind of guys.”
“And you’re the right kind?”
A slow, knowing smile. “Damn straight.”
Annabelle angled herself in position, took a shot, and missed. Tony watched her face as he circled the table, slow and intense, each step predatory. Then he leaned down, surveyed the angle at eye level, pointed, and aimed.
Crack.
The eight ball disappeared into a side pocket.
Just like that, he won. Not only the game, but also a date, and the upper hand. Annabelle replaced her stick in its place and turned to face the victor. Reaching beyond her, he replaced his own stick, never taking his eyes from hers. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled.
“What next, champ?” he asked. “Dancing?”
“I’ve had enough humiliation for one night, thanks.”
“So that’s it?”
She nodded. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Tony retrieved their coats from the coat check, took down her address for their date, and exchanged his phone number for hers. The cold arctic air washed over them like ice water as they walked through the parking lot. The night was still and cold, the stars twinkling in a black sky.
Her pace slowed as they reached her navy blue Ford Explorer. She turned, passing her keys back and forth between each hand, stomach torn up.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I was impressed with you, Annabelle.” It was the first time he’d used her first name. The syllables rolled off his tongue like balls of cookie dough. “I want to know you.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” What was she doing?
Tony leaned one hand against the driver side door, halfway trapping her between his body and the car. She could escape now if she wanted, slip away from him, create distance. But she did no su
ch thing.
“I think we’re dating,” he said.
“We agreed to a date, as in singular,” she said softly.
“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be back.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was beginning to think you had a modest side.”
“I know what I have to offer, and it’s good stuff.”
“Oh yeah? How good?” Had she really just said that? What alien life form had snatched her body and put a sexpot in its place?
He waggled his brows. “Stick around long enough and you’ll find out.”
“Are you playing hard to get?” That was it. She was out of control. Nothing was going to shut her up except complete and total extraction from the situation. Like right now.
Get. In. The. Car
Still, she didn’t move.
“Maybe,” he said.
“I don’t like games. That’s why I don’t date.” Among many other even more valid reasons. Like the way she was feeling right now. Ready to throw up or throw the man down on the hood of her car.
“No games here. Just you and me, and what could be. If you’re open to it.” He licked his lips, gaze never leaving hers. “Are you?”
Her breathing grew shallow. She felt like a helo was hovering over her head, rotor blades whirring, louder and louder and … Oh, God. Was she? One week ago, the answer would have been absolutely not. But in a matter of two meetings, Tony Lombardi had seduced her senses with Frosty the Snowman cookies and Sweet Potato Casserole.
She swallowed. “Possibly.”
His other arm closed in, trapping her completely, as he angled his head toward her. Pausing, he looked into her eyes and smiled. This was her last chance to stop this thing. Except that was like trying to stop a freight train by standing in the middle of the tracks. Who was stupid enough to do such a thing?
Not her.
Annabelle grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him against her. Within seconds, mouths engaged, arms clawed, and hands raked. A switch flipped, turning on every nerve ending in her body. She wanted to drink him in gulps, not sips. Feel everything he had to give. Have all of him—now.
Annabelle pressed a hand to his chest and broke the kiss, gasping. “You need to go.” Before she did something really stupid.
“How’s that for possibility?” he asked, breathless.
She couldn’t even answer him. All she could do was breathe in and out, in and out, drawing as much oxygen into her constricted lungs as they would allow.
He backed up, hair still mussed from her roving hands. “Tomorrow night. 2000 hours. I’ll pick you up.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Four
Annabelle bolted upright in bed the next morning, clutching her burning gut, slick moisture coating her neck and chest. How long had she slept? What time was it? She glanced at a clock sitting on the cardboard moving box that served as a nightstand. 1600 hours. Saturday.
The morning after her first real mission for Team Kodiak.
Annabelle flopped back down onto the ultra firm mattress so hard the box spring whined in complaint. Staring at a ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she gathered air into her lungs and forced it past the closing walls of her throat. The scene of the accident, called in the wee hours of the morning, blinked back to her like camera flashes.
Dark, angry ocean swells.
Frothing white caps.
Snapping wood.
They dragged her under in waves, choking moisture from her heavy eyelids. Gone was the drone of rotor blades overhead, the crackled voices of the crew, and screaming wind. Only the sound of an airplane cracking in two under the weight of the Bering Sea echoed in her mind.
Not one soul had survived the crash. Not one.
Two froze to death in the water, waiting for help. Waiting for her.
Annabelle threw back the sheets and lowered her feet to the chilled wood floor. Suck it up, Foster. It wasn’t like someone had fooled her into thinking this post would be a cakewalk. She’d deplaned that first day in Kodiak, welcomed the crisp, salty sea air into her lungs, and told herself she was the luckiest Rescue Swimmer in the Coast Guard. What awaited her was opportunity—to achieve things no woman before her had even attempted, to become stronger and better, to save lives.
That was her calling.
Crying over the ones that couldn’t be saved was a waste of good energy. Let it go and focus. How many times had Dad drilled that into her head? She knew what he’d say to her tears. He’d tell her to have her moment and move on.
All right then, moment over.
She peeled off her damp T-shirt, threw on jeans and a gray sweater, and stepped out onto her tiny apartment terrace for some fresh air. Streaks of orange and yellow flamed across a darkening winter sky. Flurries were just beginning their lazy, drifting descent. She breathed deeply of the sweet pine air.
Tony Lombardi would be here in a few short hours.
To pick her up for a date.
“Oh, God.” She covered her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she dropped her arm to her side and began pacing the small space. In the light of day, without the hypnotizing flicker of holiday lights and sparkle and a year’s worth of sugar coursing through her veins, Annabelle’s face burned as she mentally replayed the previous night’s activities.
She kissed Tony Lombardi. Kissed him. A fellow Coastie!
What was she thinking?
Simple, she wasn’t.
At which precise moment in the evening’s festivities had her brain stopped working? When she’d agreed to that insane bet? Nope, way before then. Sitting across from Tony eating up his flirtations along with his delicious food? Getting closer … Ah, wait, she had it. It all started at the bar, with a pint of Guinness, that killer smile, and a generous helping of pheromones.
Annabelle closed her eyes, rolled her neck around on her shoulders to release the kinks. Who was she kidding, thinking she could let this thing go any further? A relationship between two Coasties with different schedules and intense, demanding jobs was complicated, almost impossible at best. At worst, someone would get hurt, get distracted, and the ripple effects would follow.
This was about more than just the two of them; people depended on their work for their safety, their lives. People like the ones she’d tried to save last night, but who instead, were at the bottom of the ocean.
In the face of that, what did it matter if this was the first man in, oh … forever to get her thinking about something other than her job? The first one who made her feel as though she were coming out of her skin with the need to touch him. Did he feel as much as she did? Or was he playing around, as guys like him were wont to do?
When the initial glow wore off, he’d inevitably see she wasn’t like other women. Sure, he said that was okay now, but down the road … maybe not. What would he think if he saw she still lived out of cardboard boxes, used TV trays as end tables, and vacuumed maybe once a month, if she was lucky? Not exactly the domestic type. And probably not the kind of woman most men dreamed of having in the long run.
Just look at all the things stacked against them.
Why bother?
Because you like him. As in really, really like him.
Why him? Why now? Of all the times for someone to walk into her life and shake it up, this was the worst. Starting a new post, getting acclimated to a new place, where she was completely and utterly unknown. It wouldn’t do her career any favors to become that girl that hooked up with coworkers. She could just imagine the stares, the snickers behind her back. How humiliating!
That decided it.
She was canceling this date.
Annabelle took the next fifteen minutes rehearsing what she would say in her mind. Then she dialed the number Tony had programmed into her phone. It rang, and rang, and rang. Good. No opportunity to talk her out of it.
She left a lengthy, if somewhat rambling message about too much eggnog, great food, and silly bets that shouldn’t count in the light of day. Then sh
e made some reasonable excuse as to why the date was a bad idea. And hung up.
There. Done.
Annabelle had just finished showering and dressing in a white tank top and dark blue terrycloth shorts when someone knocked at the door. She opened it to find Tony standing in the hallway, wearing a crooked Santa hat, a green, long-sleeved T-shirt, holding two paper grocery bags. Basically, he was a nightmare of Christmas cheer, straight down to the toothy grin and twinkle in his eye.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“You don’t have a chimney, so I had to use the front door.”
“Ha ha. Funny. No really. Didn’t you get my message?”
“Sure did.”
“Then I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for our date.”
“You mean the one I canceled.”
Tony leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, shifting the grocery bags in his arms. “Yeah, about that. I’m not buying it.”
“Why not?”
He tipped his head to one side and narrowed one eye at her. “Foster, come on, you’re no wuss. You took me on in pool, which maybe was because you don’t know me and my many talents, but still … you fight a good fight. I like that about you. But that message …” Head shaking. “That was weak.”
Annabelle crossed her arms. No one, absolutely no one, called her weak. “Maybe I’m not interested. Ever think of that?”
“Not interested or not open minded? Seriously, what’s the harm in one date? You got something more fun up your sleeve? Washing your hair? Doing laundry? Eating frozen food?” His brows arched. “I cannot believe you would choose a meal out of a box over a date with me. I’m good company, and the food will be awesome.”
She allowed a brief smile. “I’m sure that’s true.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Me. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved with another Coastie.” Not to mention the fact that she couldn’t handle the way he smelled, a mixture of soap and hard work. No one had a right to smell this amazing. How was she supposed to concentrate on her job, or anything for that matter?
“You’re throwing the fraternization book at me?” More head shaking. “That’s a copout. We don’t work anywhere remotely close to one another.”