"Foster, hop on board and get your Christmas face on.” Dusting off the front of his jacket, he sent her a stern look. “That's an order."
What if she didn't have a Christmas face? Why did people think everyone automatically loved all things Christmas? The last time her family even halfway celebrated the overblown occasion, she was seven years old. And that year, Santa never showed up. Of course Dad carefully explained how he'd left them alone out of respect because of Mom's passing. As if Annabelle hadn't long before guessed Santa's true identity, and couldn't figure out that days and nights spent in the ICU didn't allow time for Christmas shopping.
It was just as well. All the toys and new socks, shiny red ornaments, and tinsel couldn't bring Mom back. And after that, the holidays never seemed all that bright and merry. Honestly, it was just a day. A day on which she was often called upon to help those that lost their good sense amid all the merrymaking.
But orders were orders. And Annabelle was a team player.
Muttering, she yanked off her cap, shoved it in her bag, and climbed into the boat, where the Beach Boys crooned out Merry Christmas, Saint Nick!
Blech.
The term Semper Paratus, Always Ready, had just taken on new meaning.
"Welcome aboard!” A man wearing a white chef coat and black dress pants stepped out of the cabin carrying a plate of the same cookies Stanton had been eating. Annabelle's gaze honed in on the giant white snowmen, their little blue scarves, and miniscule carrot noses. They were probably that perfect mixture of crunch on the outside, soft and buttery in the middle. Mmmmmm.
On second thought, this mission might not be so bad…
Her gaze lifted to the bearer of the tasty treats.
On third thought, this mission could be downright dangerous.
Cookie Man came bearing not only nice treats, but also the naughtiest little smile she'd ever seen. Maybe it was the way his black baseball cap shadowed a pair of intense blue eyes. Or the dark dusting of five-o'clock shadow along his jaw line. Whatever it was, he had something interesting cooking up the pristine, white sleeves of his chef jacket. Something other than iced snowmen.
"Care for a cookie?” he asked.
There was only one good thing about the holidays-the cookies. “Why thank you.” She plucked one off the plate and took a small, tentative bite. She chewed slowly, letting the flaky, yet still soft and chewy goodness flood her taste buds. It was one of the most decadent things she'd ever tasted. The Rolls Royce of sugar cookies, to say the least. Another bite. Oh my… Spectacular.
Just like those electric eyes watching her every move.
In a visual game of chicken, she kept her gaze locked on his, and continued to devour her snowman, limb by delicious limb. Mr. Mysterious didn't look away either, probably expecting her to flinch first. A tactical error on his part. Because she never gave in. Give a man an inch and he'd take a mile.
Anyway, if he was like most guys, he'd look away first and never look back.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached out his hand. “Petty Officer Foster, pleasure to finally meet you in person."
Annabelle blinked as her cold fingers wrapped around his large and surprisingly warm hand. “Should I know you?"
"Sure, if you watch the Food Network."
"I watch Law and Order and CSI."
"In other words, you live under a rock."
"Of course not,” she snapped.
"Did you know that Team Coast Guard won the Armed Forces Iron Chef competition and scored an invite onto the Food Network?"
"Well… no."
He sucked in a breath. “Must be a mighty big rock."
Wow. Five minutes and he was already ready for a throw down. Bring it on, buddy, bring it on. “You got a name, or should I just call you Smart Mouth?"
He smiled, eyes crinkling. “Food Service Specialist First Class, Petty Officer Tony Lombardi, at your service."
Annabelle eyed him up for a moment and then helped herself to a second snowman. “So, Lombardi, is this all you've got in your bag of tricks?"
"Not even close.” He winked. “Come on inside. You can help me package up the cookies for the kids."
As in… more than one kind?
Oh boy, she was in trouble. Just because she did her daily push-ups and training exercises without fail, showed up five minutes early to everything, and kept her gear clean at all times, just in case, didn't mean she was a frigging saint. If he expected her to bag cookies without touching a single one of them, he was in for a rude awakening.
Or a whole lot of empty cookie bags.
Annabelle shoved her duffel bag in the only corner not occupied by holiday paraphernalia, and followed Tony through the doorway of the small gray cabin.
Tony settled into the driver's seat, letting his long legs take up most of the space in the small cabin, and took the opportunity to study his companion for the evening. She was a firecracker, all right. All business. Down to the orange jumpsuit, tight auburn ponytail, and fresh, natural pink cheeks. So this was the new hard-as-nails rescue swimmer.
He shook his head. Something didn't compute.
Like that soft, sensuous mouth.
And the little groans of pleasure she'd made when she took her first bite of cookie. Probably didn't even realize it. She was that focused on the cookie. Any woman with appreciation for food was someone he wanted to know better.
She sat in the other seat and surveyed the spread of cookies he'd laid out on every available surface. She kept licking her lips, making them shine in the moonlight.
"Like what you see?” He more than liked what he saw.
She glanced his way, caught his gaze, and narrowed those big, hazel cat eyes at him. For whatever reason, she was sending him a very clear signal-get too close and you might get bitten.
Go ahead, sweetheart, give it your best shot
Cuz you might get bit back
"I hope you're hungry,” he said.
That perked her up. She tilted her head, arched a brow. “So tell me what's on the menu here."
How about… me?
Forcing back a chuckle, he gestured with his head to the first plate. “What do you say to butter balls to start with, followed by a second course of chocolate kiss peanut butter cookies, a main course of mini pecan pies-"
"Did you say pecan pie?"
"Sure did."
More lip licking. God help him.
"Is there anything else?"
"Greedy little thing, aren't you?"
She waited. Stared him down.
Hooooaa, she was feisty. He loved it.
"Last, but not least,” he finally said, “brown sugar chocolate fudge, which I have hidden away in a cooler for after the festivities."
She closed her eyes, and he could practically see little pecan pies and hunks of fudge dancing in her head. This was going to be fun. He pulled out a box of plastic Baggies and red ribbon, handed her a supply, and began loading each with a sampling from each plate. Annabelle followed his lead, but instead of mimicking his efficient assembly line, she added a step.
One for the bag, one for Annabelle, one for the bag, one for Annabelle…
"Gee, not much of a sugar junkie, are you?"
She laughed, a gorgeous sound he wanted to bottle up and take with him. “I could eat this whole spread in about five minutes flat."