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 such 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."

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.