Holiday Op

What a blast.

But then again, a certain Food Service Specialist would be there. One who might volunteer to keep the drunks at bay and provide more of those excellent cookies. Oh, and he did have the finest rear end she'd ever seen on a man.

Not that Tony Lombardi, or any man, was anywhere near the top of her to-do list. Was he a nice guy? Sure, probably. Did he give good food? Hell yeah. Beyond that, whatever had passed between them last weekend was dead in the water. She didn't have time to get cozy with anyone. Her head belonged squarely in the game of search and rescue, not in the game of flirting.

But she had to be honest; di

Oops, forgot about that.

"Ugh.” She slammed shut both doors.

It was a toss up. Pizza, Chinese, or…

Di

A

… Or Mini Pecan Pies…

No contest! She tossed the menus on the kitchen table.

So what if Lombardi got all up in her Kool-Aid again? She could handle him. She could handle anything. And it would buy her a decent meal, a night away from the deafening quiet of her new home, and maybe, some entertainment.

What the heck?

Ho ho ho… here I come.

Or maybe she should have been thinking, bah humbug.

A

Will someone, please, shoot me now?

Underdressed was the understatement of the year. Especially since every other woman in the room was wearing some sparkly top with a pretty skirt or a dress. Stares were already heading in her direction. Maybe they were spouses? Guests? Whatever. She was an enlisted woman. She had to retain some level of dignity, right? Right.

Now, where was the bar?

A

"A woman after my own heart,” crooned a caramel voice in her ear. “Make that two."

She jumped and turned in her seat to meet the bracing blue stare of Tony Lombardi, looking good enough to eat in a brick-red button down shirt and camel trousers. He tossed a ten-dollar bill on the bar.

So that's what his hair looked like. No longer covered by a hat, his near-black curls looked like someone had just run their hands through them. Something she could imagine herself doing in a different time and place.

Now where did that come from?

"You snuck up on me,” she said.

He threw his arm across the back of her chair and leaned in close, inserting his aura of home and hearth cooking smells and a woodsy aftershave into her space. “You're the one that snuck in without saying hello."

"I didn't see you."

"Oh, but I saw you."

Well, duh. Plain Jane was kinda hard to miss amid the glitz and cheer. A

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."

A

"This is my crew. We've commandeered the kitchen here for the night. Guys, meet Petty Officer A

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.

A

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.

A

"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."

Gri