When Annabelle snuggled her left hand under his upper arm and grabbed his bicep, Duncan felt a shot of adrenaline rush right to those muscles. Like he was Clark Kent transforming into Superman. And when she snuggled her entire body up against his side--so she could top her left hand with her right--he felt the soft mound of breast press against the side of his arm. His brain immediately pictured what she might look like naked from the waist up. As if he'd pulled out his ever-present Swiss army knife and in one cut had the fabric across her shoulder tumbling down, exposing her torso all the way to her hips. If the whole licking-her-lips porn scenario hadn't drained his brain of public decency, what little he had left was now heading south of his waistband, fast.

As they moved together on the staircase and up and out of the now-crowded foyer, his baser instincts had his nose turning toward her profile and drawing in the scent of roses that wafted off her throat. It was all he could do to not press his lips to the intriguing indentation where pale and slender neck met fit and shapely shoulder. He was even starting to relish the beginning sensations of his hard-on when one dreaded word burst from Annabelle's lips.

"Daddy!"

Talk about a cock block.

"Daddy, Mother," Annabelle called while maneuvering him a quarter of the way down a long, wide hallway lined with couches, tables and chairs. Out of the relative quiet, jarring music erupted from the ballroom to his right, and then--as if Duncan's nervous system hadn't been shocked enough in the last few milliseconds--his source of heat dropped her hands from around his bicep, leaving him internally shaken.

Public place. Parents around. And you don't even know this girl, Duncan's brain scolded as he held out his hand in response to the introductions going on around him. Get your damn head on straight, he thought even as he greeted Harry Devine. "That's correct, sir. Brooks Bennett introduced us back in early November. I think we were all here watching the State-Carolina football game."

"That's exactly right," Mr. Devine said. "I remember you and your boys surrounded by a few shot glasses and a pitcher of beer. Can't blame you. That Wolfpack of yours took a damn beating that day."

Duncan laughed. "That they did, sir. That they did."

"This is my wife, Jody." Harry beamed with pride as he introduced Annabelle's mother. Other than the hair and eye color, there was a very strong family resemblance between mother and daughter. No wonder the man beamed.

"A beautiful party, Mrs. Devine," Duncan said as he took her extended hand.

"Why, thank you, Duncan. We're happy you could join us." He didn't miss the meaningful look Jody Devine gave her daughter.

"And here comes our precious Grace," Harry went on. "Gracie-girl! Darling," he called, motioning a fairy-princess to join their group.

The epitome of Cinderella-at-the-ball started their way, lean and graceful--until she settled directly between Duncan and Annabelle hoisting the strapless ball gown up under her armpits and fixing her bosoms to sit a little perkier under the gossamer fabric.

Duncan had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh at Annabelle's horrified expression. "My God, Grace. If you touch the bodice of that gown one more time I'm going to rip it off you. I swear it!"

"I thought it was falling down, Belly. What? You want me running around exposing myself all night?"

"Belly?" Duncan asked.

"I've told you over and over, the dress can't fall," Annabelle insisted. "Pretend it's like your gun holster. You wear the dress. Stop letting the dress wear you."

Grace leaned her head to the side, considering. "Huh. Okay, I get it now." She turned to her sister. "Done. And thank you."

Annabelle just nodded in satisfaction.

Mr. Devine picked up the introductions. "Duncan James, my second daughter, Gracie-belle."

"Grace," she insisted, holding her hand out to Duncan. "Just Grace. No belle."

"Got it," Duncan nodded.

"So you're the hero who gave my sister her first speeding ticket," she said, still holding his hand.

Duncan felt another shot of adrenaline, this one heating up his face. His gaze bounced around the members of the Devine family gathered before him, not sure where that prank placed him in their estimation. "I cannot tell a lie," he offered. "I was the one who gave Annabelle the ticket."

"Good for you," Grace said. "About damn time. And what did you think of that car she was driving? Too damn loud. Way too fast. The term redneck comes to mind every time I see the damn thing."

"Gracie-belle," her father broke in. "Do I need to remind you we are at a party, not one of your field interrogations? Your language, peanut."

"She does have a broader vocabulary than she's letting on," Jody Devine assured him.

"Sorry," Grace offered. "But that car of hers just makes me crazy. It's absurd for Belly to be riding around in that thing. She's going to kill herself."

"I like the car," Duncan confessed with a quick wink to Annabelle. "Call me a redneck, but I'm trying to figure out what I need to do to be able to test-drive that machine."

Harry laughed as Grace groaned. Annabelle stepped in between Duncan and Grace, securing his bicep in her left hand again. "Well, I don't know about a test drive, Mr. James. But that comment certainly gets you a free drink at the bar," she said, turning him away from the ballroom and her family, toward the open doors on the other side of the hall. "We'll see ya'll a bit later on," she said in parting.

"Stop on by the house tomorrow," her father said to Duncan as they headed off. "We'll talk more football during the Rose Bowl."

"Will do, Mr. Devine. Thanks." Duncan let Annabelle lead him away. He didn't know why she and her family were letting him get away with impersonating an officer so easily, but the fact that they had lulled him into a wonderful sense of security.

Met the parents. Check. Met the tough, gun-toting sister. Check. The night had hardly begun and Duncan felt buoyant having managed his perceived mine field so quickly and easily. His ego was puffed up and in full riot gear when Annabelle stopped him far short of the two very secluded seats he was spying at the far end of the bar. "And this is my sister, Tess," she announced.

Tess.

Beautiful. Vibrant. Sultry, bedroom-eyed Tess.

Who was also, very obviously--if not to Annabelle, then at least to himself--pissed off at the world, Tess.

The daggers her chocolate brown eyes shot at Duncan ripped his riot gear apart and had his ego lying at her tiny, little high-heeled feet.

Seated on a tall chair at the center of the bar and draped in wine red, Tess's lush and curvaceous body was turned sideways, her slender arm dangling over the back of the chair. A large cuff of sparkling diamonds circled her wrist as she pointed directly at his heart. He wasn't certain daggers weren't going to shoot from her fingertip as well.

"Dun-can Jaaames," she sung at him. "Man among men! Infamous," she pronounced. "Tell me, Duncan James, with your GQ hair-style and your thousand-dollar tuxedo," she said, swirling her pointed finger all around him. "How is it, exactly," she said as her eyes narrowed, "that you are able to give my baby sister an outrageous speeding ticket in the afternoon, and then dare to have your hands all over her at our father's party tonight?"

So much for not stepping on a fucking land mine.

"Don't mind, Tess," Annabelle said turning toward him with a light-hearted smile. "She has a wonderful sense for the dramatic. Which serves her really well in all her roles on Broadway. Doesn't it, Tess?"

Tess threw Annabelle a sarcastic grin.

"Since she's the one Devine sister without a date tonight, it appears she's taking her frustration out on you. I'm guessing she's been imagining Lewis Kampmueller's hands all over her during their kiss at midnight. Am I right?"

Tess turned back to the bar and lifted her drink. "At least we know he's a good kisser," she said before taking a gulp. "Who knows about Officer Friendly there."

Duncan slipped his arm around Annabelle's waist and looked down into her pretty brown eyes. "She's got you there." Then he lifted his attention to the back of Tess's head. "His bank statement beats the hell out of mine as well, but I guess you Devine sisters aren't worried about all that. However..." He took a step toward Tess, bringing Annabelle with him so he could whisper in Tess's ear. "It's my understanding that the highly respected Mr. Kampmueller is interested in only one of the Devine sisters tonight. Forgive me for saying this, Tess, but you're not the one he's picturing getting his hands on at midnight."

Tess turned her head sideways and gave him her first honest smile. "Grace has always been the one he thinks he's in love with," she said kindly, showing her true feelings about Lewis. "And if Annabelle and I have our way again this year, he'll be kissing the one he wants come midnight. Michael-schmichael."

"Grace's date," Annabelle explained.

"Ah. A stumbling block for Lewis."

"Perhaps," Tess said. "We'll have to see how it all works out." Then she waved them away, a queen dismissing her court.

With a hand on the small of her back, Duncan directed Annabelle to the farthest two bar chairs tucked close to the back wall of the room. "Your father seems awfully relaxed for a man who has three gorgeous daughters," he said.

"That's sweet of you to say," Annabelle responded as he helped her into the last chair. It was an intentional move. Duncan hoped that his body would block her from view for a while. He was as social as the next guy, but having survived the last half hour, he needed a breather before encountering any more family or friends. Besides, he thought as he took a serious look at the elegance settling herself beside him, he needed all the time he could get to make a lasting impression on this particularly beautiful Devine sister. He wanted a second date on the books by the end of the night.

"So what's your drink, Annabelle?"

"Bourbon and Ginger Ale."

"Is that right? A true Southern belle."

"Uh-huh. And how 'bout yourself?"

"Beer, generally," he said. But when the bartender stepped toward them he ordered, "Two tequila shots."

The young, dark-headed bartender stopped dead in his tracks. From the expression on his face he was obviously trying to figure something out. "You want them with the cut-up limes and a shaker of salt?"

"That'd be good," Duncan nodded. "First night on the job?"

A magical smile lit up the young man's face. "Something like that," he said. "Two shots, coming right up."

"Tequila shots?" Annabelle threw Duncan a sideways glance.

"Hey. Midnight rolls around and I'm lucky enough to be kissing you, I want you just tipsy enough that you aren't comparing me to Lewis Kampmueller."

Annabelle burst out laughing. "Are you actually worried about outshining Lewis in the kissing department?"

Hell yes! "No."

Annabelle leaned her shoulder over and nudged him in the arm. "Really?"

He wobbled his head from side to side, causing her to grin. At least it looked like a grin from his peripheral vision. At the moment, he found himself unable to face her. What if he didn't kiss better than Lewis?

Jesus, he cursed at himself. Man up, dude.

As the bartender arranged the shots in front of them, Annabelle noticed his name tag. "Your name's Harry?"

"That's right," he said, wiping his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband. He held out his hand to Annabelle and the cuff of his white shirt pulled up. Duncan noticed a tattoo on his wrist. It looked like a quiver holding six arrows.

"Harry," she nodded, taking his hand and shaking it. "That's a good name. My father's name in fact."

"Is that right?"

She nodded. "Harry, would you bring another round of shots when you have a chance? Sounds like Mr. James needs help with his performance anxiety."

Duncan slapped his hand on the bar, turned his head and laid a disbelieving stare on Annabelle. He could hear the mirth Bartender Harry tried to smother as he headed off to do her bidding, but he didn't take his eyes from the one he wanted now more than ever. God, he could never have conjured up all the perfect pieces that made up this woman. The same thought he'd had hours before rang out clearly in his mind.

I have found you.

He had. He knew it. And maybe, just maybe, Annabelle Devine knew it too. Because without a doubt, she had just thrown down the gauntlet...and he was more than willing to pick it up.

Duncan nodded his chin at the set of shot glasses. "Let's see who has performance anxiety."

Annabelle's eyes sparkled as she turned her attention to the tequila. Duncan followed just a split second behind as they licked the skin between their finger and thumb, poured on the salt, licked it clean, downed the shot, and then bit into the wedge of lime. He was certain the grimace on her face was far worse than his own.

He wiped his lips with the back of a hand while The Keeper dabbed hers with a cocktail napkin. It reminded him of something. "Pretty impressive. Where did you develop your expertise?"

"Tequila Shoot-Out. Zate House. Fall semester, sophomore year."

"Ah." Duncan nodded knowingly. "Wild night?"

"Can't say for sure. But nothing ended up on Facebook, so except for the insane hangover the next day, I think I made it through relatively unscathed."

"Miss Manners. At a tequila shoot-out." He tried to imagine Annabelle the debutante coed.

"But you're more than a book on manners, you know. You are gracious."

"Thank you. Isn't that one and the same?"

"Not at all," he stalled while Bartender Harry and his quiver full of arrows set up a second round. "For instance," he went on quietly as the bartender moved away, "our young friend here offered his hand to you. You know that a book of etiquette says a gentleman never offers his hand to a lady, but waits to have her hand offered to him," he said drawing on his own cotillion experience. "And yet you don't stand on principal. You shook his hand without pause."

"Well, of course. Otherwise it would have created a terribly awkward moment."

"Exactly my point. You were gracious. You are gracious."

She fed him a brilliant smile, and leaned in closer. "And you are going to get a hell of a kiss come midnight."

Oh, I'll be getting more than a kiss, he promised himself, glancing at his watch discreetly. Maybe the tequila had already started talking. More likely it was Annabelle's easy humor and the way his body simmered in a state of rapt attention wherever she touched him. And, he noted, she was touching him a lot. But most likely, it was the mounting anticipation of getting his hands on the bare flesh of all those curves covered in just the sheerest of fabrics--so sheer he swore he saw the dark coloration of the tips of her beasts when he dared allow his glance to go there. In his mind, she wore nothing underneath that dress, and he was starting to get just a little desperate to find out if he was right. Hell with a damn kiss at midnight. He wanted some time alone with Miss Devine and he wanted it as soon as he could get it.