Mistletoe Not Required (8 page)

‘I don’t
need anything
from you.’ She struggled to sit up, still holding the blanket close and glaring at him, hoping he’d take the hint and disappear. How could she have dreamed of
him
when it was her mother she’d come in here to be close to? To think about? And she’d hardly thought of her mum at all. Guilty heat rose up her neck.

‘A grumpy riser.’ His shoulders lifted and bunched, his thumbs rubbing the side of the mug. ‘A sure sign you didn’t get enough. Sleep,’ he clarified, a hint of humour in his eyes.

‘Don’t you have something to do? A watch to be on?’ A plank to walk?

‘Free as a bird. Which reminds me, you missed the albatross we spotted off the starboard side about thirty minutes ago.’

‘Thirty minutes ago?’
She swung her legs over the side of the bunk.

‘That’s a sign of good luck, right?’

‘I hope so.’ A thought struck her as her feet hit the floor with a thud. ‘Isn’t your surname Davies?’

‘It was my mother’s name. Why?’

‘Never mind. Thanks for the tea.’ She indicated a cubbyhole beside the bunk preferring to avoid even the slightest possibility of skin contact lest she spontaneously combust in an inferno of lust. ‘Here’s fine.’
Now go away.

He set it down. ‘Brie says to tell you we’ll have a fair wind the rest of the way and all is under control.’

‘Tell Brie I’ll be five minutes.’

The instant he’d gone, she blew out the breath she’d been holding and hugged her knees to her chest. She wished
she
were under control. Ever since she’d met this man her hold on life as she knew it seemed to be slipping away.

‘Skipper?’

She whipped her head around to see him there again.

‘Just so you know, I won’t be participating in any after-race celebrations.’

‘That’s up to you. You’ve done more than enough for our cause, so thank you.’ She picked up her tea, lifted it to her lips and studied him over the rim, telling herself she wasn’t disappointed. ‘Sick of our company already, huh?’

‘I’ve got other plans.’

‘But you and Brie—’

‘Already arranged.’

‘Oh. Great. Good.’

He started to turn then stopped, raised a finger as if something had slipped his mind. ‘Another thing. I won’t be pursuing our promised discussion. If you were expecting me to call,’ he added.

‘Fine.’ She said it like an accusation. Her fingers tightened on the mug. ‘Why not?’ The fragile words spilled free before she could censor them, which only infuriated her further. She’d been so determined not to come across as that
needy
woman.

‘You made it clear that’s the way you want it. I respect that.’ But he reached out, tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and she caught a whiff of his soap on his hands. ‘Breanna has my phone number if you change your mind.’

She watched him turn and leave. He’d done some thinking on board and decided Olivia’s type didn’t appeal to his sophisticated taste. Probably relieved she’d knocked his offer back.

A part of her wished he hadn’t, another part earned her respect.

EIGHT

‘Jett’s gone into
lockdown because he doesn’t want any more media hassles,’ Brie told Olivia as she packed her bag. She was flying to one of tropical northern Queensland’s remote islands with some fellow beauty therapists later this afternoon. ‘I think he’s well and truly done his bit. Which means he could probably do with some company. Being on his own and all.’

Olivia and Brie had been staying in one of Hobart’s luxury hotels near the waterfront, recuperating after the race and enjoying Tassie’s Taste Festival. Despite their upgraded suite having three master bedrooms, Jett had conveniently found accommodation in the penthouse upstairs. Who else but the Jettsetter Chef would be able to source five-star penthouse accommodation in a fully booked city during the busiest week on Hobart’s calendar?

The press had swooped and swarmed all over him when they’d docked. Olivia had been surprised and eternally grateful for his good humour towards the reporters—he’d been a genuine and enthusiastic spokesperson for the foundation, even agreeing to an appearance on the local TV morning show in the coming week.

So Brie had told her.

Because Olivia hadn’t seen or heard from him since he’d walked away from
Chasing Dawn
at the marina.

‘Liv, did you hear me?’

‘Yes.’ Olivia looked up from the novel she was trying to read. ‘Company.’ She’d never liked the taste of sour grapes but there was a whole bunch in her mouth right now. She knew Brie and Jett had caught up. She hadn’t asked for details but he was obviously the reason for Brie’s happy demeanour. ‘What sort of
company
are we talking about?’

‘Companionship. For starters anyway. You can move on for the main course if things go well.’ Brie tossed a new orange bikini on top of her overstuffed bag. ‘It’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow. And I know for a fact his evening’s free. Like yours.’

‘What if I’ve made plans and I just haven’t told you?’

Brie looked her over, brows raised. ‘Have you?’

Olivia ran a lazy finger over her e-reader’s screen, waited for the next page to load. ‘Maybe.’ She continued staring at her reader.

‘I know you, my friend, and there’s not a chance. He’s leaving on New Year’s Day,’ Brie continued. ‘To work on his new book.’

‘Inspirational spot, Cradle Mountain. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.’

Brie let out a long-suffering sigh and walked over to where Olivia was curled up on the couch and stuck her hands on her hips. ‘It’s New Year and you have the hots for each other.’

Olivia glanced up. ‘So? Are you saying I should phone him up and ask for sex?’

Brie’s grin was fast and wide. ‘As long as you’re careful. He’s a casual sort of guy and I know you’re not...’

‘Experienced.’ Olivia stretched lazily, waggled her fingers. ‘Maybe it
is
time I tried something different. And if I want to play with fire I’ve got to expect to get a little singed along the way, right?’ She dropped her hands and picked up her reader again. ‘Having said that, nothing’s going to happen.’

‘Hey, I’ve seen you two look at each other and it’s combustion central. So I’m saying yes, definitely try that new adventure, have some fun—you both deserve it.’

Combustion central? Not any more. She’d told him no. He’d accepted it. ‘We admitted the attraction. Now we’ve moved on.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Brie patted Olivia’s hand then rose and walked to her wheely bag. ‘It’s not too late to ask him down for a drink,’ she said as she checked her purse. ‘Or if you’re feeling shy, you could meet in the lobby, go somewhere on the waterfront and enjoy the view. Oh, and for your convenience, I’ve put his phone number in your contacts list.’

‘Me? Ask him?’ Olivia’s chin lifted. ‘And I’m not shy.’

‘I know you’re not—usually. You’re an equal rights ambassador and you demonstrated that to him very clearly, more than once.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Maybe he feels threatened.’

‘Threatened? Jett?’ Olivia laughed—a little hysterically—and stood too, hands in the pockets of her jeans as she walked to the door to see Brie off. ‘Is this the same guy we’re talking about?’

‘He’s my brother, obviously I don’t see him the same way you do. Happy New Year,’ Brie said against her cheek. ‘Go out and have a good time.’

‘Yep.’

Brie studied her a moment. ‘You’re really not even going to try, are you? I should have insisted you come with us instead of letting you opt out as you always do.’ She pulled out her phone to check her messages, then opened the door. ‘Phone coverage isn’t reliable that far north. If anything urgent happens...’

‘Nothing’s going to happen. I’m going to open a bottle of champagne and drink it in the spa then go downstairs and enjoy the street party. Have a great trip.’

* * *

New Year’s Eve on Hobart’s city streets was alive with people and action. Eyes disguised behind a pair of reflective sunglasses, Jett stepped out of the crowded hotel lobby and into a cab. Knowing trouble was in the same hotel alone and a few floors below him, he needed the distraction. He watched the casino’s twinkling lights come into view.

Endless opportunities abounded in love and luck with plenty of attractive women on the prowl. If he chose, he could celebrate the stroke of midnight back in his room with a bottle of chilled champagne, and a willing body to slake another kind of thirst.

To his surprise and chagrin, the thought of spending the evening going at it with a faceless woman he’d never see again left him cold. Ten minutes after setting out, he was back in the hotel, scowling. What the hell? He was never indecisive.

If he wanted to rid himself of a case of inconvenient lust for a leggy redhead, there had to be another option.

A swim in the pool? A cold shower? Only one thing was going to rid him of the simmering heat in his veins—and it wasn’t happening: she’d made it abundantly clear it wasn’t happening. He watched revellers spilling out of the popular restaurants around Sullivan’s Cove and knocked back a can of soda.

The muted TV screen was showing ten minutes to midnight. Swapping his handmade silk shirt for a soft worn jersey, he poured himself a large Scotch from the suite’s minibar, drank it down. He was looking forward to a few hours of oblivion.

* * *

Olivia pressed her lips together and waited for Jett to answer the intercom to his penthouse apartment. She was wearing a stupid party hat and juggling a supermarket bag filled with New Year cheer and her nerves were stretched to breaking point.

Three hours ago she’d been eating a late dinner alone in the hotel room, listening to other people having fun, watching the celebrations from her balcony. Where would she be next New Year? Next New Year, she’d know—one way or another. She’d wanted to reach out, grab hold of life with both hands while she still could and join in.

Her focus had been so narrow, so sharply defined by the goals she’d set for herself. The race, the fundraising and memories of her mother had reminded her that time was a gift that couldn’t be bought or bartered for and could be snatched away without warning.

And she’d made a decision. Changed her mind. Jett. Tonight. This was her chance to take time for herself before she knew for sure what her future held. The result would surely be positive. She’d have no choice then but to make those difficult decisions she’d put at the back of her mind for so long. Surgery. Lifestyle.

But not tonight. Not even next week.

She’d had the entrée with Jett, and Brie was right—she wanted the main course.

She shifted impatiently on the balls of her feet. What if he wasn’t in? What if he was sharing a New Year’s bonk with some other random woman he’d picked up? The way he’d done with
her
on Christmas Eve?

She heard a crackle through the speaker then, ‘Olivia.’ The disembodied voice didn’t sound particularly pleased.

He had the advantage and she wished the video worked both ways so she could see his expression. So she’d know whether she was making an idiot of herself. She tapped her silly hat and smiled. ‘You still recognise me, then.’

The pause lasted long enough to write Happy New Year with a blocked glitter pen. ‘What’s up?’

‘Brie mentioned you were on your own tonight... And since I...’ She trailed off
,
biting back the needy, desperate words on the tip of her tongue
.

Dammit, she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She wasn’t
needy
—she was taking control. She rose up on tiptoes, closer to the intercom as if to draw him into her game. ‘It’s nine minutes to midnight. Let me in, I want to wish you Happy New Year.’ She glanced at the bag in her arms. ‘And I’ve got stuff.’

‘Stuff.’

‘Eight minutes thirty seconds and counting.’

The elevator doors to his penthouse slid open to her left.

Relieved, with dignity intact—for now at least—she stepped inside. And was tempted to back out again. The mirror on the back wall reflected a woman with wild red hair topped with a green foil cone hat on an odd tilt, eyes too wide for her face. Freckles and fine lines from years of sailing in the sun. Definitely not Jett’s type—oh yeah, she’d looked him up on the Internet and seen his type.

She’d only hooked his attention the first time because it had been dim and she’d looked half decent in her new fire-engine-red cocktail dress. Tonight she was wearing an avocado-coloured ankle-length shift and gold sandals. Nothing too sexy and provocative in case he’d changed his mind about spending the night alone and had another woman up here.

Her fingers clenched around the bag. She’d die of embarrassment, she’d just die— ‘Hi,’ she said, breezing out as the door opened,
not
looking at him and heading straight for the fantastic view taking up one whole wall. The only light in the room came from outside and the muted TV screen. ‘Wow, look at that. The penthouse view. Almost as pretty as Sydney Harbour.’

‘You’re a Taswegian, you’re biased.’ His voice, a mellow baritone, stroked up her spine and her eyes slid closed. His woodsy soap she’d become familiar with during the race teased her nostrils. His presence behind her filled her with a new kind of longing.

Turning, she set her bag of goodies on the smoked-glass dining table where his computer blinked and now she
did
look at the reason she was here.

Rumpled and casual in shorts that might have been white once upon a time and a soft-looking black T-shirt. The tight fit outlined hard-packed muscles and those powerful legs, which had caught her attention that first night, were tantalisingly bare from mid-thigh down. ‘You’re an Apple Islander too.’

With only a dim light in the corner, the dusky air was thick with tension. He furrowed a hand through tousled hair, obviously not for the first time tonight. ‘I think you should go.’

She smiled and reached for her bag while butterflies swarmed in her belly. Stepped out of her sandals. ‘That’s silly, I just got here.’

Reaching into her bag, she placed the contents on the table one at a time. A bottle of her favourite sparkling white, a punnet of strawberries, a supermarket’s pre-packed selection of cheeses. Grapes.

His reaction might have been bored, as if he was used to women bearing gifts, except for a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth before he said, ‘What’s all this?’

‘It’s New Year...’ she glanced at the countdown on the silent TV ‘...in four minutes and twenty seconds. And I want to celebrate.’ Digging deeper, she snatched up one of those party favours that unrolled like a tongue and made a funny noise, and blew it at him.

No response.

‘Party popper, then?’ She snatched it from her bag of surprises and pulled. It sounded like a gunshot in the silence. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sakes.’ Exasperated, she tossed the explosion of tiny streamers at him and moved to the TV, raised the volume so she could hear the party happening in front of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. ‘So...it’s me.’ She waited on tenterhooks, breath backing up in her throat.

‘Yeah. And you’re still trouble,’ he said, finally, and maybe she saw a glint of humour in his eye before it vanished as quick as a blink.

She let out a relieved breath. ‘Good. That’s good. I think. Okay. It’s New Year.’

‘So it is.’

Slapping sweat-damp hands on her thighs, she glanced once at the screen where revellers were having fun at Circular Quay. ‘Three minutes.’ Nodding at the foil hat, she set to work uncorking the bottle of bubbly. ‘I don’t want to be the only one looking ridiculous.’

He shook his head. ‘Ridiculous, never. You look gorgeous. Sexy and gorgeous and damn near irresistible.’

Her blood turned to syrup but she kept her tone light. ‘Why thank you. Glasses?’ As she ripped the foil she watched him walk to the bar and collect two tumblers rather than the crystal flutes. Fine. She wasn’t going to quibble about details.

The cork popped and a cheery fizzing sound filled the room. ‘Tassie’s best.’ She filled the glasses while he held them out, then set the bottle on the table. Their fingers barely touched as he handed her a glass but it was enough to send a
whoosh
through her skittering pulse. It hadn’t done that since the last time Jett had touched her. She looked up into dark, unreadable eyes. ‘Happy New Year, Jett Davies.’

‘And you.’

They took a mouthful and she let the bubbles slide down her throat then licked the sweetness from her lips and said, ‘If you won’t, I will.’ Grabbing the little foil cap, she reached up and set it on top of his head, secured the elastic beneath his chin with a little
ping
and a grin. ‘Forty-five seconds till lip-lock time.’ Her gaze dropped to his mouth and temptation ruled. ‘Or we could start early.’

She didn’t know who moved first but she was aware of two things: his lips were on hers...and she wasn’t counting down those last seconds to midnight.

All she could do was focus on the guy she was kissing. Tasting of champagne and musky man and sweet, sweet temptation. Making her head spin. Driving her crazy and sending her to that place he’d shown her. That place she couldn’t wait to revisit.

The instant their mouths touched, Jett couldn’t resist. She was spontaneous and fun and her lips soft and warm and generous. Without thought he banded his arms around her and pulled her close, her body pliant and melting against his like brandy custard over plum pudding.