Читать книгу Mistletoe Not Required - Anne Oliver, Anne Oliver - Страница 10

THREE

‘This is the life.’

After five days of hard slog on the harbour, Olivia was enjoying a traditional Christmas Day breakfast of champagne, strawberries and Danish pastries while a little light Christmas music played in the background. She wasn’t accustomed to inactivity but two days of R and R were well deserved and a necessary break before the hard work, both mental and physical, that the next few days would demand of them.

Brie, looking as boneless as Olivia felt on the other recliner, studied the forest-green lacquered toenails as she wiggled them in front of her. ‘This is so not the life; you’d be bored to distraction in a couple of days.’

‘True. I should wander down to the gym in a bit.’

‘Nuh-uh.’ Brie nibbled on a croissant. ‘No workouts allowed today.’

Olivia flopped back, almost relieved. She’d barely slept after all. ‘If you say so.’

Jeez, she was so easily seduced. Seduced. Workout... Hot, steamy, sweaty— ‘The pool, then. A quick twenty laps.’

Brie lifted her sunglasses off her nose to stare at her. ‘After this feast? I don’t think so. You’re just feeling the twitchy after-effects of last night’s indulgence with Secret Sinner-Santa.’

A shiver of remembered delight danced down her spine and settled low and warm between her thighs. ‘You are so right. I never knew sinning was that much fun.’

‘Woo-hoo, now you do.’

She’d been involved short-term with a guy a long time ago and it had been more about a loss of innocence than sinning—or even enjoyment, because with Jason there hadn’t been much enjoyment, for her at least. But since she and Brie had met at the hospice where Brie’s dad and Olivia’s mum were dying, she’d been so focused on getting Pink Snowflake up and running and her plans for a retreat, she’d had no time for guys, relationships. Sex.

But last night... Olivia smiled. He’d whetted her appetite. It was as if that dormant part inside her had finally woken up and demanded breakfast.

‘He was good, then?’

She sighed. ‘The man had the best hands. And he knew how to use them.’ She smiled, lost for an instant, reliving the pleasure. Heat spurted through her lower belly and she reached for her glass of sparkling mineral water. ‘The fact that he was built like a god was a bonus. He had these eyes...’ She blinked the images—him—away. He was long gone.

And switched topics. ‘So Jett made it back here eventually.’ She’d heard him come in after she and Brie had said goodnight and had been tempted to go pour herself a glass of water from the kitchenette, just to sneak a peek. But she’d changed her mind when she heard their muffled voices through her closed door. She’d not wanted to intrude. ‘Was he lost?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Brie stirred her coffee. ‘What I can’t work out is that he said he’d made it to the party late and all would become clear.’

‘That’s cryptic,’ Olivia said.

‘Good morning.’

The deep male voice had Olivia pushing upright and turning to the open doorway. ‘Hi...’ As she spoke her smile dropped away; her entire body started to dissolve.

How had he known where to find her? What are you doing here? But the words never passed her frozen lips because even as she asked the question she knew the answer.

Jett.

Her not-so-secret Sinner-Santa.

One and the same and ambling away from the door as if he’d been leaning casually against it. Listening in. Laughing at her. Looking so, so smug. Every indignant hair on the back of her neck rose and she pushed suddenly sweaty hands over her trembling thighs and down the skirt of her festive emerald-trimmed white sundress.

He wore khaki shorts and a white polo shirt and brown sandals. Plenty of bare leg sprinkled with dark masculine hair. Then she caught sight of a pair of red stiletto sandals set neatly on the floor beside the door frame.

Brie didn’t notice the incriminating evidence and rose. ‘Jett, glad to see you’re awake at last. Did you sleep well?’

‘Not bad.’ His eyes flicked to Olivia. ‘Considering.’

The eyes. Brie’s eyes, Olivia realised, seeing the pair of them close together. How had she missed that? Both tall and equally stunning with their bronzed complexions and midnight gazes. Brie leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Merry Christmas.’ She turned to Olivia. ‘Jett, I want you to meet my best friend, Olivia Wishart. Liv, this is Jett Davies. My brother.’

He nodded to Olivia and a corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Already had the pleasure.’

At the mention of pleasure, fingers of guilty heat stroked her belly and lower. How outrageous and inappropriate of him to mention it. Aware of the height disadvantage, she forced herself to stand. Almost eye to eye. Give or take a good six inches. But her legs felt like wet seaweed and the sun shimmered on all that bronzed masculine skin. Sliding on her sunglasses, she snapped out, ‘It’s always helpful to put a name to the face.’

‘You two know each other?’ Brie’s gaze darted between the two of them then settled on Olivia, puzzled.

‘Last night.’ Jett fired the two words across the patio like an accusation or a challenge, then reached down beside him and swung the shoes on two fingers. ‘You left these behind. Cinderella.’

She watched, appalled. Those same fingers had wrought wicked and unimaginable pleasure on her most intimate and private parts. When Olivia made no attempt to step forward and take them, he set them back by the door with a lazy grin, his eyes stroking down her body as if reacquainting himself with her shape, stopping at her bare feet. ‘I’m sorry, were these your only shoes?’

‘No.’ She drew in a breath, embarrassed beyond belief, furious at his attitude. If Brie hadn’t been there Olivia would have told him exactly where to put those shoes. ‘Of course they’re not. It’s easy to forget—I’m a barefoot tragic.’

His lips pulled wide at that as if enjoying some private joke. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Whatever for?’ She clenched her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see how they shook. Those little-boy dimples mocked her. And annoyed her—she doubted he’d ever been innocent in his life. ‘Why are you smirking?’

Still grinning, he shrugged, lifting his arms to waist height, palms up. ‘Why are you so uptight?’

‘Olivia?’ Brie’s voice broke into their conversation. ‘Can you help me in the kitchen a moment?’

‘We don’t have a kitchen here,’ she reminded her, not taking her eyes off Jett. ‘We have a private butler.’ And a problem. She snatched up the magazine she’d been intending to read. ‘Why don’t you two catch up? I’m going to take that dip in the pool, then I’m going to shower and get ready for our yummy traditional Christmas feast. I expect you’re looking forward to sharing Christmas lunch with Brie, Jett, as much as she’s looking forward to sharing it with you.’

The force of her killer glare and unsubtle reference to Christmas luncheon rocked Jett back on his heels. ‘You bet.’ Still grinning, he watched her pick up her shoes, enjoying the rear view of touchable bottom and lightly honeyed thighs as she bent over. She stepped past the glass doors, into the entertainment area, skirted a low table where she dropped her magazine beside her boa, which he’d left there, then crossed the room and disappeared from view.

Man, she was hot. ‘I guess she’s mad at me. Must be the Christmas thing.’

‘Christmas thing?’ Brie murmured, following his gaze. ‘Oh, you mean Secret Sinner-Santa—she mentioned it.’

That too.

‘You didn’t introduce yourselves?’

‘Why would we? It was just a...’ He trailed off. Probably not the wisest thing to say to the best friend. ‘Should I try to—?’

‘No. Sinner-Santas are for Christmas Eve—so I heard. I think if I was her, I’d want a little alone time. How long were you standing there?’

‘Long enough.’

‘Okay, here’s the thing, Jett.’

She got real serious. It was always an unnerving experience with Breanna to be looking at his own eyes, and right now his sister’s were clear and cool.

‘Olivia’s my best friend. She’s also the most generous, caring person I know. She’s been too busy studying and setting up her own charity and a dozen other activities over the past few years to have any sort of social life—and goodness knows she needs it. I can’t remember the last time she—’

‘What we get up to is between me and Olivia.’

‘And that’s fine with me. You’re my brother, Jett, and I care about you. Whether or not you believe it, whether or not you want it, it’s there and it’s unconditional. But I care about Livvie too. She’s like a sister to me. So be careful, okay?’

He felt awkward around sentimental words when they were directed his way and shrugged them off. ‘Hey, it’s cool. I don’t need your care and concern, but thanks anyway.’

Her expression switched instantly and regret brimmed in eyes that looked at him as if he were a sick puppy. ‘I can’t forgive Dad for what he did.’

Ah. No. No way in hell was he getting into deep and meaningfuls with Breanna about their shared parentage. ‘Forget it,’ he muttered. He strode to a table sheltered by an umbrella. Ice clinked as he picked up a jug of chilled water.

‘So as part of our familial connection,’ she continued, while he poured himself a tall glass, and another for Breanna, ‘I keep up with the press goings-on and your social-media updates. I know your fast and loose reputation with sophisticated women who know what the game’s all about. A girl in every port.’

He held out one glass to Breanna and threw the contents of the other down his suddenly dry throat. She’d kept tabs on him for the past three years? Hell. ‘So?’ he said, meeting her gaze.

‘Olivia’s not like that.’

‘You saying last night she wasn’t herself, then?’

She waved her hands about her, unsure. ‘I don’t know about last night, I wasn’t there. I’m just telling you what I know about who she is. How she is. Usually.’

‘She’s hardly talking to me as it is. Don’t worry, I won’t lay a finger on her. Or anything else.’

Unless she asks me to. He grew hard just thinking about last night and where his fingers had been. He refilled his glass and sat on one of the recliners to hide the incriminating evidence building a bonfire in his shorts. Yeah, any glimmer of reciprocation on the best friend’s part and all bets were off.

Breanna took the other recliner. ‘I’m not saying don’t have a good time, Jett. She deserves some fun. She’s in desperate need of some fun. But...’ She shrugged, seemed to consider. ‘Fine. You’re both adults, I’ll leave it up to you. And her.’

He nodded. ‘It’ll be okay,’ he reassured her. ‘You’re racing tomorrow. I take it she’s sailing with you?’

‘Livvie’s the reason I’m going. We’ve sailed together heaps.’ She hugged her shoulders and smiled. ‘I can’t wait. It’s turning out to be such a great Christmas.’

‘Yeah.’ His gaze flicked to the harbour, filled with myriad different craft on the white-flecked water, some decked with tinsel or coloured streamers. He’d never tell his sister he always spent the twenty-fifth of December doing anything so long as it wasn’t related to Christmas.

When his trip to Thailand with a couple of mates had been cancelled at the last minute, he’d decided, on the spur of the moment, to accept Breanna’s invitation to meet up in Sydney. He’d not realised he’d accepted the full Christmas Day deal until too late. She’d sounded so damn thrilled about it, he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to disappoint her.

But she looked as if she was settling in for a bit of a sisterly chat so he said, ‘Reckon I’ll lie here and snooze for a bit.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Didn’t get much sleep last night.’

She cleared her throat. ‘Right. I’m going to take a shower.’

‘Okay.’ Which reminded him he’d been disappointed the pretty strawberry underwear had disappeared when he’d used the second bathroom this morning.

The air was warm and muggy and he was dozing within moments...

* * *

...Hurry up, Mummy. She was always late to pick him up from school. Jett had got himself there this morning because he hadn’t been able to wake her up. Again. He’d been so hungry he’d asked his teacher if he could have a Vegemite sandwich from the canteen, cos they did that sometimes when his mum didn’t give him food cos she’d run out of money.

But then strangers came and took him away to another house and told him his mum had passed away. He wasn’t sure what that meant but he knew he wouldn’t be seeing her again and he cried heaps cos she’d told him she loved him and promised him that one day they’d go and live with his father in a big house and there’d be everything he’d ever wanted.

The lady that had picked him up told him he’d be living with other kids like him and he’d have lots of fun and make new friends. And he tried. But he didn’t have fun and they picked on him cos he was smaller. So he fought back. And then they told him he was a trouble-maker and moved him to another place, then another. Who needed dumb friends anyway? He was waiting for the day his father came to get him, then everything would be okay.

And while he waited he dreamed how it was going to be. His father would laugh and open his arms and fold Jett in close like his mum used to do on her good days and tell him he’d been waiting for this day too.

Then one day they said his father wanted him to come for Christmas Day. He was overcome with breathless anticipation. Filled with wonder and excitement; his first proper Christmas with a real turkey and a tree and presents and stuff. His father might’ve got him a bike and he’d take him outside after lunch to teach him how to ride it and then he’d tell him he loved him and wanted him to stay for ever and that he had his own bedroom with a pirate bed and a pirate night light, cos he really liked pirates.

But when he got there, the man he’d dreamed about had sad eyes and didn’t smile like how he’d imagined. He took him inside and there was a lady there too. Jett didn’t understand why the lady wouldn’t look at him or why she left the room with wet eyes. Then his father showed him a tiny bundle of baby with dark hair and eyes just like his own and told him her name was Breanna. His very own sister. And he forgot the man had looked sad cos now he was smiling and he let Jett touch the baby’s skin and it felt like his mum’s silk pillow case that she used to let him sleep on sometimes, only even softer. Today was the best day in the world.

But then the lady came and took the baby out of the room and his father told him that Jett couldn’t be a part of his new family. Ever.

* * *

Jett stirred, rasped a hand over his stubble but kept his eyes closed. Christmas—and the old bad still followed like a dark shadow.

But his sister—the baby who’d ousted him from his rightful place in the family—was a bright light and not what he’d expected. He was still amazed that Breanna had come looking for him after their father had died and she’d learned she had an older brother. She’d been the sole heir to their father’s estate but didn’t seem to want anything from him but his friendship.

‘You,’ muttered a curt female voice. Just sharp enough to cut through the air and ensure he was listening, followed by the sound of fingertips drumming impatiently on the balcony rail.

His lips curved but his eyes remained closed. ‘Hello, Trouble. Taking a few moment’s down-time. Didn’t get much sleep last night.’

‘It’s not your sleeping habits I’m bothered about.’

Her fresh apricot and cucumber scent wafted to his nostrils and he cracked open one eye. She’d showered; her gloriously red hair was damp and kissed elegant bare shoulders. A short black-and-white geometrically patterned dress hugged her curves. Curves he’d been getting intimately acquainted with not twelve hours ago. Curves he might have got even more intimate with if Breanna hadn’t phoned Olivia and cut his plans for the rest of the evening short.

Breanna had phoned him too. Checked up on him. Left messages of concern, then annoyance. Which he probably should have answered but simply hadn’t got around to.

Who the hell ever checked up on Jett Davies?

He caught Olivia glancing at him from beneath auburn lashes. She turned a pretty shade of watermelon pink when she saw him admiring her physical assets, then looked away and became preoccupied with counting the vehicles crossing the Harbour Bridge.

‘You sure about that?’ he said to her profile, his smile widening when he saw the increasing tension in her shoulders. ‘My sleeping habits could be a good conversation starter. Why don’t you sit down and we can discuss them?’

He’d half expected her to decline but she took a chair opposite him. ‘As I was saying...it’s your typical irresponsible male behaviour.’

‘I am male,’ he pointed out. ‘I thought you’d have noticed last night. And yes, I’m pretty sure it was typical male behaviour when in the company of a sexy woman who wants the same thing he does. What I’m not sure about is the word irresponsible. I have heard of safe sex.’

She inhaled sharply, poured herself a glass of water from the table beside her. ‘You really have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?’

‘But you’re going to tell me.’

‘Last night...’

‘Last night...’ He trailed off suggestively and the sultry images hung heavy in the air between them. He had an erection most men would be jealous of and nowhere to use it—damned if he was going to make it easy for her.

She cleared her throat, downed half the contents of her glass. ‘It never occurred to you that Brie would be waiting to hear if you were okay, did it.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You never bothered to ring and let her know where you were.’

He flipped a hand. ‘See, that’s exactly why I don’t keep women around long-term.’ But he had to admit he saw her point.

‘Brie’s not just any woman, she’s your sister. And I don’t care what you do with your groupies, but you told Brie you were on your way to the party and that’s the last she heard. While you were getting it on with some random woman she was worried about what might have happened to you.’

His brows rose. ‘That woman was you.’

‘And she felt let down because she’d been looking forward to sharing the evening with her brother. The fact it was me is irrelevant, Jett. Just because you’re a famous chef-slash-food-writer-slash-critic—yes, Brie filled me in moments ago, and no, I didn’t recognise you, which must be a blow to your over-inflated ego—doesn’t mean you treat people who care about you that way. Accountability’s obviously not a word you’re familiar with and—’

‘You sure have a lot to say.’ Crikey, she was red hot when she was mad. Fiery. Filled with a vibrant energy to rival his own. It matched her hair and made him want to reach up, wind it around his fingers and pull her down so he could put that tongue to better use.