Mistletoe Not Required (13 page)

‘Don’t think about tomorrow,’ he told her, as much to her as to himself. ‘Or next week or the week after that.’ He lifted her, carried her to the nearest bed and laid her down. ‘Just think about tonight.’ He slipped off her shoes, set them on the floor. ‘Us. Now.’

‘Great idea.’ She smiled, her hands sliding beneath the pillow as she blinked up at him, looking deliciously naked and drowsy.

‘Wait right there,’ he told her.

‘Not going anywhere,’ he heard her murmur as he strode to the bar fridge.

In less than a minute he’d uncorked his bottle of vintage champagne, poured two glasses. He toed off his shoes, picked up their drinks, anticipation licking along his veins. ‘Don’t fall asleep on me...’

Too late.
He trailed off at her side of the bed. Out cold. Soft snores she’d never willingly make—or acknowledge—if she were awake, he thought, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. She needed the rest. As he watched her face relax and the tensions of the past couple of days fade his disappointment that the evening wasn’t going to end the way he wanted it melted away, overtaken by a tenderness he’d never experienced. He pulled the sheet over her utterly tranquil body then walked to the window and watched Melbourne’s traffic below.

New and unfamiliar sensations were creeping under his guard almost without his knowledge—and definitely without his permission. He never let anyone close. What was it about Olivia? She wasn’t like other liaisons he’d had. She was genuine, caring, not all about a good time. She put others before herself. Her brand of sexy was natural and almost naïve, no guile, no pretence.

Moving away from the view, he tossed back the contents of his glass, then stripped down to underwear and positioned himself as far as possible on the other side of the bed. Wasn’t working. He could hear her breathing. Her musky feminine scent teased him. He pounded the pillows into submission and switched the TV on to mute.

Shopping TV. The last damn thing he needed.

* * *

‘Come on, skipper. Time to wake up. Olivia.’

She heard her name, felt a hand on her shoulder as she stirred into consciousness. Jett. She groaned, covering her eyes from the glare with an arm.
What was that light?
‘What’s the time?’

‘Eleven o’clock.’

‘That’s a bloody lie.’

‘I wish it was,’ she heard him say. ‘You’ve slept over twelve hours.’

‘It’s a relief to hear that,’ she muttered. ‘I thought for a moment we’d made mad passionate love and I’d forgotten.’

‘If we’d made mad passionate love you wouldn’t have forgotten.’

‘No.’ Holding the sheet in front of her, she pushed up and stared into those gold-flecked eyes and wanted to scream her frustration. ‘I’ve never fallen asleep with anyone before and I’ve done it twice with you.’

His lips twisted. ‘Great for a guy’s self-esteem.’

‘If you want to know, you make me feel safe. Last night was the first time I’ve felt truly relaxed since the break-in. No bad dreams, nothing but calm. So thank you.’ And she was refreshed and ready to get on with the day...or anything else.

‘I’m glad,’ he said, kissing her brow. ‘But the flight leaves in ninety minutes. I tried to delay it but the aircraft’s schedule is chockers.’ He gestured to a breakfast tray on the table by his laptop where he’d obviously been working. ‘You’ve got time for a quick shower and there’s something to eat.’

Then she noticed he was dressed for business. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Seems my adventure on the high seas has attracted continuing interest in the media. I’ve been invited to appear on the
Taste Buds and Travel
show—a traveller’s guide to eating around the world.’

‘I know what it is,’ she said, struggling not to be disappointed because she knew immediately he wasn’t returning to Hobart with her.

‘I told them I’ll do it for double what they’re offering me.’ He grinned like a kid at Christmas. ‘Timing, hey?’

Yeah, she thought.
Bad
timing. But why quibble about money? Didn’t he have enough already? Frowning, she reached for her bag beside the bed and began pulling out clothes. She’d never thought him money-motivated. ‘It’s a great publicity opportunity.’ Not that he needed it. Hadn’t he been
avoiding
it?

‘I’ve arranged to go in and discuss it later this afternoon, then I’ll stay at the apartment for the night.’

‘Sounds exciting.’ She walked towards the bathroom, annoyed with him. Annoyed with
herself
for being annoyed with him. ‘Don’t forget to let me know how it goes.’

‘You’ll be the first to know. Olivia.’

His commanding tone had her stopping despite herself. She didn’t turn around. ‘Yes?’ She heard the bite in her own voice.

‘Snowflake’s the
only
reason I’m considering it.’

She turned, looked at him, confused. ‘Snowflake?’

‘I’ll get to promote it and my appearance fee will go straight to your retreat project along with any donations the show brings in. I’ve told them my terms and they’ve agreed.’

So generous. So unexpected. She’d misjudged him too quickly. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what to s—’

‘I’ll be back in Hobart tomorrow. If you’re worried, I can get Emily to stay on with you.’

Her fingers tightened on her clothes. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Really.’

‘If you’re sure.’ He poured coffee and held it out.

‘Later,’ she said, and hurried into the bathroom. Everything would have been perfect except that he wasn’t asking her to stay another night with him.

THIRTEEN

Olivia
sat at
her kitchen table, mobile pressed to her ear, listening to
Jett’s deep voice telling her about the highlights of his day on
Taste Buds and Travel
.

‘Sounds like fun,’ she said, keeping her voice bright but
feeling half-hearted. Her life sounded incredibly dull in comparison. So far,
with the break-in and its repercussions she’d not done much of what she’d set
out to achieve on her month’s leave.

And she still hadn’t heard from her specialist.

Jett’s overnighter had morphed into its fourth day. The
producers had wanted to do the show while public interest was high, which meant
he’d put everything else on hold.

‘We should have a fundraiser,’ he said, switching topics.

She perked up. ‘For Snowflake?’

‘Of course for Snowflake, what else? I’ve got a few ideas if
you’re interested.’

She smiled. ‘I’m interested.’

‘We can discuss it when I get back tomorrow night.’

‘You’re done? You’re coming ho—back?’ Her fingers tightened on
her phone. ‘What time?’

‘I’ll be there around seven. I’ve got a dinner meeting with a
publisher in an hour, so I have to go now but I’ll see you tomorrow
evening.’

Nerves did a crazy whirlpool in her tummy but her voice was
smooth sailing. ‘See you then,’ she said, and disconnected.

I love him.
The words danced a
drunken sailor’s jig in her head and her feet followed, spinning across the
kitchen floor till she bumped up against the kitchen table. She was giddy,
head-over-heels in love.

But it was her forever secret because she could never let him
know.

But she
could
let him know how
grateful she was for all he’d done for her. Her gaze fell on the food processor
he’d bought that was pushed to the far end of the table up against the wall,
still lurking in its box, waiting for her.

A challenge. She stepped over, ripped the tape off the lid and
glared at it. Not only a challenge, a distraction. She’d show him she
appreciated all he’d been doing. That she appreciated
him
. That she could cook even if it was basic. She pulled out the
shiny red machine. She’d find some simple recipes on the Internet.

* * *

The lamb casserole was in the oven, its delicious
rosemary and garlic aroma filling the kitchen. The fruit salad was chopped and
in the fridge. The ingredients for Tassie salmon mousse were ready to go. She’d
had to dash to the shop to buy gelatine so she was behind schedule but that was
fine. She had time—it was only five o’clock.

She added the ingredients to the new blender, covered it with
the lid, switched it on. She wrinkled her nose—salmon sure smelled fishy. When
the mixture was smooth, she untwisted the glass jug from its base. Only the
jug was supposed to be
lifted
off the base, not
unscrewed like Brie’s, she realised too late. A tsunami of salmon mixture
flooded out of the bottom, over the new appliance, the bench, the floor. Down
her T-shirt and jeans. By the time she’d switched it off at the wall before she
electrocuted herself, it was impossible to screw it back on. The blender was
ruined. Her hands stank.

Where was a cat when she needed one?

Eew!
She was never going to eat
salmon mousse again.

She was never going to cook for him again.

The sound of a car pulling up sent her rushing to the window.
Let it be the carpenter returning for his tools.
But no, Jett was unfolding his tall frame from the front passenger seat. Her
heart went into overdrive.

Mr Jettsetter Chef himself.

No-o-o!
This was not allowed to
happen. She rinsed her salmon-stinky hands under the tap—couldn’t do anything
about the spatter on her T-shirt—then rushed to the door. And there he was, his
stubble a tad more scruffy than usual, temptation and persuasion in his
eyes.

‘You’re way early...’
I’ve missed
you.
‘There’s a bit of a mess...’
I’ve missed
you more than I should have.

The first thing Jett noticed as the door opened was the way his
heart stumbled over itself at his first glimpse of red hair and blue-lagoon
eyes. The second thing was the glop of something on her freckled cheek. The
third was the fishy smell that wafted out with her.

‘I got an earlier flight.’ Because there’d been an inexplicable
urgency to see her again. To watch her face light up in surprise—at least he’d
hoped it would. But she looked more horrified than surprised. He reached out and
flicked at the goop, sniffed.

‘Oh, no.’ Her cheeks turned a matching colour and she blinked
at his thumb in disbelief. ‘I was making salmon mousse.’ She stared down at
herself. ‘I had an accident. Sort of.’

He licked the goop from his thumb and his gaze followed hers.
‘I see. Sort of.’ And it occurred to him—something that filled him with a warm,
satisfied glow. ‘Were you making dinner for me?’

‘No big deal, is it?’ She stepped back. Still her eyes didn’t
leave his. ‘I’ll go take a shower and change out of these stinky...’ Her hands
flapped about her. ‘I’ll just clean this kitchen up first... Your blender, I’m
sorry...’

‘Easy. It’s okay. I’ll get you another one.’

‘Please don’t.’

He laughed. He wanted to kiss her full on those passion-pink
lips and drink her in, salmon smell and all. Hell, he wanted to help her out of
those clothes and dive beneath that spray with her.

But the few days apart had changed the easy camaraderie they’d
built between them in Melbourne and there was that awkwardness between them
again. It was like starting over. ‘Why don’t you take that shower while I clean
up here?’

‘Right. Thanks. The casserole’s—’

‘Fine. I know.’

‘Ah...yes, of course you do.’ She turned and bolted.

He stared at the empty doorway. He’d never seen Olivia so
flustered. It almost felt as if they were on a first date and she’d invited him
for dinner but he’d turned up early. He glanced through the arch, saw the dining
table covered in a lace cloth that hadn’t been there before. Silverware.
Miniature roses he recognised from the front garden. Five tall white candles in
a bronze candelabra.

Dating. Now there was a word he hadn’t associated with himself
in for ever. And none of those ‘dates’ had ever been of the wholesome domestic
home-grown variety.

Perhaps being apart wasn’t so bad after all because coming back
sure felt good.

Didn’t mean anything, he assured himself. He was staying awhile
longer and helping her out as they’d already talked about. He’d leave when
things were moving along. As they’d already talked about.

A flicker of heat skimmed through his veins as he scooped up
the blender, put it in the packaging it had come in to toss out later. What
other surprises did she have planned for this evening? Filling the sink with
soapy water, he sloshed the dishcloth over the benches.

He’d had women cook extravagant and sophisticated meals to
impress, to please, to seduce him into their bed. And many had succeeded.
Because he’d wanted to be impressed and seduced.

But Olivia didn’t hang on his every word. In fact, she
argued
with him—long and hard. Her meal looked basic
and she’d stuffed up with the salmon.

She was gorgeous, sexy, intelligent and brave.

Glad to have something useful to do while he waited, he wiped
up the floor with kitchen paper towel, found a mop and bucket to finish the
job.

With the kitchen restored, he set his bag in the bedroom she’d
been using then sat on the edge of her bed and listened to the shower running in
the en suite. He imagined her head tipped back as water splashed over her neck
and darkened her hair to burgundy. Thought about that warm water sluicing over
her breasts, rivulets flowing down her abdomen, collecting in her navel. And
down...

The fragrance of her shower gel seeped out to flirt and lure.
And before he knew it, he was tapping on the door. ‘I’m going to open the door a
fraction.’ He yelled over the sound of the spray. ‘I want you to listen to me.
Okay?’

He heard nothing but water splashing on tiles and for a moment
he thought she hadn’t heard but then her muffled ‘Okay.’

He cracked the door open and was greeted with a cloud of steam.
‘Olivia.’

‘When you use my name all serious like that I get worried. Is
someth—?’

‘Nothing’s wrong. Do you trust me?’

Silence. He could hear his heart beating, the water
splashing.

Finally a quiet ‘Yes.’

He grinned to himself. ‘I’m coming back in five minutes and I’m
coming in. You can decide if you want to stay under the shower or get
dressed—and if you choose the latter,
how
you dress
is kind of key.’

A brief hesitation, then, ‘All right.’

Olivia’s pulse rate tripled and she gasped in large lungfuls of
steam as the warm spray pelted her body. Her fingers curled on the gold-plated
taps and the spray continued. She wasn’t going anywhere.

She couldn’t see him when he returned a few moments later but
she saw the movement against the fogged glass.

‘I’m back,’ he informed her.

‘So I see.’ Or almost. From the looks of it, he was still
wearing his jeans and black T-shirt but less than a dozen rapid heartbeats later
all she could see was the nude colour of a tall male body.

She gripped the soap ledge for support. And waited.

‘I need you to move so your head’s not under the spray and
close your eyes.’

She did as he requested and felt the draught ripple over wet
skin as he opened the shower screen door. He didn’t touch her but held something
cold and smooth against her upper lip.

‘You’ve brought
glass
into my
shower?’

‘Yes. What can you smell?’

‘Alcohol. Are you planning to get me drunk?’

‘A little tipsy, maybe. Alcohol,’ he repeated. ‘Details,
please.’

A shiver of anticipation ran through her body. ‘Spirits. Rum?
And mint. So something cool, and possibly lethal.’

‘Try it.’ He tipped the glass against the seam of her mouth and
she tasted a few drops on her tongue. ‘What else?’

‘Lime? Or lemon.’

‘Good.’

She sipped again. ‘It’s nice. Sensual. Can I open my eyes
now?’

‘Not yet. Another sip. It’s my Blue Mint Lagoon cocktail.’

‘Ah, your specialty cocktail.’ She did as he asked, taking tiny
sips and letting the smooth ice-cold liquid slide down her throat. ‘What else is
in it?’

‘I’ll let you think about it. Meanwhile...’ He removed the
glass from her lips and she heard him set it on the vanity with a little
chink
on the marble. ‘Eyes still shut, now.’

He nudged her mouth open with his thumb and slipped a
cocktail-soaked strawberry between her lips. She chewed it slowly, enjoying the
contrast in texture. ‘Mmm, yum. Different.’

‘Like you.’

She felt him move behind her into the shower stall. Its
generous size accommodated two people and meant their bodies didn’t touch, but
she felt every single drop of water on her oversensitised skin. ‘Place your
palms flat on the tiles in front of you,’ he told her. ‘And be ready for a
surprise.’

Tension built to a fever pitch, her whole body felt tight and
strung out. Anticipation quivered through her. Then he stroked something cold
and slippery over the back of her neck and she squealed with the sudden shock
and the unexpected pleasure of hot and cold. ‘Ice? What...?’

She trailed off because she was concentrating on the way the
ice—in both his hands—felt, mingling with the hot spray as he stroked lower, all
the way down her spine, slowing to massage a tight circle at the small of her
back, then down the backs of her legs, lingering at sensitive areas behind her
knees. And back up all the way to her nape.

She heard him crunch ice between his teeth then he was sucking
on her shoulder, her ear lobe, her neck, with icy lips and tongue.

She thought she might melt like the ice and disappear down the
drain in a mindless puddle but then he leaned close so that his body pressed
against her back, a thigh between her legs to keep her in place.

His murmured ‘Spread your legs for me’ had her breath catching.
The warm hardness of his body surrounded her while he continued to rub the
slippery coldness over her nipples, making them impossibly tight and erect.
Making her shiver and moan.

‘Oh, my...’ She squirmed back against him in delight then
gasped, held her breath in awe as he pushed slowly inside her from behind.
Filling her up with heat while he continued skating swirling patterns of ice
over her skin. Hot and cold, slippery sensations. The squat fat candle she kept
by the bath infusing the steam with an arousing and mellow scent of vanilla.

This was all about contrasts and new experiences and he’d
planned it specifically for her pleasure. A quivering started low and deep in
her belly and spiralled outward. The air moist and soft all around her, the
torrent of water hot and stinging on her shoulders. His ice-chilled lips
nuzzling her neck.

Her flesh yielding against his.

She’d always told herself she’d never give up control but it
was indeed a delicious surrender.

‘Lean back and hold on to the back of my neck,’ he told her.
Fierce, urgent, his lips moving over her shoulder. ‘I want to feel you
come.’

‘Yes...’ Flinging her arms tight around the back of his neck,
she shuddered as tremor after tremor rolled through her. She felt his own
tremors, his breath harsh and fast as he climaxed inside her. And her body
claimed him, her muscles clenched around him, pulling him deep inside her,
touching her womb, her heart.

A short time later, as the setting summer sun painted the sky
gold and crimson, they lay entwined on her bed, bodies still damp.