Mistletoe Not Required (15 page)

‘And the big question on every woman’s lips is will the Jettsetter Chef be making an appearance?’

‘After dinner,’ Olivia told a female reporter, almost wishing she hadn’t invited the media to attend the guests’ arrival and to interview her. ‘But you won’t be here then.’ She smiled sweetly because she knew the woman would be disappointed, and slid a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter’s tray. ‘But Pink Snowflake—’

‘There he is!’ The woman swivelled on her heel, sidestepped Olivia and made a beeline towards him, her heels clicking over polished wood.

Olivia turned, surprised to see his unexpected appearance, and their gazes clashed across the deck. Without thought, her hand reached up to touch the chain at her neck. He noticed her small movement, and a slow smile spread over his face. Then the reporter blocked her view and Olivia turned away, her mind whirling, only to be confronted with another journalist who’d obviously witnessed the intimate exchange.

She studied Olivia’s face, her eyes alive with speculation. ‘And will we be seeing more of the pair of you out and about?’ Her ID showed she was from the women’s magazine that was donating a hefty sum for an interview.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Olivia said. ‘We’re not here to speculate on gossip. We’re here to talk about the Pink Snowflake Foundation—that’s the important message for tonight...’

At last the media left and the magnificent cruise yacht sailed out of the marina, the lights of the CBD and the casino glittering from the shore.

The main course was a choice of liquorice-braised leg of lamb with Jerusalem artichoke and caramelised onion purée or roasted pork shoulder with swede, pickled rhubarb purée, sage and apple dressing, all served at a massive oak dining table.

Olivia found herself sitting opposite James Harrison, owner of a string of successful Sydney nightclubs. Mid-forties, attractive. A playboy edge about that smile even with his partner, Sue, right alongside. Sue paid him no attention, more interested in talking to Sandra Hemsworth to her right.

‘I hope you’ll drop by the club when you’re in Sydney.’ He twinkled those playboy blue eyes at her and slid a business card across the table. ‘Contact me and I’ll make sure I’m there.’

Not
we
, she noted. ‘Um...I don’t know when I’ll get to Sydney, James, with so much going on at the moment.’

‘Jim.’

‘Jim.’ She glanced at Sue, who’d turned and was watching them with a smile on her lips.

‘I’m his sister,’ she said. ‘In case you were wondering.’

‘Oh.’ Olivia laughed, but suddenly a new kind of tension gripped her. Because James—Jim—was definitely interested. And Olivia definitely was not. She snatched up her wine glass. ‘So does being in business with family members work for you...?’

For the remainder of the meal she managed to keep the conversation focused on their nightclubs and her charity. And yachting of course. She slipped
Chasing Dawn
into the conversation in the hope that James or Sue or anyone in on the conversation might know of an interested buyer. Someone who’d love the little yacht the way she did.

A selection of desserts and coffee was served in the entertainment area where the only formalities for the evening took place. Jett and his assistant chefs made an appearance so the guests could acknowledge their efforts.

He and his mates accepted the applause with good cheer. Olivia made a short speech thanking everyone for their amazing support and wishing them a pleasant evening. Finally, Brie spoke about Snowflake on Olivia’s behalf.

When it was over with guests free to choose whatever they wanted to do until breakfast, Olivia escaped to a dark corner of the deck alone. She hugged her arms in the coolish briny air. Jett’s work for the night was done. He’d be looking for her any minute and she wished she knew what she was going to say.

How was she going to respond if he mentioned the chef’s position again? Because then she’d have to put him—

‘It’s a pretty night.’

She glanced at the masculine voice beside her and wished herself elsewhere. But she lifted her voice, smiled to match. ‘James.’

‘Jim.’

‘Jim. Yes, it is.’

‘So...you’re serious about selling
Chasing Dawn
?’

She turned to him, found him not as attractive as she’d first thought. But then she’d never find another man as attractive as Jett. ‘She’s a seventy-year-old wooden-hulled boat. I need someone who’ll love her like I do, scars and all.’

‘Whatever your asking price, I’ll double it.’

She hesitated. Silly to be sentimental over a pile of old wood. She could do so much more good with cold hard cash. And she’d still have the misty, water-coloured memories of her and her mum exploring the bays and inlets around Tassie.

But why did a man like James Harrison, a previous winner of the Australian Bluewater Classic with his ginormous maxi yacht, want an itty-bitty scrap of a boat like
Chasing Dawn
?

* * *

Jett caught sight of Olivia on the deck and was about to head over when he realised someone was going to beat him to it. The same guy who’d been eying her off when Jett and his fellow chefs had joined the guests for coffee. And a feeling he’d never known had gripped him hard, held him so tightly he’d barely been able to breathe.

It was still there, like an iron fist clamped around his gut.
Jealousy.
His chef’s jacket was suddenly strangling him and he flicked open the top button. He could hear their conversation on the still evening air. Not only was the man eying his woman off, he wanted her boat.

She was still considering selling
Chasing Dawn
?
No way.
She loved that boat too much. Jett was by her side in a few quick strides. ‘Mate, you’re too late.’

‘What?’ Olivia’s hand flew to her chest, her eyes widened in fright. ‘Jett, where did you spring from? And what do you mean?’

‘Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to scare you.’ He stuck out his hand to the guy. ‘Jett Davies.’

‘Jim.’ The man shook Jett’s hand. ‘Nice meal tonight, Jett.’

Nice.
Right. Spectacular, more like. Jett’s lip curled but he managed to transform it into a rough resemblance of a grin. ‘Yeah, as I was saying—sorry, Jim, she’s promised it to me.’ He tugged her to his side. ‘Right, skipper?’

Jim frowned, looked to her for confirmation then frowned again, his gaze flicking between the two of them. ‘Is that right, Olivia?’

She slipped out of Jett’s hold and stepped away from both of them, hands raised in front of her breasts in a defensive gesture. ‘I...um. I’m still deciding.’

And Jett had a bad feeling it wasn’t only the boat she was talking about. The first trickle of real unease rose up his throat. ‘Olivia, I—’

Her eyes widened, then turned hard and uncompromising. ‘If you’ll both excuse me...’ She turned on one stilettoed heel and walked away, leaving the two of them standing on the deck throwing metaphoric daggers at each other.

Dammit. He shrugged at Jim. ‘That’s Olivia for you. She’s been under stress to get this night happening,’ he explained. ‘I’ll make sure she rests when we get home tomorrow.’ He saw he’d got his message across and walked away whistling.

But he knew he’d stepped over a line with Olivia. She demanded her independence and he’d not respected her decision to sell her boat if that was what she chose to do.

He needed to fix his wrong. But how? He knew from experience she took that kind of behaviour very much to heart.

FIFTEEN

Olivia didn’t find
it hard to avoid Jett for the rest of the evening because he seemed to be staying well away. She didn’t see him on the deck again when she walked there with a few guests to watch the yacht pass beneath the Tasman Bridge. Nor in the entertainment area when nightcaps were served. But it played on her nerves until they were stretched to breaking point as they tied up at the marina for the night. At last the final couple said goodnight and headed to bed and she breathed a sigh of relief.

He was waiting for her in the crew’s quarters, lying on a bunk, hands behind his head. The moment he caught sight of her, he tensed and pushed up, dominating the cramped space with his size. ‘You all right?’

No. ‘What were you thinking overriding me that way? I do not need you or anyone else telling me what to do. It’s my life, my choices.’ She didn’t want to know his reasons. For any of it. ‘I don’t want an argument, I—’

‘Which is why I’m leaving.’ He reached for his bag, hefted it over his shoulder.

‘Leaving?’ Olivia’s stomach dropped like a stone. ‘I just meant—’

‘It’s okay, skipper.’ He smiled but it wasn’t the brash, confident Jett she knew and respected.

And loved.

‘I know you don’t want a scene,’ he continued as he sidestepped past her in the narrow space between bunks on his way out. ‘And this isn’t the time or place.’ He dropped a feather-soft kiss on her brow. ‘The evening was a well-deserved success for Pink Snowflake. Congratulations.’

She wanted to put her arms around his neck and tell him she hadn’t meant to jump all over him like that the moment she’d seen him, like some nag. She wanted to say sorry and ask him to stay but she knew he was right, there was too much unresolved tension between them, and nothing could be resolved here tonight within earshot of others. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ she said to his back.

He turned at the doorway and smiled that tired kind of smile again. ‘Sure you could.’

* * *

She barely slept. The night seemed interminable. She blamed the narrow bunk but she missed the feel of Jett’s warm body beside hers. His last words echoed in her head with the faraway look in his eyes.
Sure you could.

What had he meant by that? Was it a genuine belief in her abilities or was it her cue to go it alone? The truth was she didn’t
want
to do it alone. Not any more. She’d miss his confidence and his culinary skills, the way he made her laugh and forget her problems. She’d miss their robust discussions.

She’d miss
him
.

The more she thought about the evening, the more she knew he was letting her down gently. He was leaving. The necklace was a parting gift. His talk about the chef’s position and the retreat being a reality sooner than she thought...he meant the foundation was growing quicker than they’d expected, that was all. That he wouldn’t be needed; it was time to move on.

And she was ready. Her heart was breaking but she was prepared. She didn’t want to do it alone, but she could. She would.

It was almost a relief to get up and check that everything had been cleared away to her satisfaction and check that the informal breakfast had been set out before the catering crew had left.

She’d arranged to meet the owner and his wife, Joe and Tessa McPherson, for coffee at nine a.m. in the hotel, so she wasn’t expecting them to board while she was still breakfasting with the guests at seven-thirty.

‘Joe, Tessa. Good morning to you.’ She rose to meet the well-dressed couple. ‘Did I get the times wrong?’

‘No.’ Joe beamed at her, his ruddy complexion glowing. ‘Tess and I wanted to make sure to catch you before you all left. We have a little something for you.’ He drew a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his navy jacket. ‘We believe in the Pink Snowflake Foundation and what you’re doing. You blew me away with your enthusiasm on Christmas Eve—Tess’ll tell you I kept her awake half the night talking about it. I love a good cause.’

Olivia smiled. ‘So do I. Sorry, Tessa, if I was the reason for you not getting a good night’s sleep.’

‘No problem.’ Tessa smiled back, her carefully styled blonde hair glinting in the morning sun that slanted through the windows.

Joe exchanged a fond glance with his younger wife. ‘She and I had a talk,’ he went on. ‘We loved the philosophy behind the name—individuals together making a difference. We’d like to be a part of your retreat. And we’d like to see it built in the next six months rather than the next fifty years, so we’re giving you a head start.’ He handed Olivia a cheque made out to the Pink Snowflake Foundation.

Enthusiastic applause followed and then Brie was hugging her and looking over her shoulder. ‘Wow.’

‘Oh, my.’ Olivia stared at the six-figure amount for a long moment as a numb feeling of disbelief and excitement and gratitude crept up her body. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ She paused, suddenly knowing the very best way. ‘Yes, I do. We’ll name it the McPherson Retreat.’

* * *

Sweat poured down his back, into his eyes. Jett yanked off his T-shirt, tossed it across a stunted bush and jammed the spade into the hard-packed earth again. Again. He wanted the distraction of heat, the heavy load, the hard work.

‘Jett...’

He looked up, slightly dazed in the heat, realising he’d heard his name more than once. Olivia was watching him—had been for some time by the look in her eyes. Her apricot-cucumber fragrance rose to greet him as she held out a glass.

‘Here, drink.’

‘Thanks.’ He swallowed it down in a few greedy gulps. ‘How long have you been back?’ He picked up the spade again.

‘Long enough to see that you’re going to do serious damage if you don’t slow down.’ All calmness, she took the spade from his hands, tossed it down. ‘No more. You worked all yesterday, then last night. It’s hot out here and heatstroke’s not funny.’

‘Last night was worth it, right?’ With nothing in his hands, he struggled to channel his energy—he was a volcano about to erupt. ‘You were sensational.’

‘It was worth it, but it wasn’t only me. The menu was amazing. You and your staff were fantastic. And you haven’t heard the good news. The McPhersons donated enough money to build the extension. We’ll have it up in months.’

‘That
is
good news. But I let you down. I shouldn’t have left you to do breakfast on your own.’ He ran a grime-smeared hand through his hair, annoyed at her calm demeanour. He wanted her angry. He wanted fire; he wanted that edge, that connection, not this calm woman with no bite.

‘Not a problem. Everything was already there, we only had to—’

‘What were you thinking?’ he shouted, switching to what was
really
pissing him off. ‘
Chasing Dawn
’s not for sale.’

Her eyes widened in surprise and her voice rose. ‘Says who?
You?
’

Better. ‘Yeah. Me. Not to him.’

‘Jim? Why not?’

‘I didn’t like the cut of his jacket. Hell, I didn’t like the man’s name, the man’s aftershave, the man’s— He was coming on to you—didn’t you realise that?’

‘And what if he was?’ she demanded, white-lipped now, eyes spitting fire. ‘I wasn’t reciprocating—or didn’t you notice? But you and me—we’re temporary. We’ve always known that. Sooner or later you’re leaving.’

‘Hang on—’

She waved him away. ‘You said I could do it on my own.’

He frowned. ‘
What?
When?’

‘Last night. When you left me standing there with your parting gift around my neck. I said I couldn’t have done it without you and you said—’

Sure you could...

She’d misinterpreted his words. Frustration zigged up his spine and he scratched the back of his neck.

‘Olivia...sweetheart... That’s not what I meant.’ He saw confusion cloud her eyes and took a step forward, hands raised. ‘I meant you are the most capable woman I’ve ever met—not that I wanted you to go it alone. If I didn’t make it clear enough, I’m sorry.’

She shook her head once, and seemed to shrink in on herself, as if she didn’t want to hear.

‘And
parting gift
?’ Unease was crawling over his skin like ants. ‘It was a thank-you-I-think-you’re-pretty-damn-special gift. You didn’t pick up on that?’

‘I...don’t know... A man’s never given me anything so...intimate or expensive.’

‘And you’re the first woman I’ve ever bought jewellery for,’ he told her as he approached, partially reassured by her sudden stillness. ‘The
only
woman I’ll
ever
buy jewellery for.’

‘Jett. I think you should...’

When he reached her, he gripped her fine-boned shoulders and poured his heart and soul into the bottomless well of her gaze. ‘You made me look further than skin deep. I love how you make me laugh. I love how we argue and make up. How you turn good into bad. How you make me accountable for the words that come out of my mouth.’

His grip tightened because for the first time in his life he was laying everything he had on the line and she wasn’t responding—at least not the way he’d hoped. ‘I’ve been a drifter all my life. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me want to stick around. To take a risk on us. I want to stay here with you and be a part of your dream.

‘I’m applying for the chef’s position, even if it’s two years down the track, because I’ll still be here in twenty years, working alongside you to make that dream reality.’ He brushed the damp hair back from her brow, struggling not to panic.

‘If it’s still not clear, I’ll put it in a few simple words. Commitment. For ever. Family. I want to see you in a rocking chair nursing our first child at your breast. I want to see you in that same rocking chair when we celebrate our sixtieth wedding anniversary surrounded by grandch—’

‘And if I don’t have those breasts you so admire,
what then
?’ The words spilled from Olivia’s tongue before she could censor them. Pain at the injustice of it all lanced through her heart.
Why her?
Why was fate denying her what she wanted most?

His brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Kids? Marriage?’ Her eyes stung with tears she
refused
to allow. ‘What’s wrong with what we have now?’

The power of those turbulent dark eyes was a physical force. ‘It’s not enough now. I want more. I found a sister, then I found her best friend and I’ve decided family’s a pretty good deal.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, her heart breaking. ‘I have my life planned out and it doesn’t include family. Jett Davies, Jettsetter Chef extraordinaire, globe-trotter and the brother of my best friend, Brie’s your family and she loves you.’

‘I know who I am,’ he snapped, ‘and I know who you are.
You’re the woman I love.
’

Love.
The word reverberated in the air between them and their incredulous gazes clashed. As if Jett was as surprised—and devastated—as she.

There was a cruel fist squeezing her heart, crushing it to dust. She shook her head. ‘No. That’s not what we agreed on.’

His fingers tightened on her arms and he pulled her up, so her feet dangled off the ground, so all she could see was him. Desperation. Despair. Anguish. ‘So tell me to go away. Tell me you don’t want me in your life.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘Yes, Olivia. It is.’ He loosened his hold so suddenly that she stumbled backwards. She saw the tormented twist of his mouth, the desolation in his eyes and knew she’d hurt him the way he’d been hurt so many times in his past.

‘Please, Jett, it was never my intention to hurt you. You have to believe that.’

‘I’ll be out of your way in thirty minutes,’ he said, defeat reducing his voice to not much more than a harsh undertone. ‘Until then, I’d appreciate it if you stay out of mine.’

He turned away. He was doing as he’d said. Walking out of her life. For ever.

‘Wait.’
One more look.
Her hand fisted against her breastbone. He stopped but didn’t turn around. ‘I need to tell you something before you leave.’

A bare nod was his only response. She couldn’t see his expression but his posture was so tense she wondered that he didn’t snap in two. ‘Thank you. For everything.’

There must have been something in the way she spoke because he swung back to her. Dark eyes probed hers for a long moment. ‘Are you ill? Is that it?’

A glimmer of a smile touched her lips that he’d got it so right. ‘Not that I know of.’ Yet.

His shoulders relaxed marginally, but his expression remained grim, his jaw rigid. ‘Anything else?’

She shook her head.
Except that I love you and maybe you’ll understand why I made this choice one day.

He shook his head and resumed walking.

Olivia kept out of his way. She sat on the balcony, staring dry-eyed but sightless in the direction of the Derwent River until she heard Jett’s rental car leave. Then she got busy. She stripped her bed, changed towels.
No reminders.

When Brie’s happy tune jingled on her phone an hour later, she switched it off and buried it at the bottom of her handbag and kept working.

She’d call Brie tomorrow. Explain. Make her understand. Then she’d take out
Chasing Dawn
and maybe spend the night on the water under the stars, the way she and her mum used to do. As she’d done the night after she’d died.

Her ruthless frenzy didn’t abate until mid-afternoon. Until she found his favourite jumper tucked down the edge of the sofa amongst the cushions. The pain knocked the breath from her lungs and she sank to the floor, remembering how the soft cashmere had felt when he’d held her against his chest only a couple of chilly evenings ago. She buried her nose in its folds and the floodgates opened.

* * *

Jett parked his rental halfway up Olivia’s driveway, cut the engine. From here he could see her car, so he knew she was still inside. And if she had any ideas about leaving she’d have to detour around him. Make that
try
to detour around him because neither of them were going anywhere until she told him the whole story.

He’d gone to the one person he could turn to. Breanna had hugged him then ordered him to sit down and share the pot of rosehip tea she’d just made. And while he drank, she’d talked.