Mistletoe Not Required (7 page)

SEVEN

Since they were
on different watches and Olivia was occupied with duties that included keeping them on course, she didn’t see much of Jett. Still, there were four other women more than eager to see to his welfare. Cater to his every whim. In his current state of malaise she was pretty sure they were safe from his unique brand of charm. He was, to all intents and purposes, harmless.

On the following morning when she forced her gritty eyes open after a fitful two-hour doze, she heard the sounds of feminine laughter and Jett’s low, husky rumble in the thick of it. Obviously seasickness was no longer such an issue.

She checked the time, pushed up, eyes narrowing as Miranda’s laugh echoed with his. A mouth-watering aroma teased her nostrils as she reached the galley and her stomach gurgled.

The threesome were relaxed around the tiny table, sharing some joke she hadn’t heard. The chick magnet working his irresistible charm.

Not so harmless.

Downright sexy, in fact, with one of the heavy vinyl aprons they used aboard moulded tight over his broad chest making him look disgustingly virile and domesticated at the same time.

He didn’t notice her standing there practically salivating until she said, ‘Jett, I hate to spoil the party but isn’t it your watch?’ She lied—she didn’t hate it at all.

Miranda and Flo paused at her no-nonsense tone, fluffy white scones with lashings of jam and cream halfway to their mouths. Flo looked apologetically flustered, straightened and pushed back from the table. ‘Livvie, Brie said—’

‘Breanna and Sam have it covered upstairs,’ Jett told Olivia smoothly, staying right where he was and reaching for his bottle of ginger ale. ‘My sister put me to work. Come and try them while they’re hot, skipper. I was just going to see if you were awake and bring you a couple...’

Yeah, right.
‘Let me guess, you were distracted.’

He shot her a raised-brow look, chugged back on his bottle.

‘They’re so-o good,’ Miranda groaned, licking cream from her lips. ‘I didn’t know microwaved scones could turn out so delicious. Thanks, Jett,’ she said in a wily feminine voice Olivia had never heard her use. She rose—reluctantly, Olivia noted—placing a few scones in a shallow plastic bowl and exchanging looks with Flo. ‘Let’s take some up for the others. You two stay here and relax.’

‘So you’re feeling lots better, then?’ Olivia enquired sweetly after the girls had gone.

‘Getting my sea legs,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you call it?’ But his complexion still had a greenish tinge and dark smudges lay beneath his eyes. ‘The girls were complaining about the lack of comfort food on board.’

He wasn’t eating, she noticed, and a twinge of sympathy stirred her enough to say, ‘You didn’t have to cook. Don’t let
the girls
take advantage.’

He stood, cleared the crumbs from the table. ‘And here I was expecting you to tell me off for taking advantage of
them
.’

Her lips twitched. ‘Were you?’

He shot her a glance. ‘There’s only one girl I’m interested in on this boat.’

Her blood quickened through her veins. ‘Yacht.’

‘Whatever. Don’t be shy.’ When she just stared at him, he indicated the plate on the table with a jerk of his chin while he rinsed the utensils in the tiny sink.

Oh. Of course. She helped herself and bit in. They tasted like heaven. ‘And you made them in that itty-bitty microwave?’ The mystery was,
how
?

‘Yep.’ He moved to the pantry and began pulling out her basic supply of ingredients. ‘I’m going to show you how to make simple muffins so next time you take this itty-bitty boat out, you can have some comfort food for the crew.’

Just her and him, in this itty-bitty space. She remembered too well the last time they’d been here. The way he’d kissed her. The way she’d responded. ‘Oh. No, I—’

‘We’re both off duty.’ He set the mixing bowl on the table, shook in flour. ‘Would you rather put the time to a different kind of use?’ His eyes burned into hers, turning her blood to syrup. ‘Your choice.’

She looked away fast, reached for the spice rack. ‘Okay, muffins.’

He held out the other vinyl apron. ‘I’ll mix the batter while I tell you how to make a perfect streusel topping.’

As instructed, she added the brown sugar, chopped nuts and spices to her bowl while he beat eggs and stirred them into the dry mix he’d prepared.

‘Who taught you to cook?’ she asked to distract her thoughts away from imagining him whipping the mix in
only
her vinyl apron. Geez, what was it with him? With
her
? She’d never objectified a man before. She pressed her lips together. She should be ashamed of herself.

‘A foster carer’s housekeeper. As a kid I was fascinated by chemical reactions. On a TV programme I discovered the pantry was filled with exciting opportunities, so after a spectacular volcano with some baking soda and vinegar that spread considerably further than I’d imagined, rather than risk me blowing up the place, Mrs Tracey put me to work. She gave me a love for cooking.’ A fleeting smile touched his lips.

Olivia grinned, imagining the young Jett. ‘Sounds like you two had lots of fun.’

The animation in his expression dropped away and his hand tightened briefly on the whisk. ‘I was shifted elsewhere a few months later.’

‘Why?’ The word popped out in spite of telling herself she wasn’t going to ask.

He shook his head, dipped a finger into the mix and touched it to her mouth. ‘Why, indeed.’ Dark eyes met hers. Challenging her. ‘Taste.’

When she went totally still, he rubbed his finger sensuously along her lower lip. ‘Come on, taste.’

Oh...my.
Seduction by muffin mix. She closed her lips over his finger. The batter swirled sweetly over her tongue; a hint of masculine soap drifted to her nose. She swayed a bit to the rolling movement of the yacht beneath her feet as she sucked him in deeper and scraped her teeth over his finger. Watched the surprise in his gaze turn to red-hot desire. She drew back instantly, super-aware of their own highly volatile chemical reaction in progress.

Who had seduced whom? Even semi-incapacitated he lured her. His willingness—or was it sheer stubbornness?—to ignore his discomfort for the crew’s sake. Wiping the back of her hand across her tingling lips, she stepped away. ‘Leave you to it. I’ll be on deck if you n... I’ll be on deck.’

She heard him chuckle as she fled.

* * *

Late in the afternoon of the third day they were within hours of crossing the finish line. Olivia watched Tasmania’s rugged coastline through misty eyes and her heart ached.
I know you’re here somewhere, Mum. Sharing the dream we made together. And I’ve been good. Had the test as you requested.

‘Are you okay?’ Brie murmured beside her.

Olivia startled. She was aware her eyes were stinging. ‘I didn’t hear you come up.’ She sniffed, searched for that elusive tissue in her pocket, then blew her nose. ‘Sea air,’ she mumbled.

She knew Brie wasn’t fooled. They both stared at the coast. ‘Your mum would be proud.’

Olivia lifted her shoulders, hugged her arms, her eyes fixed dead ahead.

‘
I’m
proud,’ Brie continued. ‘Not just of the race. I’m proud of you. Taking that test took guts.’ Olivia felt her friend’s gaze. ‘And I’ll be here for you whatever happens, you know that.’

Olivia rubbed at the ache in her chest, still watching the horizon. ‘I know. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

‘Take your time,’ Brie told her. ‘Everything’s fine and you’re dead on your feet. I’ll let you know when to come up.’

‘I won’t be long.’ Olivia made her way below deck and stretched out on the other berth for just a minute, the one blessedly free from any trace of masculine scents or clothing or reminders.

She’d hardly slept for the entire voyage, responsibility on her shoulders, and aware every moment that she was making this trip without the person who’d meant so much to her. ‘Mum,’ she whispered. ‘You’d be impressed with what we’ve achieved.’ Having Jett aboard had been an unexpected bonus, giving their Snowflake savings account a real boost.

But had her rash challenge to Jett been about the foundation? Or was it more about having him see her as strong and competent? To keep him around because she wanted to see more of him before he took off? And wasn’t there also that sneaky itch to get back at him for mocking a female’s expertise in a traditionally male-dominated role?

Yet he’d used his own expertise yesterday—in a traditionally female-dominated role—cooking up delicious treats for them when she’d known he was still under the weather. He’d kept a sense of humour about it all when he could have spent his free time sleeping it off.

The crew had loved it. They loved
him
—naturally. She’d never seen them go to such lengths to please and she was
not
jealous of the respect and attention he gave back to each crew member. Okay, she was. A little. But most of all, she admired his good-humoured participation. He’d gone above and beyond what she’d expected from a playboy chef suffering seasickness. He’d kept to his word and not distracted her during the trip—at least not intentionally.

Then last night when she’d come to switch watches, he’d stopped awhile to talk about her future fundraising plans. What she hoped to achieve. As if he was
interested
.

Then as he left, he’d mentioned their ‘unfinished business’. Caught off guard, she’d told him again that the only important thing to her was the race and Snowflake. That she wasn’t interested in anything more than his friendship.

He’d taken her at her word and disappeared down the hatch too damn quickly for her self-esteem.

A mistake, she’d decided. A no-strings fling with a gorgeous, intelligent and attentive guy was exactly what she needed right now.

Need.

A word she hated.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the overhead a few inches from her nose. She was
not
one of those needy women who required a man in their lives to make them feel complete. She was doing fine on her own, thanks very much. But distraction; she could have done with some of that... Her eyes drifted closed, the yacht’s gentle motion carrying her away.

* * *

When she next opened her eyes, the flicker from a low-hung lantern cast a glow over the dim, wood-panelled cabin. She’d slept longer than she’d meant to. The air smelled oddly of old spices over the rich aroma of stewed meat.

‘You’re awake, my pretty.’

At the low growl of appreciation accompanying the words, she turned her head on the pillow and what she saw took her breath away. He was magnificent. Gloriously naked from the waist up, dark breeches riding low on lean hips, held there by a length of rope. The edge of a cutlass glinted beside one muscled thigh.

‘Jett?’

He grinned. A sailor’s grin. A sinner’s grin. A grin that turned her inner thighs to jelly and made her woman’s flesh burn.

Lamp glow gilded his swarthy skin, purple shadows carving deep valleys over the rugged terrain of his chest and shadowing the granite cliff of a jaw. As if viewing someone else, Olivia glanced down at herself, realising she wore a gauzy white gown as sheer as it was simple...and where was her underwear?

Her arms were crossed at the wrists, bound with silky cords and placed above her head on the pillow so that her breasts pouted up at him like an offering. Her legs sprawled across the bed, her ankles bound with the same silky cord and tied to the bedposts.

‘Captain Jett Black at your service.’ His reply was whisky-smooth arrogance and rich with innuendo. And didn’t that name suit his looks and soul perfectly?

Those
jet-black
eyes traced an impertinent path over her face to her rapidly tightening nipples, her belly...lower, sensuous coils of heat drifting over her skin.

She writhed on the bed, rough sheets chafing ultra-sensitised flesh. ‘But you’re a pirate.’

‘I’m your fantasy.’

‘No!’

But her breathing quickened as he slid a callused hand between her trembling thighs and inched the hem of her gown up over her knees. Higher...

‘I don’t need a man in my life.’

‘I’m here to prove you wrong. You’ll surrender to me. What’s more you’ll do it willingly.’

Her head thrashed on the pillow. ‘I’ll never surrender.’

He bent his head and sucked a nipple through the sheer fabric, the moist decadent heat of his mouth making her arch her back and cry out.

She couldn’t think. Not with his fingers sliding along her moist flesh, then plunging deep, drawing out slowly only to push inside once more, over and over, dazzling her with unspeakable delights, unimaginable pleasure.

‘You want me,’ he whispered, his breath harsh against her ear, his palm hot and hard and heaven as he ruched the fabric up over her concave belly, the dip of her waist, leaving her exposed to his lusty gaze. Vulnerable and on the edge of insanity.

‘No...’

He shifted lower, his perfectly sculpted masculine body sliding over hers. Down. His stubble chafed on delicate skin, then soothed the sudden tenderness with lazy laps of his tongue. On the brink and helpless, she looked down her body and met his eyes and knew what he was going to do. He grinned then bent his head.

‘Yes,’ she moaned, throwing her head back and giving herself up to the glory. Surrendering gladly. ‘Yes!’

‘You’re as needy as all the rest.’ He slid off the end of the bed and stood, a triumphant smirk on his pirate lips. ‘Maybe more.’

She blinked awake to find Jett watching her, a mug of something steaming in his hands. ‘Just as I thought.’

She cringed beneath his scrutiny, her lower body throbbing with unsatisfied desire.
‘What?’

‘I said you needed the rest.’

Her hands rushed to pull the light blanket she’d thrown over herself earlier up to her chin. ‘No, I meant what are you
doing here
?’ She prayed she hadn’t moaned or called out or worse.

‘Waiting for you to wake up.’ He raised the mug. ‘Thought you might need a cup of green tea. You’ve hardly slept a wink the entire trip.’