Olivia blinked, her cheeks on fire. Because he had it so right. And she’d let her tongue run away from her. ‘I’m not going to respond to that.’
‘What, nothing to say now?’ His voice held both humour and frustration. ‘Or maybe it’s because you know what I said is true.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Plenty to say, but I’m resisting.’
‘Like you did last night?’ His expression was pained. ‘Do you have any idea how I feel?’
Hot as molten steel and hard as concrete? She kept her gaze well away from his shorts. ‘I said I was sorry.’
He nodded slowly, stared out at the harbour view. ‘I’ll apologise to Breanna.’
She nodded. ‘Good.’ She started to move to the balcony’s glass doors. ‘I think lunch is about ready. I’ll go and check.’ Escape.
‘Wait up,’ he said, and his hand shot out, curling around her elbow before she could blink. ‘We’ll check it out together.’ Still holding her, he rose, all long loose limbs and lazy grace.
She went to step back, away, but his grip held her in place. His chest grazed her breasts and her nipples tightened into hard little bullets. It felt as if he were pinching them between his fingers the way he had last night and she bit back a moan.
This wasn’t going her way at all. Control, Olivia. But his gaze was full of heated promises and she was already a devotee. She drew in a breath, her will dissolving like jelly.
Racing heart, throbbing lips. Arousal like lava spurting through her veins and lower. A little sound rose up her throat and her face lifted itself to his. Just a kiss, she told herself. She could allow him—just once more. It was Christmas...
‘Trouble,’ he muttered, his lips so close to hers she could almost taste him. But not quite.
And then he smiled his wicked Sinner-Santa smile and walked inside, leaving her to follow. Or not.
No! She wanted to scream the word—and a few more explicit ones besides. To reach out and haul him back by his collar and give him a taste of real trouble. But she refused to let her personal problem with him interfere with a rare and happy family lunch.
The nerve of the man grated on her already tense nerves. Who was he to call her trouble? And in that sexual drawl that conjured up memories of when he’d called her that last night. Still, she only had to put up with him for a few hours. So be nice a little longer. For Brie’s sake. Tomorrow they’d be oceans away.
FOUR
‘Does the prime rib beef with Yorkshire pud meet your professional standards?’ Brie asked Jett as the three of them worked their way through the scrumptious four-course silver-service luncheon served in their suite overlooking the famous harbour view.
Light reflected off water and danced across the ceiling and over crystal; a soft breeze fluttered the tinsel on the table decoration. The balmy air smelled of salt and roast dinner.
He topped up their champagne. ‘I’m on vacation. The beef’s tender, the pudding’s puffed, browned and crisp, that’s all I need to know.’
‘Surely your professional taste buds never take a holiday?’ Olivia suggested.
‘No, but on occasion I like to eat without having to do an in-depth analysis. Like today.’
‘Makes sense.’ She nodded. ‘Just indulge, enjoy and appreciate.’
Instant heat spurted up her neck. Wrong choice of words. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She focused on the stem of her glass while she twirled it on the tablecloth, but she knew his gaze was stroking over her and that he was interpreting those words in the context of their recent up-close and personal. ‘I’m enjoying my grilled salmon,’ she managed, desperately, then turned to her friend. ‘How’s the duck, Brie?’
Brie slipped a delicate mouthful past her lips. ‘Perfection.’
Olivia mentally mimicked Brie’s indulgent sigh. The duck wasn’t the only perfection around here.
But was she the only one feeling the sudden lapse in conversation? Was it because they were too busy eating? Or maybe it was because the CD she’d put on earlier for just this possibility had come to an end...
Forcing herself to meet Jett’s eyes, she said, ‘So in your professional chef’s opinion what’s your most popular dish?’
He chewed a moment before answering. ‘My soufflé is to die for. So I’ve been told.’
By a woman, she’d bet, judging by the way his mouth quirked and the little lines around his eyes crinkled when he answered. Possibly being fed from his spoon or while flat on her back. Or both. Not a scenario she wanted to think about. But she couldn’t stop the tall, dark and delicious image flirting with her consciousness.