Her mouth yielded and opened beneath his and he took instant advantage of the honeyed heat within, sliding his tongue against hers in a dance, a duel or a demand—he didn’t know which. He didn’t care. She was a feisty combination of strength and vulnerability, of seduction and naïvety, and he found her completely enchanting.
She didn’t try to push him away again, nor did she reach for him, but the fury of her heartbeat thundering against his as their upper bodies touched was the answer he was looking for.
Gathering her loosely flowing hair, he wound it around both fists and tugged her head back the better to taste her. If he was looking for surrender, he didn’t find it with Olivia. She met him will for will. Force for force. Passion for passion.
He could have her in that aft berth as she called it, in five seconds flat—she wouldn’t refuse him and it would be fast and furious and mutually satisfying—but even in his lust-crazed state, he knew it would also be a mistake.
Breanna was on her way and there wasn’t nearly enough time to do what he wanted to do.
With a good deal of reluctance and admirable restraint, he lifted his lips and drew back slowly, watching her. Huge glassy eyes watched him back. He was surprised to find himself as breathless as she. ‘After the race, Trouble,’ he promised, letting her hair slide through his fingers as he stepped away, ‘we’re going to finish this.’
She gave him no indication how she felt about his decision. Footsteps approaching had them drawing further apart. Olivia patted at her hair while Jett resumed his seat at the table for obvious reasons.
‘Brie.’ Olivia darted towards her as if she couldn’t wait to get away. ‘I’ve got a million things to do, so I’ll leave Jett with you.’
She turned to him, not quite meeting his gaze, residual heat in her eyes, her cheeks a little too pink, her movements a little too jerky.
‘I’ll be attending a weather briefing in the morning so I won’t see you till you board,’ she told him. ‘But Brie’ll go over the safety procedures. She’ll look after you, fill you in with what you need, get you up to speed until it’s time to leave. The rest of your gear can go with ours; it’ll be in Hobart when we arrive.’
Look after you? Screw that. He aimed a killer smile at her, just to watch that spark come to life again. ‘Looking forward to it.’
SIX
Sydney Harbour’s deep blue was awash with vessels of every size and shape, ferrying binocular-wielding spectators. Pleasure craft bobbed on the water from a safe distance; colourful sails billowed in the stiff breeze.
Without a specific role other than to sit in a designated spot and ‘look sexy for the cameras’, Jett used the lead-up time to appreciate Chasing Dawn’s all-female crew as they went about their assigned tasks. He barely felt the rocking movement beneath his feet, refused to acknowledge the tiny curl of unease beneath his breastbone.
He found the helicopter-circling media’s up-close and personal interest in the Jettsetter Chef over the top. He shrugged, uncomfortable in the neon-candy-pink T-shirt and cap, and gave a double thumbs-up to a TV crew above them. It was for a worthwhile cause, and their crew’s flirtatious glances, the gentle teasing and admiration for his support made up for it.
All the crew, that was, except for their preoccupied skipper, who obviously had more important matters on her mind.
A monster yacht cruised by, its deck crawling with male-model types standing around looking like a shoot for a men’s magazine.
If he had to be on a boat, this was the one to be on. In this case, size did not matter. Surrounded by super-fit, sun-bronzed beauties who’d each dropped by—Miranda, Flo and Samantha—and extended a personal invitation to show him the sights and tastes of Tassie. Samantha, the blue-eyed blonde, had explained how the six-person crew had been divided into watches called Wet and Wild. She’d told him he was on the Wild watch with her and Brie. She’d kind of winked when she’d said it.
He forced himself to relax and watched the action around him, cleavage, perfume, feminine voices. He loved women—loved their curves and silky skin, their scents and tastes. The way they insinuated themselves against him and made him feel like a king for however long it lasted—one night, a week. A month at most.
Five-minute warning shot. Twelve-knot breeze on the harbour. A gusty change expected later this evening.
The crew were in their positions. From his spot he got a glimpse of Olivia, her hair tucked beneath her cap, looking gloriously intense in her skimpy pink T-shirt that rode up at the back, giving him a tantalising view of flesh as she moved lightly across the deck. Her toned and tanned legs flashed in the sun and her feet were bare. He decided there was nothing sexier than a bare-footed skipper.