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.