‘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.