They’d tried out some of his new sexy food ideas in the kitchen; he couldn’t wait to try out more sensual food ideas—in the bedroom.
After the charity dinner cruise.
Before he left town.
He reminded himself he loved his unpredictable jet-setting life. New cities, new sights, new people. Freedom. No one to be accountable to. No reason to stick around.
Until now.
He frowned. Now his solo writing retreat and jet-loving lifestyle didn’t excite him nearly as much as it had. Because now maybe he did have a reason to stay awhile—longer, even. He needed to be sure Olivia felt the same way.
She wasn’t only his lover and confidante and friend. By her own words and actions, Olivia had taught him compassion and empathy. More, she’d made him reflect on his life and some of his decisions. She’d turned a cynical, commitment-phobic, self-centred guy into a better man.
A man who might even take a risk and consider something more...permanent.
He wanted to be with her, simple as that. Which meant putting his travel plans on hold indefinitely. For the first time in his life he wanted to build something that lasted.
And for the first time in his life if it didn’t work out, it mattered.
* * *
Olivia snuck in a quick tour of A King’s Ransom before their guests were due to board. The experienced crew remained aboard to sail the magnificent yacht, which dwarfed the marina with its sleek white lines, but the owner and his wife were staying ashore, enjoying a night at one of Hobart’s top hotels.
Which left the captain’s quarters—a stunning suite of several rooms—free for the two highest-bidding couples. She and Jett, Brie and her partner for the evening were bunking in the crew quarters, leaving the three staterooms for the remaining couples.
She checked her reflection on her way through one of the staterooms. Since she’d not had time to buy a new dress, Jett had organised Tyler to send her something a couple of days ago. A figure-hugging silver-grey halter neck with a thigh-high split. A flattering counterfoil for her sea-green eyes and auburn hair.
‘Perfect.’
She glanced up at the familiar voice; her eyes flicked to Jett, who’d snuck up behind her. She’d never seen him in his chef’s whites and her female hormones sighed. Her gaze gobbled him up as it drifted lower to admire a pair of black-and-white cargo pants. ‘And you look sexy enough to eat.’
He moved in behind her, lowered his chin to the sensitive spot between neck and shoulder. ‘Later,’ he promised, a sinful glint in his eye.
She laughed. ‘We’re sharing space with two others tonight.’
‘There’s always tomorrow night.’
That glint changed from lightly teasing to something darker, deeper. It made her heart skip a beat then falter, and her humour faded. Maybe it was a trick of the light because he knew, like her, that there wouldn’t always be a tomorrow night. Didn’t he?
They’d not talked about the future; it was a tacit understanding that he’d move on, she’d stay in Tasmania. And that was how she wanted it. People were counting on her. Her career was mapped out for her. Her life—whatever happened—was here.
‘I’ve been thinking about that chef’s position for the retreat,’ he murmured, his warm breath whispering over her shoulder.
Dread chilled her blood. No way could she allow Jett to see her deal with the imminent decisions she’d have to confront. To endure his pitying look if she chose a double mastectomy. He was making it impossible to ignore what she was trying so desperately to forget.
She flicked him a too-bright smile in the mirror. ‘I wouldn’t wait if I was you. It’ll be months before the retreat’s up and running. Your plan’s always been to move on.’ She switched topics, fingering the gown’s fabric. Silky, smooth, sleek. ‘Tyler’s amazing. This is beautiful.’
‘Not as beautiful as the woman it was made for.’ His hands moved to her waist, down over her hips then they slid slowly up, cupping her breasts, his gaze following his movements in the mirror.
She smiled back, searching his eyes, hoping, hoping to see the return of that flirty glint she’d seen a moment ago. Reminding her that they were just temporary.
‘Your retreat may be a reality sooner than you think,’ he said, then suddenly he was sliding a fine-spun rose-gold chain around her neck. Suspended from the chain was a small filigree snowflake the size of a fingernail sparkling with tiny pink stones.
Diamonds? Lord, she hoped not, but what else sparkled so brilliantly? Her heart skipped another beat as trembling fingers reached up to touch. ‘Jett, I—’
‘Good luck tonight,’ he whispered, and was suddenly gone. As if he’d been about to say more but had changed his mind.