‘I’m his sister,’ she said. ‘In case you were wondering.’
‘Oh.’ Olivia laughed, but suddenly a new kind of tension gripped her. Because James—Jim—was definitely interested. And Olivia definitely was not. She snatched up her wine glass. ‘So does being in business with family members work for you...?’
For the remainder of the meal she managed to keep the conversation focused on their nightclubs and her charity. And yachting of course. She slipped Chasing Dawn into the conversation in the hope that James or Sue or anyone in on the conversation might know of an interested buyer. Someone who’d love the little yacht the way she did.
A selection of desserts and coffee was served in the entertainment area where the only formalities for the evening took place. Jett and his assistant chefs made an appearance so the guests could acknowledge their efforts.
He and his mates accepted the applause with good cheer. Olivia made a short speech thanking everyone for their amazing support and wishing them a pleasant evening. Finally, Brie spoke about Snowflake on Olivia’s behalf.
When it was over with guests free to choose whatever they wanted to do until breakfast, Olivia escaped to a dark corner of the deck alone. She hugged her arms in the coolish briny air. Jett’s work for the night was done. He’d be looking for her any minute and she wished she knew what she was going to say.
How was she going to respond if he mentioned the chef’s position again? Because then she’d have to put him—
‘It’s a pretty night.’
She glanced at the masculine voice beside her and wished herself elsewhere. But she lifted her voice, smiled to match. ‘James.’
‘Jim.’
‘Jim. Yes, it is.’
‘So...you’re serious about selling Chasing Dawn?’
She turned to him, found him not as attractive as she’d first thought. But then she’d never find another man as attractive as Jett. ‘She’s a seventy-year-old wooden-hulled boat. I need someone who’ll love her like I do, scars and all.’
‘Whatever your asking price, I’ll double it.’
She hesitated. Silly to be sentimental over a pile of old wood. She could do so much more good with cold hard cash. And she’d still have the misty, water-coloured memories of her and her mum exploring the bays and inlets around Tassie.
But why did a man like James Harrison, a previous winner of the Australian Bluewater Classic with his ginormous maxi yacht, want an itty-bitty scrap of a boat like Chasing Dawn?
* * *
Jett caught sight of Olivia on the deck and was about to head over when he realised someone was going to beat him to it. The same guy who’d been eying her off when Jett and his fellow chefs had joined the guests for coffee. And a feeling he’d never known had gripped him hard, held him so tightly he’d barely been able to breathe.
It was still there, like an iron fist clamped around his gut. Jealousy. His chef’s jacket was suddenly strangling him and he flicked open the top button. He could hear their conversation on the still evening air. Not only was the man eying his woman off, he wanted her boat.
She was still considering selling Chasing Dawn? No way. She loved that boat too much. Jett was by her side in a few quick strides. ‘Mate, you’re too late.’
‘What?’ Olivia’s hand flew to her chest, her eyes widened in fright. ‘Jett, where did you spring from? And what do you mean?’
‘Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to scare you.’ He stuck out his hand to the guy. ‘Jett Davies.’
‘Jim.’ The man shook Jett’s hand. ‘Nice meal tonight, Jett.’
Nice. Right. Spectacular, more like. Jett’s lip curled but he managed to transform it into a rough resemblance of a grin. ‘Yeah, as I was saying—sorry, Jim, she’s promised it to me.’ He tugged her to his side. ‘Right, skipper?’
Jim frowned, looked to her for confirmation then frowned again, his gaze flicking between the two of them. ‘Is that right, Olivia?’
She slipped out of Jett’s hold and stepped away from both of them, hands raised in front of her breasts in a defensive gesture. ‘I...um. I’m still deciding.’
And Jett had a bad feeling it wasn’t only the boat she was talking about. The first trickle of real unease rose up his throat. ‘Olivia, I—’
Her eyes widened, then turned hard and uncompromising. ‘If you’ll both excuse me...’ She turned on one stilettoed heel and walked away, leaving the two of them standing on the deck throwing metaphoric daggers at each other.
Dammit. He shrugged at Jim. ‘That’s Olivia for you. She’s been under stress to get this night happening,’ he explained. ‘I’ll make sure she rests when we get home tomorrow.’ He saw he’d got his message across and walked away whistling.