Mistletoe Not Required (2 page)

‘Oh, yes, why didn’t I think of that?’

She walked to the bottom of the spiral stairs and peered up, one slender hand on the rail. Sun-kissed skin. Neat unvarnished nails. A nice flash of abundant cleavage. Man, he had to stop staring like some pre-pubescent teenager—

‘Did you sneak a peek?’

‘What?’ His guilty gaze shot somewhere over her shoulder, then he realised she was talking about
telescopes
. ‘Ah...no.’

She cast him an unreadable look then started up. ‘Why not?’

‘Because— Hey, you won’t want to go up like that.’ In one stride he was there, his fingers closing firmly over hers. The contact sent a zing up his forearm. All that static build-up discharged in one hit.

She must have felt it too because her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. ‘Like...what?’

He yanked his hand away. ‘Those heels—you’ll break your neck.’

‘Only if I—’ On cue, one stiletto slipped and caught in the iron lace doyley tread. She yanked it free. ‘Cripes. I see your point.’

He shook his head. ‘Why don’t you—?’

‘Okay...’ On the third tread, she toed off her shoes. And groaned lustily—a sound that did dangerous things to his already wide-awake libido. ‘Relief at last. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?’ She handed them to him over the rail, avoiding skin contact. ‘Hold these till I get back.’

‘I...’ Siren-red patent, they were warm from her feet and smelled of new leather. Dangling them from one hand, he watched her climb, toenails painted to match, strong toned calves. Smooth, golden thighs disappeared beneath the shadows of her dress’s short hemline. She moved fast and without effort, as if she worked out a lot. A yachtie’s woman?

If Jett were the skipper, he’d keep her below decks and all to himself for the entire journey. Yep, naked and barefoot—he could get creative with feet, a little warm brandy and sweet ripe apricots—

Hell.
He shook his head to clear it. Now was
not
the time to be coming up with new recipes.

He wasn’t looking for a woman, dammit. He had to remind himself again because his mind seemed to have forgotten. He was waiting for Breanna, half-sister, who was doing whatever, with whomever. Everything, it seemed, except checking in with him. He should go back to the hotel, catch up on some sleep. Away from trouble in a red dress.

But he had her shoes. He could hardly just abandon them here. And he didn’t want to leave without one more glimpse of her. Which wasn’t quite true because he wanted more than a glimpse. A lot more.

He placed one foot on the bottom step and made an instant decision. Forget Breanna; she hadn’t answered his call. Instead, a little up-close and personal might just be on the menu for tonight. No trouble, he assured himself; he didn’t want or need to know who she was. A hot lick of anticipation stroked down his body and his steps quickened while his stomach tightened and his mouth watered. One sweet taste. The perfect dessert to end the evening.

* * *

Olivia hoped the sound of her heart pounding its way out of her chest wasn’t audible. Hearing his footsteps on the metal treads, she turned as the guy appeared on the platform behind her. And was blown away again by the sight of all that blatant masculinity. Which was unsettling because she’d relegated men to the bottom of her list of priorities a long time ago.

Determined not to let him see how much he was affecting her, she moved to the larger telescope and adjusted it for a view of the party-goers milling around Circular Quay to distract herself and give her time to think what to do next.

She could feel his gaze stroking heat down her spine and the backs of her thighs. His musky masculine scent wafted her way. As diversions went, the impromptu viewing idea was an epic fail—she had no idea if the lens was in focus or not. As for coming up with what to do next, heck, all she could think was how his lips would taste... ‘Amazing,’ she murmured.

‘Have to agree with you there.’

She turned to him but he wasn’t looking at the twinkling carpet of lights on the harbour, he was watching her and screwing with her equilibrium again. She deflected with, ‘Are you sailing in the race?’

‘Not me.’

She noticed he didn’t ask the same of her. No doubt the women he associated with were willowy, fragile types who were afraid of breaking a fingernail or a sweat. ‘Sailing’s not your thing?’

He shrugged, his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘In case you’re wondering, I’m here for the free food.’

She laughed spontaneously. ‘Ah, it was you who demolished all the prawns.’ She gestured to the crowd on the dance floor below who were swaying their hips and waving their little gold bells to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. ‘So, were you getting your groove on down there on the dance floor tonight?’

He shook his head, a smile on his lips. ‘I’m not the prawn thief and since you didn’t ask me to dance, no, I wasn’t.’ And oh, my, in the shadowy light, the cutest,
innocent-little-boy
dimples flirted at the corners of his mouth. It kick-started some sort of weird maternal instinct when what it should have been doing was to warn her to run in the opposite direction.

Between talking up Snowflake to anyone who’d listen, she’d danced her feet to death—
and
had continued to promote Snowflake while bopping. ‘I didn’t see you...’ Men never joked with her, but this one was—at least she
thought
he was—and she trailed off, feeling awkward.

‘Haven’t been here long,’ he told her at last. ‘Anyway the Macarena’s not really my thing.’

‘Not even the Christmas Macarena with the jingle bells and reindeer antlers to wiggle along with?’

‘I don’t do Christmas.’ He walked to the railing, gazed at the harbour.

‘No?’ she said to his back. ‘What, like, you don’t do the whole mistletoe, eggnog, Secret Santa thing—or is it a personal belief?’

‘Two words: Christmas commercialism.’ When he turned to her, his eyes had lost their spark.

She wasn’t buying it—something had happened in his past that had nothing to do with Christmas commercialism.

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ she said. ‘Unless you let it.’

He shrugged. ‘Anyway, who needs mistletoe? If you want to kiss someone you should go ahead and kiss them, wouldn’t you agree?’ He seemed to lean towards her. ‘Why wait for Christmas?’

Why, indeed? He
had
leaned towards her. ‘It depends on whether that person wants to be kissed.’ She told herself she didn’t. She
wished
she didn’t but, oh, she really did. Every muscle in her body tightened and softened and her lips were practically puckering up in anticipation. ‘But a little festive smooch beneath the mistletoe’s always fun.’
And infinitely safer than shadowed, secluded corners.

Dark brows rose. ‘Always?’ Somehow, as if she’d willed it, he was within touching distance. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, like runaway power from a nuclear reactor. His eyes seared her with dark intensity.

‘Usually,’ she amended with a laugh that sounded nervous to her own ears. ‘With a few Christmas drinks under one’s belt and everyone bursting with good cheer, it’s harmless enough.’ Unlike that nuclear reaction approaching critical mass in the narrowing space between them.

Had she said
harmless
? It was a foregone conclusion; this virtual stranger was going to kiss her and she was going to let him and excitement tingled through her body like a swarm of hungry fire ants.

‘So convince me Christmas is worth all the fuss,’ he murmured, reaching out and fingering the ends of her hair.

She wondered that she couldn’t smell the singe in the air and had to fight for her composure again. ‘Where do you want me to begin?’

‘Refresh my memory and run that Secret Santa bit by me again. Is it the same as Kris Kringle?’

‘Not necessarily,’ she decided, and ventured into uncharted waters. ‘First off...’ she reached up on tiptoe, slid her boa around his neck then stepped backwards, letting it slide through her fingers until she was holding the very ends ‘...and most importantly...’ she met his eyes boldly even though her legs felt as though they were stumbling through sand ‘...it has to be a secret.’

‘Trust me, I won’t tell a soul.’ His voice was silk seduction, sliding over her and all but stealing away any sense she might have had.

‘Trust you? Where are my shoes, by the way?’

‘Safe.’ He glanced down between their bodies then back to her face. ‘I like you barefoot.’

‘So do I, it’s so liberating, don’t you think?’ Something danced behind his smouldering gaze and her feet tickled—as if he were sucking them right into his mouth. One toe at a time. ‘You’d be my Secret Santa?’

‘For you...’ he ran one lazy fingertip over her left collarbone, making her shiver ‘...I could be persuaded. Are you sleeping with anyone?’

The question came out of nowhere and he spoke casually, as if he were asking whether she liked sugar in her coffee. A tugging sensation she’d never experienced unfurled low in her belly and her cheeks burned with fire. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’ Confusion warred with irritation at his smooth, almost lazy arrogance.

‘It is if I’m going to kiss you the way I want to kiss you.’ His fingertip moved from her collarbone to skim across her lower lip.

Her lips burned and the low tugging sensation pulled into a tight knot. Her habitual defensiveness evaporated. What was it about this man that she’d throw away any sense of caution?

She’d obviously been struck by some random insanity.

Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to guys accusing her of being intimidating or closed off. Snowflake and her studies had taken her focus and consumed her energy for so long it hadn’t left time for anything else, particularly any fleeting and indulgent liaisons with the opposite sex. She had more important things on her agenda, such as making a difference for people with serious and terminal illness.

But it was Christmas Eve and random insanity had indeed struck because right now on the top of this year’s Christmas list was his lips on hers. Her Secret Santa—dark as midnight, and an exciting mystery to unravel and enjoy. Just for tonight.

He watched her, reading her thoughts. Knowing she was going to say yes. But then he said, ‘When a woman tells me it’s none of my business, it’s usually because she wants me to kiss her regardless of the man she’s sleeping with.’

Oh, he was cocky, arrogant, full of himself. An irate breath caught in her throat. ‘Of course I’m not sleeping with anyone
or I wouldn’t be standing here with you.’ She drew herself up tall. ‘And if you think I’m that kind of woman then you have very poor taste and we have nothing in common.’

‘On the contrary, I have very discerning
taste when it comes to women. If I thought you were lying you wouldn’t see me for dust.’

She relaxed a bit, if you could call letting out a slow breath and sucking in another relaxing. ‘Good, then. Because...because I want you to kiss me...that way.’

His mouth quirked and he touched the ends of her hair again as the band struck up their version of ‘All I Want for Christmas’. ‘Glad we cleared that up.’

‘Me too.’

‘Now, where were we?’

She licked dry lips. ‘Secret Santa.’

‘Ah...’ The devil with a smile lurked in his black eyes as his hands slid up her bare arms to her shoulders.

The hairs on her arms rose in response and she shivered and met his gaze. ‘Except you look like more of a sinner than a Santa.’

He pulled the top half of her body into stunning and breath-stealing contact, his lips tantalisingly close to hers. ‘Which do you want me to be?’

TWO

Of course the
guy was a mind-reader as well because he knew her instant preference for sin over safe and his body hardened against hers and his fingers tightened on her arms. Up close Olivia could see gold stardust in his irises and her own desire reflected back.

And heaven help her, wild and wicked was exactly what she needed tonight. She wanted to lose herself to oblivion. To dive headlong into those dark depths and surrender to the promised pleasure she saw there—

Except
...
this whole scenario was straight out of her private fantasies but now it was real and happening and moving too fast and she couldn’t catch her breath.

‘Wait.’ She dragged a hand up between them, pushed it against his chest. Hard as concrete. But warm and sculpted, and to her dismay her fingers spread over the undulating surface of their own volition. ‘Just. Wait.’

‘Are you okay?’ He loosened his hold and leaned back. ‘Because if you’re not s—’

‘I’m fine.’ She sucked in air. ‘Absolutely fine.’ Or would be if she could establish the same footing with this godlike, devilishly attractive being in front of her.
Not
surrender, she told herself. Equality.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, slowly. ‘Why don’t we—?’

‘Yes. Why don’t we?’ And before she changed her mind again she wound her fingers around the ends of her boa for a firm hold. Here was a rare chance to grab life and living with both hands and reel him in. She saw the glimpse of surprise in his dark eyes as she reached up on tiptoe, yanked him close and planted her mouth on his.

And oh, this man didn’t disappoint. As their lips connected she was sure she heard a hiss. More of a sizzle, actually. Heat met heat and that smouldering spark that had been arcing between them since they’d first laid eyes on each other ignited. She felt it catch, deep down inside, sending showers of sparkles to every extremity.

He pulled back a fraction. ‘Is control your thing, darling?’ A rogue’s smile danced over his lips and his eyes lit with amusement
.

In a different situation his condescending
darling
would have annoyed her, but she didn’t have time to be annoyed because he was already moving his lips over hers once more and playing the game—his way. He was mayhem and magic and completely irresistible.

Determined to keep up, she matched his enthusiasm, leaning in and arching her body against his. Their lips softened and parted. Merged. His flavour invaded her mouth as breath mingled, tongues met and entwined.

She tasted wealth and power and persuasion. Danger in a will that matched her own. And for the first time in her life she wondered if a man—specifically,
this
man—might be more than she could handle.

But this was just a little harmless flirtation on a balcony. And Christmas Eve was about midnight madness and whimsical delights.

With eager hands she acquainted herself with his body. Hard slabs of muscle, the soft indent below his Adam’s apple. The springy masculine hair that sprouted from the V of his open-necked shirt. He was a gift and she was a kid on Christmas morning.

His hands were busy too, warm and firm on her shoulders, beneath her hair, down her back, toying with the top of her zipper. She gave an involuntary shiver—the tiny metal teeth were the only things holding up her dress and preventing her from standing here in nothing but red lace bikini panties.

On a balcony metres away from a hundred or more guests.

With a man she didn’t know.

Someone had so spiked that cocktail.

Or maybe it was time to live on the edge for once.

* * *

Damn.
Jett managed, with difficulty, to pry his lips from hers. ‘I knew it.’ He leaned back and searched her face through a fog of lust. ‘Was that a
fun
shiver of delight and anticipation or do we need the festive foliage?’

‘Definitely fun.’ She smiled, those effervescent starlight eyes sparkling. ‘No mistletoe required.’

‘Thank God for that, then; I’ve no idea where to find any.’

‘What did you mean by:
you knew it
?’ she asked.

He hadn’t intended to say it aloud and blamed it on working all day after last night’s all-hours drink-fest. He slid his hands over lush feminine curves, lingering on her hips. ‘That you’d be a refreshing surprise at the end of a very ordinary day.’

Her hands covered his. ‘Not trouble?’

He touched his nose to hers. ‘You’re big trouble.’

‘I can live with that.’ Unrepentant, she entwined their fingers and rubbed her lips over his. ‘How about you?’

He sucked her sweet taste from his lips. ‘Mmm...’ Strawberries and pineapple with a dash of vodka. ‘So can I,’ he murmured before leaning down for a second helping.

More of this out-of-control feeling he’d not experienced since his teens. His erection throbbed and ached and burned as if it were his first time. His head spun with the fragrance of her skin, her hair and the way she shifted against him—breasts, belly, thighs all aligned perfectly, as if she’d been made to order. It wasn’t his lack of sleep sending him slightly insane—it was her.

Crazy was good—so were her lips: warm and pliant and mobile. He’d been working manic hours for months now; he needed a change of pace and didn’t everyone need a bit of wholesome crazy now and then? As she said, it was Christmas. It wasn’t called the silly season for nothing. ‘Maybe there’s something in this Secret Santa business after all,’ he murmured into her ear.

Her cheek lifted into a smile against his. ‘Definitely,’ she agreed, winding slender arms that smelled of sun-warmed apricots and cool cucumber around his neck.

With a growl, he walked her backwards until she butted up against the wall. He might have stopped a moment to admire the Titian-haired picture of perfection before him but patience had never been one of his strengths when it came to beautiful, willing women. He ground his pelvis against her and was rewarded when she arched her hips in response and sent up a little whimper of longing and capitulation. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and she moaned.

‘Yes, darling, I’ve got what you want.’ One hand cupped the back of her head to hold her in place while he continued to savour the sweet delight of her mouth, the other glided over a breast, finding a taut little bead that hardened instantly beneath his touch.

He rolled it between his fingers through the fabric and she moaned again—the soft yielding sound compelling him to put his lips there. His teeth. To nip at the silk, to close his mouth over the bud and suck. To soothe her while he tortured himself with what he couldn’t do. At least, not here.

But the sounds of the party below seemed muted and irrelevant in the shadows. He looked into her desire-drenched eyes while he smoothed his palms over her dress, sliding the skin-warmed silk up her thighs. Up, over her hips. ‘You like what I’m doing to you.’

She pressed her lips together but a little mewing sound escaped.

‘There’s more,’ he promised, his fingers finding and exploring the smooth flesh of her inner thighs. Her head rolled back against the wall and her eyes darted towards the stairs. ‘No one’s going to come up here,’ he reassured her in his best persuasive tone. ‘Trust me.’

Wide-eyed, she looked back at him, disbelief etched between her slim brows. Her arms slid down to her sides, apparently incapable of holding on any longer.

Satisfaction rolled through him. She was his. Or would be, before the night was done.

‘Hey,’ he murmured, inching his hand higher, drawing tiny circles with his fingertips and feeling her legs start to tremble. ‘You chose sinner over Santa, work with me here.’

She shook her head. ‘I...’

‘A good choice.’ His fingers found satin and lace.
Hot and damp
satin and lace, and he knew they were halfway to where they both wanted to go.

But then she tensed. Sucked on her bottom lip.

‘Hey, it’s Christmas,’ he teased gently.

‘But—’

He cut off her protest with a slow, soothing kiss until he felt her soften once more. ‘Okay, forget sinner,’ he said against her lips. ‘We’ll play Secret Santa instead, and he won’t do anything you don’t want him to. You’re in the driver’s seat, and a few dozen guests within earshot over the balcony will tell you the same.’

In the driver’s seat? Olivia might have laughed but she was half out of her mind. Delirious and blinded by a desire and an urgency she’d never experienced.

A mistake, that cocktail, because she should have been able to resist. She’d never had a problem resisting men. But this man wasn’t just any man. He was wicked and persuasive and clever, and his hand was
inside
her panties, touching her—thrilling her—with just one flick of his finger over her most sensitive place and any second now she was going to shatter into a million pieces and she knew she’d never be the same ever again.

‘Come for me.’ The voice at her ear transported her to undiscovered realms, lifting her higher to some pinnacle just beyond her reach—

The distinctive beat of Coldplay jolted her back to some vague resemblance of reality.
Brie.
With trembling fingers she yanked her phone from the jewelled bag slung over one shoulder. Brie’s picture smiled at her. She glared back, found her voice. ‘
Now
you call.’

His fingers stilled but his hand remained, hot and arousing and slippery, inside her panties. ‘Is it an emergency?’

‘I don’t think so, b—’

‘Then get rid of whoever it is.’

His dictatorial tone irritated. ‘No.’ However tempting, she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—ignore her friend until she knew she was okay. ‘I have to get this.’

Reluctantly, she tried to push his hand away. It didn’t budge. In the end she had no choice but to answer—breathlessly. ‘Hi...’ She closed her eyes as if not seeing him would somehow make him disappear. Resisted squirming against his fingers—for all of three seconds or so. ‘You all right?’

‘I’m great. Fabulous. What took you so long to answer?’

Brie wasn’t the only one feeling fabulous. ‘I’m...’ what the hell, Brie would be happy for her ‘...being seduced by a man in black. He’s my Secret Sinner-Santa.’

‘Believe it,’ he whispered into her ear.

She pressed her lips together to stop the urge to smile and squeal at the same time and felt the scrape of his bristled jaw against her neck.

Pause at the other end of the phone. ‘Oh. Okay. Sorry I’m late but I’m here now. Are you still at the party? I’ve looked everywhere.’

Not quite everywhere, Brie.
‘Yes...’
Omigod...
His thumb was doing something amazing. How could she think, let alone carry on any semblance of intelligent conversation while he manipulated her with such devastating expertise? Darts of pleasure were shooting through her body and lights were coalescing and swirling in front of her eyes. ‘Still...here. Already told you...’

‘Where?’
Irritated impatience.

‘I’m...not...good company right now.’

‘I disagree,’ murmured the muffled voice, this time against the top of her breasts.

‘What?’ Brie’s voice, confused. ‘Is there someone with you?’

‘Must be...the hand—
the band
.’ A breeze with scent of summer and sex cooled the raging inferno in her cheeks while Secret Sinner-Santa assumed control and drove her to a rising crescendo of delight and desire and sheer desperation with every manic beat of her pulse.

‘And what do you mean
not good company
? Ken’s waiting, stay right where you are, wherever it is, I’m coming to get you.’

‘No...
I’m
coming...’

And she was. Right now. Right here. Awareness narrowed down to a pinpoint of sparkling sensation and the hand holding her phone slid from her ear as the world receded like the tide before a tsunami.

She heard the disembodied moan—part plea, all pleasure—sprint up her throat as the crescendo peaked and rolled, sending her tumbling over the silvery crest and showering her body with gold.

A slow sigh escaped her lips. Sweet, sugar-coated bliss. Sagging against his hard-packed stomach and an impressive erection, she floated down, her feet still not quite touching the ground. She wasn’t exactly a virgin but no guy had ever done it for her the way he had. Now she understood how sinfully, devastatingly irresistible the right man’s touch could be.

On the downside, it reduced even the most rational, self-disciplined person to a quivering, mindless mass. It had changed a sane sensible woman with a mind and opinion of her own—and an ability to say no—to someone she didn’t recognise.

She flopped her head back against the wall and looked up at him, committing his face to memory, then kissed her fingers and pressed them to his lips. ‘Merry Christmas.’

From somewhere near her left elbow, she heard Brie’s voice. ‘Olivia, are you
drunk
?’

‘No.’ Just not herself. Without taking her eyes off him—the way a sailor wouldn’t take her eyes off an approaching storm front—she raised the phone to her ear. ‘Meet you on the driveway. Two minutes.’

She disconnected and began sidestepping along the wall. Away. Now she’d had a moment to come to her senses, all she wanted was to be by herself and think about what she’d done. What
he’d
done.
Oh my God.
Her inner muscles clenched in fond remembrance. Casual sex on a balcony was
not
who she was. She didn’t know what to say, so she went with, ‘Thanks.’

He caught her arm, his dark, almost familiar eyes a cool shade of cynical. ‘So that’s it?
Thanks?
’

‘Yes. What else do you want me to say?’

His nostrils flared and a muscle twitched along his jaw. ‘We haven’t finished.’

Oh. She couldn’t help it; her gaze flicked down between them and her whole body felt weak and fizzy at the tempting display of manly magnificence outlined in fine black fabric. Pity she wasn’t going to see it in all its glory. ‘Sorry. I am, truly.’
You’ll never know how much.
‘But my friend’s waiting.’

He remained where he was, expression dangerously impassive. ‘Better hurry, then. And watch your step.’