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Mistletoe Not Required. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.

Mistletoe Not Required - Anne Oliver


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the handrail and tripping over her feet on her way down, a pair of eyes following her every move. She could feel them, dark and intense down her spine.

      ‘Forget Jett,’ Brie told her in a tight-lipped voice. ‘He’s obviously forgotten me. He can damn well find his own way back.’

      Olivia slowed her mad dash when she saw Brie pacing the circular drive beside their chauffeured car. But not soon enough, because Brie had caught sight of her first. One slim eyebrow hiked and a smile played around her lips. Taking in Olivia’s no-doubt ravished and guilty-as-sin appearance.

      ‘Let’s go,’ Olivia said, pulling her evening bag off her shoulder and crushing it between her fingers.

      Brie didn’t move. ‘Sinner-Santa, Liv. You weren’t kidding after all.’

      ‘It’s Christmas.’ The car was idling, the door was open and Olivia moved fast. ‘What are we waiting for?’

      ‘Such a hurry.’ Brie stepped into her path, sharp eyes scanning Olivia’s bare feet. ‘Cinderella only lost one shoe.’

      Oh. Crap. ‘Never mind.’ She darted around Brie, muttering, ‘Thanks, Ken,’ and sweeping past their driver as if the hounds of hell were about to catch up with her. ‘What’s a pair of shoes?’

      She piled into the back seat, her pesky observant friend settled in beside her, and Ken closed the door. Brie pressed a button and the privacy screen rose. As the vehicle progressed sedately towards the gates she picked a feather off Olivia’s shoulder, held it up as evidence. ‘And where’s the rest of my boa?’

      Leaning back against the head rest, Olivia closed her eyes, which only drew attention to the riot happening inside her. ‘There was a wink in those words, Brie. And a nudge. And I’m warning you now they won’t get you anywhere.’

      She felt the seat dip as Brie shifted towards her. ‘BFFs share.’

      ‘There’s nothing to share.’ Blood rushed to Olivia’s cheeks. ‘Not a thing.’

      ‘Well, fa-la-la-la-la!’ She punctuated each meaningfully loaded syllable with an exclamation mark. ‘Not a thing, hmm?’

      She blew out a resigned breath. ‘Okay, not quite not a thing.’

      ‘Not quite?’

      ‘No. Yes. No. Doesn’t matter.’

      ‘What’s his name and are you seeing him again?’

      ‘No to both.’

      ‘Oh.’ Brie sounded disappointed. Olivia’s emotions were so all over the place she didn’t know how she herself felt. ‘And if I did know his name, I wouldn’t tell you. Big fat huh to BFFs. You haven’t talked to me about Jett, so we’re even.’

      ‘Jett’s my brother, not my lover, it’s hardly the same. And if you must know, I haven’t talked about Jett because he asked me not to.’

      ‘Why? Oh, Brie, he’s not done something, like, really bad, has he?’ She remembered Brie talking about his reluctance to open up and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Like, has he been in prison...?’

      ‘No.’ Brie laughed. ‘Nothing like that. But he’s in the media—’

      ‘Famous?’ Olivia nodded slowly. ‘I’d know him.’

      ‘Livvie, you’ve been so focused on your work and studies and getting Snowflake up and going these past few years, I doubt it. And you really know how to deflect the conversation away from you.’

      ‘I told you. Okay, I didn’t tell you.’ She lowered the window to let the breeze cool her face. ‘We didn’t... But he... I...’ She smiled—she couldn’t help it. ‘It truly was an orgasmic experience.’

      ‘Wow.’

      ‘Totally.’ But Olivia’s buoyancy faded and something not so cheerful hooked in her chest. She pushed it away hard and joked, ‘Sinner-Santas are strictly for Christmas Eve. They disappear in a twinkle of Santa’s sleigh bell at midnight. And...’ she checked her watch ‘...Christmas Eve’s over.’

      It was officially Christmas Day. The two of them were supposed to be having Christmas lunch with the mysterious brother—if he bothered to turn up. And Boxing Day it was all hands on deck, meaning if he didn’t show Brie wouldn’t catch up with him for days. ‘You’ve heard nothing from Jett?’

      She gave a tight shrug. ‘He texted he was on his way to the party. Since then, nothing.’

      ‘He knows you’re in the race, doesn’t he?’

      ‘Yeah. He was coming to Sydney anyway, so I suggested we could celebrate the festive day together. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.’

      ‘He’ll turn up, Brie. And I can’t wait to meet him.’

      * * *

      Well, if that didn’t take the celebration cake. Jett watched her flee, red hair flying, relieved he hadn’t gone any further. Still, it could’ve been an even hotter night in the city—if he hadn’t found out who she was. He shifted his stance to accommodate the swelling in his trousers that wasn’t likely to subside any time soon.

      Trouble in strawberry lace D-cups. In the flesh.

      And there’d been an abundance of that. Smooth and creamy and damn. Dragging off the feathers she’d left around his neck, he stuffed them in his back pocket. He could smell her skin—apricots and cucumber.

      He might have followed, if only to return her shoes—then persuade her that the festivities should be extended a few hours because it was still Christmas Eve somewhere in the world—until he’d heard her mention his name. His name.

      He’d been fooling around with Breanna’s friend.

      A harsh bark of laughter escaped. What were the odds? Walking to the balcony, he searched out the driveway mostly hidden by a corner of the house. He caught sight of Breanna in the car’s headlights. He didn’t have to wait long to see a flash of red zip past her and disappear into the car.

      The car accelerated down the drive and he turned away, facing into the breeze blowing up from the harbour. He needed to cool off. One minute without an audience—he shifted again—better make that five minutes. The excruciating pity of it all was she’d had no idea who he was and he might have enjoyed an evening—and a hell of a lot more—with someone who wasn’t out for his name and fame.

      Breanna’s friend.

      Sexy.

      Available.

      Not a good idea.

      He scowled at the wall where she’d come apart beneath his hand, dress hiked, thighs quivering and her moans of pleasure sobbing on the air. The scent of her arousal lingered. Hell. He’d be lucky if he slept a wink tonight.

      He’d known she was trouble the instant he’d clapped eyes on her.

      But—he couldn’t help but grin—trouble had never come in such a tempting package.

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