Mistletoe Not Required

But then strangers came and took him away to another house and told him his mum had passed away. He wasn’t sure what that meant but he knew he wouldn’t be seeing her again and he cried heaps cos she’d told him she loved him and promised him that one day they’d go and live with his father in a big house and there’d be everything he’d ever wanted.

The lady that had picked him up told him he’d be living with other kids like him and he’d have lots of fun and make new friends. And he tried. But he didn’t have fun and they picked on him cos he was smaller. So he fought back. And then they told him he was a trouble-maker and moved him to another place, then another. Who needed dumb friends anyway? He was waiting for the day his father came to get him, then everything would be okay.

And while he waited he dreamed how it was going to be. His father would laugh and open his arms and fold Jett in close like his mum used to do on her good days and tell him he’d been waiting for this day too.

Then one day they said his father wanted him to come for Christmas Day. He was overcome with breathless anticipation. Filled with wonder and excitement; his first proper Christmas with a real turkey and a tree and presents and stuff. His father might’ve got him a bike and he’d take him outside after lunch to teach him how to ride it and then he’d tell him he loved him and wanted him to stay for ever and that he had his own bedroom with a pirate bed and a pirate night light, cos he really liked pirates.

But when he got there, the man he’d dreamed about had sad eyes and didn’t smile like how he’d imagined. He took him inside and there was a lady there too. Jett didn’t understand why the lady wouldn’t look at him or why she left the room with wet eyes. Then his father showed him a tiny bundle of baby with dark hair and eyes just like his own and told him her name was Breanna. His very own sister. And he forgot the man had looked sad cos now he was smiling and he let Jett touch the baby’s skin and it felt like his mum’s silk pillow case that she used to let him sleep on sometimes, only even softer. Today was the best day in the world.

But then the lady came and took the baby out of the room and his father told him that Jett couldn’t be a part of his new family. Ever.

* * *

Jett stirred, rasped a hand over his stubble but kept his eyes closed. Christmas—and the old bad still followed like a dark shadow.

But his sister—the baby who’d ousted him from his rightful place in the family—was a bright light and not what he’d expected. He was still amazed that Breanna had come looking for him after their father had died and she’d learned she had an older brother. She’d been the sole heir to their father’s estate but didn’t seem to want anything from him but his friendship.

‘You,’ muttered a curt female voice. Just sharp enough to cut through the air and ensure he was listening, followed by the sound of fingertips drumming impatiently on the balcony rail.

His lips curved but his eyes remained closed. ‘Hello, Trouble. Taking a few moment’s down-time. Didn’t get much sleep last night.’

‘It’s not your sleeping habits I’m bothered about.’

Her fresh apricot and cucumber scent wafted to his nostrils and he cracked open one eye. She’d showered; her gloriously red hair was damp and kissed elegant bare shoulders. A short black-and-white geometrically patterned dress hugged her curves. Curves he’d been getting intimately acquainted with not twelve hours ago. Curves he might have got even more intimate with if Breanna hadn’t phoned Olivia and cut his plans for the rest of the evening short.

Breanna had phoned him too. Checked up on him. Left messages of concern, then annoyance. Which he probably should have answered but simply hadn’t got around to.

Who the hell ever checked up on Jett Davies?

He caught Olivia glancing at him from beneath auburn lashes. She turned a pretty shade of watermelon pink when she saw him admiring her physical assets, then looked away and became preoccupied with counting the vehicles crossing the Harbour Bridge.

‘You sure about that?’ he said to her profile, his smile widening when he saw the increasing tension in her shoulders. ‘My sleeping habits could be a good conversation starter. Why don’t you sit down and we can discuss them?’

He’d half expected her to decline but she took a chair opposite him. ‘As I was saying...it’s your typical irresponsible male behaviour.’

‘I am male,’ he pointed out. ‘I thought you’d have noticed last night. And yes, I’m pretty sure it was typical male behaviour when in the company of a sexy woman who wants the same thing he does. What I’m not sure about is the word irresponsible. I have heard of safe sex.’

She inhaled sharply, poured herself a glass of water from the table beside her. ‘You really have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?’

‘But you’re going to tell me.’

‘Last night...’

‘Last night...’ He trailed off suggestively and the sultry images hung heavy in the air between them. He had an erection most men would be jealous of and nowhere to use it—damned if he was going to make it easy for her.

She cleared her throat, downed half the contents of her glass. ‘It never occurred to you that Brie would be waiting to hear if you were okay, did it.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You never bothered to ring and let her know where you were.’

He flipped a hand. ‘See, that’s exactly why I don’t keep women around long-term.’ But he had to admit he saw her point.

‘Brie’s not just any woman, she’s your sister. And I don’t care what you do with your groupies, but you told Brie you were on your way to the party and that’s the last she heard. While you were getting it on with some random woman she was worried about what might have happened to you.’

His brows rose. ‘That woman was you.’

‘And she felt let down because she’d been looking forward to sharing the evening with her brother. The fact it was me is irrelevant, Jett. Just because you’re a famous chef-slash-food-writer-slash-critic—yes, Brie filled me in moments ago, and no, I didn’t recognise you, which must be a blow to your over-inflated ego—doesn’t mean you treat people who care about you that way. Accountability’s obviously not a word you’re familiar with and—’

‘You sure have a lot to say.’ Crikey, she was red hot when she was mad. Fiery. Filled with a vibrant energy to rival his own. It matched her hair and made him want to reach up, wind it around his fingers and pull her down so he could put that tongue to better use.