Mistletoe Not Required by Anne Oliver Page B

‘Let me guess, you were distracted.’
    He shot her a raised-brow look, chugged back on his bottle.
    ‘They’re so-o good,’ Miranda groaned, licking cream from her lips. ‘I didn’t know microwaved scones could turn out so delicious. Thanks, Jett,’ she said in a wily feminine voice Olivia had never heard her use. She rose—reluctantly, Olivia noted—placing a few scones in a shallow plastic bowl and exchanging looks with Flo. ‘Let’s take some up for the others. You two stay here and relax.’
    ‘So you’re feeling lots better, then?’ Olivia enquired sweetly after the girls had gone.
    ‘Getting my sea legs,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you call it?’ But his complexion still had a greenish tinge and dark smudges lay beneath his eyes. ‘The girls were complaining about the lack of comfort food on board.’
    He wasn’t eating, she noticed, and a twinge of sympathy stirred her enough to say, ‘You didn’t have to cook. Don’t let the girls take advantage.’
    He stood, cleared the crumbs from the table. ‘And here I was expecting you to tell me off for taking advantage of them .’
    Her lips twitched. ‘Were you?’
    He shot her a glance. ‘There’s only one girl I’m interested in on this boat.’
    Her blood quickened through her veins. ‘Yacht.’
    ‘Whatever. Don’t be shy.’ When she just stared at him, he indicated the plate on the table with a jerk of his chin while he rinsed the utensils in the tiny sink.
    Oh. Of course. She helped herself and bit in. They tasted like heaven. ‘And you made them in that itty-bitty microwave?’ The mystery was, how ?
    ‘Yep.’ He moved to the pantry and began pulling out her basic supply of ingredients. ‘I’m going to show you how to make simple muffins so next time you take this itty-bitty boat out, you can have some comfort food for the crew.’
    Just her and him, in this itty-bitty space. She remembered too well the last time they’d been here. The way he’d kissed her. The way she’d responded. ‘Oh. No, I—’
    ‘We’re both off duty.’ He set the mixing bowl on the table, shook in flour. ‘Would you rather put the time to a different kind of use?’ His eyes burned into hers, turning her blood to syrup. ‘Your choice.’
    She looked away fast, reached for the spice rack. ‘Okay, muffins.’
    He held out the other vinyl apron. ‘I’ll mix the batter while I tell you how to make a perfect streusel topping.’
    As instructed, she added the brown sugar, chopped nuts and spices to her bowl while he beat eggs and stirred them into the dry mix he’d prepared.
    ‘Who taught you to cook?’ she asked to distract her thoughts away from imagining him whipping the mix in only her vinyl apron. Geez, what was it with him? With her ? She’d never objectified a man before. She pressed her lips together. She should be ashamed of herself.
    ‘A foster carer’s housekeeper. As a kid I was fascinated by chemical reactions. On a TV programme I discovered the pantry was filled with exciting opportunities, so after a spectacular volcano with some baking soda and vinegar that spread considerably further than I’d imagined, rather than risk me blowing up the place, Mrs Tracey put me to work. She gave me a love for cooking.’ A fleeting smile touched his lips.
    Olivia grinned, imagining the young Jett. ‘Sounds like you two had lots of fun.’
    The animation in his expression dropped away and his hand tightened briefly on the whisk. ‘I was shifted elsewhere a few months later.’
    ‘Why?’ The word popped out in spite of telling herself she wasn’t going to ask.
    He shook his head, dipped a finger into the mix and touched it to her mouth. ‘Why, indeed.’ Dark eyes met hers. Challenging her. ‘Taste.’
    When she went totally still, he rubbed his finger sensuously along her lower lip. ‘Come on, taste.’
    Oh...my. Seduction by muffin mix. She closed her lips over his finger. The batter swirled sweetly over her tongue; a hint of