had he known where to find her? What are you doing here? But the words never passed her frozen lips because even as she asked the question she knew the answer.
Jett.
Her not-so-secret Sinner-Santa.
One and the same and ambling away from the door as if he’d been leaning casually against it. Listening in. Laughing at her. Looking so, so smug. Every indignant hair on the back of her neck rose and she pushed suddenly sweaty hands over her trembling thighs and down the skirt of her festive emerald-trimmed white sundress.
He wore khaki shorts and a white polo shirt and brown sandals. Plenty of bare leg sprinkled with dark masculine hair. Then she caught sight of a pair of red stiletto sandals set neatly on the floor beside the door frame.
Brie didn’t notice the incriminating evidence and rose. ‘Jett, glad to see you’re awake at last. Did you sleep well?’
‘Not bad.’ His eyes flicked to Olivia. ‘Considering.’
The eyes. Brie’s eyes, Olivia realised, seeing the pair of them close together. How had she missed that? Both tall and equally stunning with their bronzed complexions and midnight gazes. Brie leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Merry Christmas.’ She turned to Olivia. ‘Jett, I want you to meet my best friend, Olivia Wishart. Liv, this is Jett Davies. My brother.’
He nodded to Olivia and a corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Already had the pleasure.’
At the mention of pleasure, fingers of guilty heat stroked her belly and lower. How outrageous and inappropriate of him to mention it. Aware of the height disadvantage, she forced herself to stand. Almost eye to eye. Give or take a good six inches. But her legs felt like wet seaweed and the sun shimmered on all that bronzed masculine skin. Sliding on her sunglasses, she snapped out, ‘It’s always helpful to put a name to the face.’
‘You two know each other?’ Brie’s gaze darted between the two of them then settled on Olivia, puzzled.
‘Last night.’ Jett fired the two words across the patio like an accusation or a challenge, then reached down beside him and swung the shoes on two fingers. ‘You left these behind. Cinderella.’
She watched, appalled. Those same fingers had wrought wicked and unimaginable pleasure on her most intimate and private parts. When Olivia made no attempt to step forward and take them, he set them back by the door with a lazy grin, his eyes stroking down her body as if reacquainting himself with her shape, stopping at her bare feet. ‘I’m sorry, were these your only shoes?’
‘No.’ She drew in a breath, embarrassed beyond belief, furious at his attitude. If Brie hadn’t been there Olivia would have told him exactly where to put those shoes. ‘Of course they’re not. It’s easy to forget—I’m a barefoot tragic.’
His lips pulled wide at that as if enjoying some private joke. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Whatever for?’ She clenched her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see how they shook. Those little-boy dimples mocked her. And annoyed her—she doubted he’d ever been innocent in his life. ‘Why are you smirking?’
Still grinning, he shrugged, lifting his arms to waist height, palms up. ‘Why are you so uptight?’
‘Olivia?’ Brie’s voice broke into their conversation. ‘Can you help me in the kitchen a moment?’
‘We don’t have a kitchen here,’ she reminded her, not taking her eyes off Jett. ‘We have a private butler.’ And a problem. She snatched up the magazine she’d been intending to read. ‘Why don’t you two catch up? I’m going to take that dip in the pool, then I’m going to shower and get ready for our yummy traditional Christmas feast. I expect you’re looking forward to sharing Christmas lunch with Brie, Jett, as much as she’s looking forward to sharing it with you.’
The force of her killer glare and unsubtle reference to Christmas luncheon rocked Jett back on his heels. ‘You bet.’ Still grinning, he watched her pick up her shoes, enjoying the rear view of touchable bottom and lightly honeyed thighs as she bent over. She stepped past the glass doors, into the entertainment area, skirted a low table where she dropped her magazine beside her boa, which he’d left there, then crossed the room and disappeared from view.
Man, she was hot. ‘I guess she’s mad at me. Must be the Christmas thing.’
‘Christmas thing?’ Brie murmured, following his gaze. ‘Oh, you mean Secret Sinner-Santa—she mentioned it.’
That too.
‘You didn’t introduce yourselves?’
‘Why would we? It was just a...’ He trailed off. Probably not the wisest thing to say to the best friend. ‘Should I try to—?’
‘No. Sinner-Santas are for Christmas Eve—so I heard. I think if I was her, I’d want a little alone time. How long were you standing there?’
‘Long enough.’
‘Okay, here’s the thing, Jett.’
She got real serious. It was always an unnerving experience with Breanna to be looking at his own eyes, and right now his sister’s were clear and cool.
‘Olivia’s my best friend. She’s also the most generous, caring person I know. She’s been too busy studying and setting up her own charity and a dozen other activities over the past few years to have any sort of social life—and goodness knows she needs it. I can’t remember the last time she—’
‘What we get up to is between me and Olivia.’
‘And that’s fine with me. You’re my brother, Jett, and I care about you. Whether or not you believe it, whether or not you want it, it’s there and it’s unconditional. But I care about Livvie too. She’s like a sister to me. So be careful, okay?’
He felt awkward around sentimental words when they were directed his way and shrugged them off. ‘Hey, it’s cool. I don’t need your care and concern, but thanks anyway.’
Her expression switched instantly and regret brimmed in eyes that looked at him as if he were a sick puppy. ‘I can’t forgive Dad for what he did.’
Ah. No. No way in hell was he getting into deep and meaningfuls with Breanna about their shared parentage. ‘Forget it,’ he muttered. He strode to a table sheltered by an umbrella. Ice clinked as he picked up a jug of chilled water.
‘So as part of our familial connection,’ she continued, while he poured himself a tall glass, and another for Breanna, ‘I keep up with the press goings-on and your social-media updates. I know your fast and loose reputation with sophisticated women who know what the game’s all about. A girl in every port.’
He held out one glass to Breanna and threw the contents of the other down his suddenly dry throat. She’d kept tabs on him for the past three years? Hell. ‘So?’ he said, meeting her gaze.
‘Olivia’s not like that.’
‘You saying last night she wasn’t herself, then?’
She waved her hands about her, unsure. ‘I don’t know about last night, I wasn’t there. I’m just telling
