her a moment. ‘You’re really not even going to try, are you? I should have insisted you come with us instead of letting you opt out as you always do.’ She pulled out her phone to check her messages, then opened the door. ‘Phone coverage isn’t reliable that far north. If anything urgent happens...’
‘Nothing’s going to happen. I’m going to open a bottle of champagne and drink it in the spa then go downstairs and enjoy the street party. Have a great trip.’
* * *
New Year’s Eve on Hobart’s city streets was alive with people and action. Eyes disguised behind a pair of reflective sunglasses, Jett stepped out of the crowded hotel lobby and into a cab. Knowing trouble was in the same hotel alone and a few floors below him, he needed the distraction. He watched the casino’s twinkling lights come into view.
Endless opportunities abounded in love and luck with plenty of attractive women on the prowl. If he chose, he could celebrate the stroke of midnight back in his room with a bottle of chilled champagne, and a willing body to slake another kind of thirst.
To his surprise and chagrin, the thought of spending the evening going at it with a faceless woman he’d never see again left him cold. Ten minutes after setting out, he was back in the hotel, scowling. What the hell? He was never indecisive.
If he wanted to rid himself of a case of inconvenient lust for a leggy redhead, there had to be another option.
A swim in the pool? A cold shower? Only one thing was going to rid him of the simmering heat in his veins—and it wasn’t happening: she’d made it abundantly clear it wasn’t happening. He watched revellers spilling out of the popular restaurants around Sullivan’s Cove and knocked back a can of soda.
The muted TV screen was showing ten minutes to midnight. Swapping his handmade silk shirt for a soft worn jersey, he poured himself a large Scotch from the suite’s minibar, drank it down. He was looking forward to a few hours of oblivion.
* * *
Olivia pressed her lips together and waited for Jett to answer the intercom to his penthouse apartment. She was wearing a stupid party hat and juggling a supermarket bag filled with New Year cheer and her nerves were stretched to breaking point.
Three hours ago she’d been eating a late dinner alone in the hotel room, listening to other people having fun, watching the celebrations from her balcony. Where would she be next New Year? Next New Year, she’d know—one way or another. She’d wanted to reach out, grab hold of life with both hands while she still could and join in.
Her focus had been so narrow, so sharply defined by the goals she’d set for herself. The race, the fundraising and memories of her mother had reminded her that time was a gift that couldn’t be bought or bartered for and could be snatched away without warning.
And she’d made a decision. Changed her mind. Jett. Tonight. This was her chance to take time for herself before she knew for sure what her future held. The result would surely be positive. She’d have no choice then but to make those difficult decisions she’d put at the back of her mind for so long. Surgery. Lifestyle.
But not tonight. Not even next week.
She’d had the entrée with Jett, and Brie was right—she wanted the main course.
She shifted impatiently on the balls of her feet. What if he wasn’t in? What if he was sharing a New Year’s bonk with some other random woman he’d picked up? The way he’d done with her on Christmas Eve?
She heard a crackle through the speaker then, ‘Olivia.’ The disembodied voice didn’t sound particularly pleased.
He had the advantage and she wished the video worked both ways so she could see his expression. So she’d know whether she was making an idiot of herself. She tapped her silly hat and smiled. ‘You still recognise me, then.’
The pause lasted long enough to write Happy New Year with a blocked glitter pen. ‘What’s up?’
‘Brie mentioned you
‘Nothing’s going to happen. I’m going to open a bottle of champagne and drink it in the spa then go downstairs and enjoy the street party. Have a great trip.’
* * *
New Year’s Eve on Hobart’s city streets was alive with people and action. Eyes disguised behind a pair of reflective sunglasses, Jett stepped out of the crowded hotel lobby and into a cab. Knowing trouble was in the same hotel alone and a few floors below him, he needed the distraction. He watched the casino’s twinkling lights come into view.
Endless opportunities abounded in love and luck with plenty of attractive women on the prowl. If he chose, he could celebrate the stroke of midnight back in his room with a bottle of chilled champagne, and a willing body to slake another kind of thirst.
To his surprise and chagrin, the thought of spending the evening going at it with a faceless woman he’d never see again left him cold. Ten minutes after setting out, he was back in the hotel, scowling. What the hell? He was never indecisive.
If he wanted to rid himself of a case of inconvenient lust for a leggy redhead, there had to be another option.
A swim in the pool? A cold shower? Only one thing was going to rid him of the simmering heat in his veins—and it wasn’t happening: she’d made it abundantly clear it wasn’t happening. He watched revellers spilling out of the popular restaurants around Sullivan’s Cove and knocked back a can of soda.
The muted TV screen was showing ten minutes to midnight. Swapping his handmade silk shirt for a soft worn jersey, he poured himself a large Scotch from the suite’s minibar, drank it down. He was looking forward to a few hours of oblivion.
* * *
Olivia pressed her lips together and waited for Jett to answer the intercom to his penthouse apartment. She was wearing a stupid party hat and juggling a supermarket bag filled with New Year cheer and her nerves were stretched to breaking point.
Three hours ago she’d been eating a late dinner alone in the hotel room, listening to other people having fun, watching the celebrations from her balcony. Where would she be next New Year? Next New Year, she’d know—one way or another. She’d wanted to reach out, grab hold of life with both hands while she still could and join in.
Her focus had been so narrow, so sharply defined by the goals she’d set for herself. The race, the fundraising and memories of her mother had reminded her that time was a gift that couldn’t be bought or bartered for and could be snatched away without warning.
And she’d made a decision. Changed her mind. Jett. Tonight. This was her chance to take time for herself before she knew for sure what her future held. The result would surely be positive. She’d have no choice then but to make those difficult decisions she’d put at the back of her mind for so long. Surgery. Lifestyle.
But not tonight. Not even next week.
She’d had the entrée with Jett, and Brie was right—she wanted the main course.
She shifted impatiently on the balls of her feet. What if he wasn’t in? What if he was sharing a New Year’s bonk with some other random woman he’d picked up? The way he’d done with her on Christmas Eve?
She heard a crackle through the speaker then, ‘Olivia.’ The disembodied voice didn’t sound particularly pleased.
He had the advantage and she wished the video worked both ways so she could see his expression. So she’d know whether she was making an idiot of herself. She tapped her silly hat and smiled. ‘You still recognise me, then.’
The pause lasted long enough to write Happy New Year with a blocked glitter pen. ‘What’s up?’
‘Brie mentioned you
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