Mistletoe Not Required. Anne Oliver
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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.
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