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A Man Without Mercy
Miranda Lee
His out-of-hours invitation…Cruelly dumped by her fiancé – via text message! – Vivienne Swan quits her job as an interior designer and nurses her shattered heart in private. Until an intriguing offer from Jack Stone – a wealthy property developer whose skilled flirtations she’s managed to evade – tempts her from her shell.Working side-by-side with Jack on his latest project gets Vivienne’s mind off her ex but on to erotic thoughts about her boss! It might be wildly pleasurable, but an affair with Jack is playing with fire. He’s a man used to taking what he wants, and now Vivienne is at his mercy!‘Miranda’s characters never leave you;each story is full of emotion.’– Alison, 45, Exmouth


Vivienne was totally rattled; this was the second time that day that Jack had somehow turned her on. Not consciously, of course. Or deliberately. He would have no idea what mad thoughts he’d been evoking.
She pulled her eyes away, then did what she always did when life threatened to overwhelm her. She concentrated on the matter at hand.
‘So, Jack,’ she said, looking back at him with her business face on, ‘tell me exactly what the terms of my employment will be.’
Jack frowned. ‘If you come with me tomorrow you can inspect Francesco’s Folly for yourself and tell me how long you think the job will take to complete. At the same time, given that you would be doing me a special favour by taking this job, I am prepared to be generous.’
Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted. Jack Stone was not known for his generosity. He was a fair businessman, but tough.
‘How generous?’ she asked.
‘Very generous.’
‘But why? I’m sure you could get any number of up-and-coming young designers to do the job for next to nothing.’
‘I don’t want any other up-and-coming designer, Vivienne. I want you.’
MIRANDA LEE is Australian, and lives near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.
Recent titles by the same author:
MASTER OF HER VIRTUE
CONTRACT WITH CONSEQUENCES
THE MAN EVERY WOMAN WANTS
NOT A MARRYING MAN
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
A Man Without Mercy
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u4c792133-7d25-52aa-9724-b8ebed60ce40)
CHAPTER TWO (#udaaa47c3-780f-509b-a194-12b283f56f61)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4b4f1b51-5461-5555-a479-0b4f16c1aab3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u03b04dfb-004e-551d-b7af-f491176665f2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u6b9c647e-2b3e-5094-895e-251cd30ef2f2)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
‘WHAT DO YOU mean, I can’t have Vivienne?’ Jack said. ‘I always have Vivienne.’
Nigel suppressed a sigh. He didn’t like disappointing his best client but there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Sorry, Jack, but as of yesterday Miss Swan doesn’t work for Classic Design any longer.’
Jack’s head jerked back with shock. ‘You fired her?’
Now it was Nigel’s turn to look startled. ‘Hardly. Vivienne was one of my best designers. No,’ he added, with true regret in his voice. ‘She quit.’
Jack could not contain his surprise at this second piece of news. Admittedly, he didn’t know Vivienne all that well, despite her having worked for him on his last three building projects. She was an extremely self-contained young woman who didn’t engage in idle chitchat. When on a job, her focus was always on her work, which was simply brilliant. He had asked her not long ago why she didn’t open her own interior design firm, and she’d replied that she didn’t want that kind of stress, especially now that she was engaged to be married. She’d said she didn’t want to live just for work any longer, a sentiment which Jack had not appreciated—till yesterday.
He’d been driving around the Port Stephens area, looking for suitable land for another retirement village, when he’d come across a small acreage for sale which had totally blown him away. It wasn’t what he was looking for, not even remotely. Not the right kind of land, for starters; not flat enough. There’d also been a huge house smack dab in the middle of the lot, perched on top of a hill. A house unlike anything Jack had ever seen, with a name that was as unique as the building.
Despite knowing he was wasting his time, Jack had still felt compelled to inspect Francesco’s Folly. From the moment he’d walked inside and out onto the first of the many balconies which all faced the bay, he’d known he wanted the place. Not only wanted it but wanted to live in it. Crazy, really, since Port Stephens was a good three-hour drive north of Sydney. Jack’s normal place of residence was a conveniently located and relatively modest three-bedroomed apartment in the same CBD building which housed his construction company’s head office. Aside from its inconvenient location, Francesco’s Folly was as far removed from modest as a residence could get, with eight bedrooms, six bathrooms and an indoor/outdoor swimming pool which would have put a Hollywood mansion to shame.
As a confirmed bachelor who never entertained at home, Jack had no need for a house this size, but it was no use. He simply had to have it, telling himself that maybe it was time for him to relax and live a little. After all, he’d been flogging himself for two decades, working six and sometimes seven days a week, making millions in the process. Why shouldn’t he indulge himself for once? He didn’t actually have to live in the place twenty-four-seven. He could use it as a weekender, or a holiday home. So could the rest of his family. Thinking of their pleasure at having such a dream place at their disposal had sealed the deal for Jack, so he’d bought Francesco’s Folly that very afternoon, getting it for a bargain, partly because it was a deceased estate, but mostly because the interior was hideously dated—hence his need for an excellent interior designer, one whose taste and work ethics matched his. It annoyed Jack considerably that the one person whom he could trust to do the job, and do it well, was unavailable to him.
But then it suddenly occurred to Jack that maybe that wasn’t the case.
‘So who was the sneaky devil who head-hunted her?’ he demanded to know, excited by the possibility that he could still hire the decorator he wanted for the job.
‘Vivienne hasn’t gone to work for anyone else,’ Nigel informed him.
‘How do you know?’
‘She told me so. Look, Jack, if you must know, Vivienne’s not feeling well at the moment. She’s decided to have some time off work.’
Jack was taken back. ‘What do you mean, not feeling well? What’s the matter with her?’
‘I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. It’s not as though it isn’t public knowledge.’
Jack frowned. It certainly wasn’t public knowledge to him.
Nigel frowned also. ‘I’m guessing by the look on your face that you didn’t read the gossip columns in Sunday’s papers, or see the photos.’
‘I never read gossip columns,’ Jack replied. He did sometimes skim through the Sunday paper—mostly the property section—but he’d been busy yesterday. ‘So what did I miss? Though, truly, I can’t imagine a girl like Vivienne making it into any gossip column. She isn’t the type.’
‘It wasn’t Vivienne. It was her ex-fiancé.’
‘Ex-fiancé... Good Lord, when did that happen? She was solidly engaged last time I saw her a few weeks back.’
‘Yes, well, Daryl broke off their engagement about a month ago. Told her he’d fallen in love with someone else. The poor girl was shattered, but she was very brave and soldiered on. Of course, the rat claimed he hadn’t cheated on her whilst they were still engaged, but yesterday’s paper proved that was just rubbish.’
‘For pity’s sake, Nigel, just tell me what was in the darned paper!’
‘The thing is, the girl Daryl dumped Vivienne for wasn’t just any old girl. He left her for Courtney Ellison. You know...? Frank Ellison’s spoiled daughter. Vivienne did the decorating job on the harbourside mansion you built for Ellison, so I guess that’s how the two lovebirds met. Anyway, the bit in the gossip column was announcing their engagement. In the photos—there were several—the Ellison girl is sporting a diamond engagement ring the size of an egg—as well as a much bigger baby-bump, meaning their affair’s been going on for quite some time.
‘Naturally, there was no mention of Courtney’s handsome husband-to-be having been recently engaged to another woman. Darling Daddy would have quashed that. You don’t get to be a billionaire mining magnate in this country without having lots of connections in the media. As you can imagine, Vivienne is very cut up about it. She was in tears on the phone yesterday, which is not like her at all.’
Jack could not have agreed more. Tears were not Vivienne’s style. He’d never met any female as cool and collected as Vivienne. But he supposed everyone had their breaking point. He shook his head, regretting now that he’d recommended her to Frank Ellison. Jack hated to think that he was in some way responsible for Vivienne’s unhappiness. But how could he possibly have known that Ellison’s man-eating maniac of a daughter would get her claws into Vivienne’s fiancé?
Still...if ever there was a man willing and ready to be eaten by the likes of Courtney Ellison, it was Vivienne’s now ex-fiancé.
Jack had only met Daryl once—when he’d briefly dropped in on Classic Design’s Christmas party last year—but once had been enough to form an opinion. Okay, so darling Daryl was movie-star good-looking. And charming, he supposed, if you liked silver-tongued talkers who smiled a lot, touched a lot and called their fiancée ‘babe’. Clearly, Vivienne did, since she’d been planning on marrying him.
It saddened Jack that Vivienne had been unlucky enough to lose her heart to one of that ilk, but he had no doubt that she would, in time, see that she’d had a narrow escape from long-term misery as a result of Daryl’s defection. Meanwhile, the last thing that girl needed was to be allowed to wallow in her present misery. Jack understood that Vivienne was probably feeling wretched, but nothing would be achieved by cutting herself off from the one thing she was good at and would make her feel good about herself: her work.
‘I see,’ he said, quickly deciding on a course of action. ‘You wouldn’t have Vivienne’s address, would you, Nigel? I’d like to send her some flowers,’ he added before Nigel gave him some bulldust about privacy issues.
Nigel stared at Jack for a long moment before looking up the company files on his computer and writing down the address.
‘I don’t like your chances,’ he said as he handed the address over.
‘My chances of what?’ Jack replied, poker-faced.
Nigel smiled a dry smile. ‘Come now, Jack, you and I both know you don’t want Vivienne’s address just to send her flowers. You’re going to hotfoot it over to her place and try to get her to do whatever it is you want her to do. Which is what, by the way? Another retirement-home project?’
‘No,’ Jack said, despite thinking that Francesco’s Folly would make a perfect retirement home, when and if he ever actually retired. ‘It’s a personal project, a holiday house I’ve bought which badly needs redecorating. Look, it’ll do Vivienne good to keep busy.’
‘She’s very fragile at the moment,’ Nigel warned. ‘Not everyone is as tough as you, Jack.’
‘I’ve often found that the gentler sex are a lot tougher than we men think they are,’ Jack said as he stood up and extended his hand in parting.
Nigel tried not to wince when Jack’s large hand closed around his much smaller one. But truly, the man didn’t know his own strength sometimes. Didn’t know women as well as he thought he did, either. No way was Vivienne going to let herself be bulldozed into working for him. Aside from the fact that she was in a dreadful emotional state at the moment, she’d never overly liked the owner of Stone Constructions—something which Jack obviously didn’t know.
But privately she’d expressed the opinion to Nigel that Jack was a pain in the neck to work for, a driven workaholic with impossibly high standards which, whilst admirable in one way, could be very trying. Of course, he did pay very well, but that wasn’t going to help him where Vivienne was concerned. Money had never interested her all that much, possibly because she’d inherited plenty of her own when her mother had died a couple of years ago.
‘If you want some advice,’ Nigel called after Jack as he headed for the door, ‘Actually taking Vivienne some flowers—not red roses, mind you—might improve your chances of success.’
Though Nigel seriously doubted it.
CHAPTER TWO
VIVIENNE’S ADDRESS WAS easy to find. It was located in Neutral Bay, only a short drive from Classic Design’s office in North Sydney. Finding a florist first was not quite so easy. Neither was deciding what flowers to buy. By the time Jack parked outside the two-storey red-brick building which housed Vivienne’s apartment, an hour had passed since he’d left Nigel.
Not a man who liked wasting time, it was a somewhat exasperated Jack who climbed out from behind the wheel of his black Porsche, carrying the basket of pink and white carnations the florist had finally convinced him to buy.
A sudden autumn shower had Jack bolting up the narrow front path and into the small lobby of the apartment block. Thankfully, he didn’t get too wet, just a few drops on his shoulders and hair; nothing that couldn’t be easily remedied.
There wasn’t any security panel anywhere, he noted as he smoothed back his hair. The building was quite old, possibly federation, though in reasonably good condition. He pressed the brass door-bell, hearing only a faint ring coming from inside. No one came to answer straight away, giving rise to the annoying possibility that Vivienne wasn’t at home. Jack now regretted not ringing first. He had her mobile number in his phone. He’d just presumed she’d be at home after what Nigel had said.
‘I’m a bloody idiot,’ he muttered under his breath as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought Vivienne’s number up on the menu. He was about to call when he heard the dead lock being turned. It wasn’t Vivienne who opened the door, however, but a plump, middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a kind face.
‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I hope so,’ Jack replied, switching off his phone and slipping it back into his jeans pocket. ‘Is Vivienne at home?’
‘Well, yes, but...um...she’s taking a bath at the moment. I presume those flowers are for her? If you give them to me, I’ll make sure she gets them.’
‘I’d prefer to give them to her personally, if you don’t mind.’
The woman frowned at him. ‘And who might you be?’
‘The name’s Jack. Jack Stone. Vivienne’s worked for me on a number of occasions.’
‘Ah yes. Mr Stone. Vivienne has mentioned you once or twice.’
Jack was taken aback by the dry tone in the woman’s voice when she said that. He wondered momentarily what Vivienne had said about him, but then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.
‘And you are?’ he shot back.
‘Marion Havers. I live in number two,’ she said, nodding towards the adjoining door. ‘Vivienne and I are good friends as well as neighbours. Look, I presume since you’ve brought her flowers that you know what’s happened.’
‘Actually, I didn’t know a thing till I went to Classic Design’s office this morning to hire Vivienne for a job. Nigel explained the situation, saying how upset Vivienne was, so I thought I’d come round and see how she was.’
‘How very kind of you,’ the woman said with a soft sigh. ‘As you can imagine, the poor girl’s devastated. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. She did get some sleeping tablets from the doctor, but they don’t seem to be working too well. Anyway, after this latest catastrophe, I think she’ll be needing some serious anti-depressants.’
Jack had never agreed with the way people turned to medication to solve life’s problems.
‘What Vivienne needs, Marion,’ he said sternly, ‘is to keep busy. Which is the main reason I’m here: I was hoping to persuade her to come and work for me.’
Marion looked at him as though he were delusional, but then she shrugged. ‘You can try, I suppose. But I don’t like your chances.’
Frankly, he thought he stood a darned good chance. Okay, so Vivienne was very upset at the moment, but beneath her distress she was still the same sensible young woman he’d come to respect enormously. She’d soon see the logic in his proposal.
‘Could I come inside,’ Jack asked, ‘and wait till Vivienne’s finished in the bathroom? I really would appreciate a personal word with her today.’
Marion looked doubtful for a moment, until she glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I suppose it will be all right. I don’t have to leave for work for another half hour. Vivienne should be out of the bath by then.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Meanwhile, I could do with a quick cuppa. Would you like to join me? Or would you prefer coffee?’
Jack smiled back at her. ‘Tea will be fine.’
‘Good. Here, give me those flowers and follow me. And close the door after you,’ she threw over her shoulder.
Marion led him down a narrow hallway which had a very high ceiling, white walls and polished floorboards the colour of walnut. Jack passed three shut doors on his left before the hallway opened into a living room which surprised him by being so starkly furnished. It didn’t look anything like the stylish but comfy living rooms Vivienne decorated for him in his show homes.
Jack glanced around with disbelieving eyes. Where were the warm feminine touches which were her trademark? There were no colourful cushions or elegant lamps; no display cabinets or shelves; no ornaments of any kind, not even a photo on display. Just one long black leather sofa with a neutral-shaded shag rug in front of it and a chunky wooden coffee-table varnished the same colour as the floors.
Only one picture graced the white walls, a black-framed painting showing a girl dressed in a red coat, walking alone along a rain-spattered city street. Obviously a quality painting, but not one Jack found pleasure in looking at. Despite wearing red, the girl looked sad and cold. Like this whole room.
It occurred to Jack that possibly dear old Daryl had stripped the room of some things when he had left, which could account for its ultra-bare look. He wasn’t sure how he knew Daryl had been living here with Vivienne, but he was sure. She must have said something at some stage. Or maybe Daryl had, at that Christmas party. Yes, that was it: he’d mentioned he was moving in with her in the New Year. Whatever; maybe there had been more furniture in this room before he’d left and more pictures on the walls, plus the odd photo or two. The TV was still there, Jack noted, mounted on the wall opposite the sofa. But one would have expected a piece of furniture underneath it—a sideboard of some kind. There was room for it.
Marion stopped briefly to deposit the basket of carnations on the coffee table before leading him on into the kitchen which, though smallish, was brilliantly designed to incorporate every mod con and still leave enough space for a table and four chairs. Obviously, it had been remodelled recently, since the bench tops and the table top were made in the kind of stone which had only become popular during the last few years. White, of course; white was the colour for kitchens these days. That and stainless-steel appliances. Vivienne always insisted on that combination in kitchens she designed for him. But she usually introduced a bit of colour in the splashbacks as well as other decorative touches: a bowl of fruit here and there. A vase of flowers. And, yes, something colourful on the walls.
There was nothing like that here in Vivienne’s place, however. If it was hers? Jack suddenly wondered. Possibly this was a rental. He hadn’t thought of that. Only one way to find out, he supposed.
‘Does Vivienne own this place?’ he asked as he pulled out one of the white leather-backed chairs which surrounded the table.
Marion glanced over her shoulder from where she was making the tea. ‘Sure does. Bought it when she inherited some money a while back. Had it refurbished from top to bottom last year. Not quite to my taste, but we all like different things, don’t we? Vivienne’s one of those women who can’t bear clutter.’
‘I can see that,’ Jack remarked.
‘Would you like a biscuit or two with your tea?’ Marion asked.
‘Please,’ Jack replied. It was nearly one o’clock and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
‘How do you have your tea?’
‘Black, with no sugar.’
Marion sighed a somewhat exasperated sigh as she carried Jack’s mug of tea, plus a plate of cream biscuits, over to the table. ‘Lord knows what Vivienne’s doing in that bathroom. She’s been in there for ages.’
Their eyes met, Jack’s chest tightening when sudden alarm filled Marion’s face.
‘Perhaps you should knock on the door and let her know I’m here,’ he suggested.
‘Yes. Yes, I think I’ll do that,’ Marion said, and hurried off.
Jack listened to her footsteps on the polished floorboards, then to her knocking on a door, along with her anxious-sounding voice. ‘Vivienne, are you nearly finished in there? I have to go to work soon and you have a visitor—Jack Stone. He wants to speak to you. Vivienne, can you hear me?’
When Jack heard even louder knocking and obviously still no answer from Vivienne, he jumped to his feet and raced down to where Marion was standing at the first door past the living room.
‘She won’t answer me, Jack,’ the woman said frantically. ‘And the door’s locked. You don’t think she’s done anything silly, do you?’
Jack wasn’t sure of anything, so he banged on the door himself.
‘Vivienne,’ he called out loudly at the same time. ‘It’s Jack. Jack Stone. Will you open the door, please?’
Not a word in reply.
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered as he examined the bathroom door which was solid wood, as opposed to chipboard, but also ancient and hopefully the victim of termites over the years. Telling Marion to stand back, he shoulder-charged it with every ounce of strength he had, splintering the lock in the process and taking the door right off at the hinges.
Jack half-fell into the bathroom, taking a second or two to right himself and see what the situation was.
Vivienne wasn’t lying comatose or drowned under the water, the victim of an overdose of sleeping tablets. She was alive and well, bolting upright in the bath as the commotion of the door being shattered finally penetrated the earplugs she’d been wearing. Her piercing scream testified to her shock, her mouth staying open as she gaped at Jack.
On his part, Jack just stood there in the mangled doorway, totally speechless. He hadn’t stopped to think about Vivienne being naked. All he’d been concerned about a few seconds earlier was her safety. Now, suddenly, all he could think about was her nakedness. His eyes were transfixed on her bare breasts which were, without doubt, the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. They glistened at him, two lushly rounded globes, their smooth, pale flesh centred with dusky-pink aureoles and crowned with the most tantalisingly erect nipples.
Jack had never thought of Vivienne as busty before, perhaps because she always wore tailored suits and shirt-like blouses, which obviously covered up her curves. He recalled that, even at that Christmas party he’d attended, she’d worn a loose-fitting dress which had successfully hidden her knockout figure, one which would have any red-blooded heterosexual male salivating over her.
Unfortunately, Jack was a red-blooded heterosexual male who hadn’t been with a woman since back in early March, over two months ago. Hell, had it been that long? It obviously had, by the uncomfortable stirring in his jeans.
Thank goodness Marion pushed past him at that stage and started rapidly explaining things to a still gaping Vivienne. Dragging his eyes off those stunning breasts, Jack spun round and marched back to the kitchen, telling himself ruefully as he sat down and munched into a biscuit that he really had to get himself a life. A sex life, that was. He was, after all, only thirty-seven years old, a fit, virile man still in his sexual prime. He couldn’t keep restricting himself to holiday flings, or the occasional one-night stand. He needed sex on a more regular basis.
But that would mean getting himself a proper girlfriend, something Jack was reluctant to do. He’d had girlfriends before and they had always wanted more than just sex. They wanted to go on regular dates, attend family gatherings and, ultimately, they wanted a ring on their finger. Even if they were prepared to bypass marriage and just live with a guy, inevitably they still wanted children.
Jack didn’t want children. For the past twenty years he’d been father as well as big brother to his two younger sisters, protecting and providing for them, along with his mother, who’d been totally useless when she’d unexpectedly become a widow at the young age of forty. Jack himself had only been seventeen when his father had been killed in a motor-cycle accident. After it was discovered that his dad had been hopeless with money, with no insurance premiums up to date and more debts than you could poke a stick at, his mother had promptly fallen to pieces, leaving it up to him to become the man of the house. Jack had been obliged to leave school immediately and get work so that they could survive.
It had nearly killed him to abandon his ambition to become an engineer, but he’d had no alternative. There was simply no one else he could turn to for financial help. Jack had worked as a builder’s labourer seven days a week to cover the mortgage and put food on the table. Fortunately, he’d been a big lad who could handle the gruelling workload. Also, he’d been smart enough to learn most of the building trades in record time and eventually set up a building business of his own, one which had earned him more than enough over the years to provide for himself and his family.
Jack no longer regretted not becoming an engineer. He loved what he did. He loved his family, too; very much. But providing for and protecting them all these years had taken an emotional toll on him. There was simply no room left in his heart for another family. He didn’t want a wife of his own. Or children. What he did want, however, was more sex.
But getting more sex wasn’t as easy as some people seemed to think. Okay, so Jack didn’t have much trouble picking up women when he put his mind to it. But at thirty-seven his appetite for one-night stands had faded somewhat. Nowadays, he preferred to have sex with a woman he actually liked, not just one he lusted after.
What he needed, he decided, was a mistress, someone attractive and intelligent he could visit on a regular basis but who wouldn’t put any emotional or social demands on him.
Jack was mulling over this problem when Marion bustled into the room.
‘Sorry, Jack, but I really must go get changed for work. Vivienne said for you to wait here. She won’t be long. Nice to have met you,’ she added before hurrying off through a back door.
Jack grimaced at the thought of being left alone with a no doubt even more upset Vivienne. Lord knew what she must have thought when he’d burst into the bathroom like that.
‘I dare say she’s not too happy about the bathroom door, either,’ he was muttering when the woman herself swept into the kitchen wrapped in a fluffy white robe and matching slippers.
‘You can say that again,’ Vivienne snapped as she tightened the sash around her waist.
The thought that she was still naked underneath her dressing gown was decidedly unsettling. So was the fact that her hair was down, long auburn waves falling in disarray around her shoulders. Jack had never seen her with her hair down before. Had no idea it was that long. Or that pretty. It was usually pulled back off her face into some kind of roll thing which was both practical and professional-looking. He was sure she hadn’t worn it down at the Christmas party he’d attended, either. He would have noticed.
Or would he?
Jack never paid too much personal attention to females he worked with, or who belonged to another man. He’d learned over the years not to complicate his life by inviting trouble with members of the opposite sex. Yes, he’d been aware that Vivienne was an attractive girl, but that was as far as his observations had gone.
Now, as his eyes lifted to study her face more closely, he discovered that she was more than attractive. She was really quite beautiful, with delicate bone structure, a small, straight nose, full lips and the most gorgeous green eyes. How in hell he hadn’t noticed those eyes, he had no idea. Perhaps because she wore sunglasses most of the time.
He sure as hell noticed them now, since they were glaring at him with the kind of fury that might have made a lesser man quiver in his boots.
‘I expect you to have that door fixed as soon as possible,’ Vivienne demanded.
‘I’ll get right on to it today,’ he agreed.
‘I can’t imagine why you thought I was actually in there topping myself,’ she went on heatedly. ‘The very idea is ludicrous!’
Jack wished he’d trusted his instinct that Vivienne wasn’t the suicidal type. But it was too late now.
‘Marion said you’d been in there a very long time,’ he explained, hoping his calm tone would soothe her temper. ‘And then, of course, there was what Nigel told me earlier this morning.’
‘Oh yes?’ she said, crossing her arms and giving him a very droll look. ‘And just what did Nigel say about me?’
Jack decided sarcasm was a definite improvement on white-hot rage. ‘He said that I couldn’t hire you for a job because you’d quit.’
‘Hmph!’ Vivienne snorted. ‘I’ll bet that’s not all he said.’
‘No. He told me what had happened with Daryl and the Ellison girl.’
‘Indeed,’ Vivienne said, her chin suddenly beginning to quiver as it did when a girl was about to cry.
Jack was very familiar with the symptom. He held his breath, not sure what he would do if she started weeping. He didn’t like the thought of having to comfort her physically. Hugging crying sisters and mothers was rather different from hugging a woman he was finding terribly sexy all of a sudden. And there was something provocative about Vivienne spitting fire at him just now. He had an awful feeling that if he took her in his arms at this moment he might do something really stupid. Like kiss her. Which would put a swift end to his plan to get her to redecorate Francesco’s Folly. Vivienne would no doubt slap his face then tell him in no uncertain terms to get lost. As it was, Jack knew he would still have the devil of a time persuading her to take the job.
Luckily, she didn’t dissolve into tears, her jaw firming and her eyes flashing with a defiant glitter.
‘Well, that was yesterday!’ she stated with the kind of spirit Jack could not help but admire. ‘Today is another day. So, Jack,’ she went on, sitting down in the chair opposite him, ‘what is this job you wanted to hire me for?’
CHAPTER THREE
VIVIENNE FOUND THE surprised expression on Jack Stone’s normally stone-like face somewhat satisfying. So, he was not a machine after all! Okay, so he had stared at her breasts in the bathroom just now. But not the way most men would have stared. There’d been no lust in his piercing blue eyes. There’d been nothing but shock. Possibly because she wasn’t dead, as he’d imagined.
It had shaken Vivienne when Marion had explained that was what they’d both been thinking, making her see how her very uncharacteristic behaviour—especially her rather hysterical quitting of her job—would worry the people who truly cared about her. Not Jack, of course. Vivienne wasn’t silly enough to think Jack Stone cared about her. She knew him better than that. His showing up here and bringing her flowers was just a ploy to get her to do what he wanted. He didn’t give a damn if her heart was broken, as long as she agreed to what he had in mind work-wise.
And her heart was broken.
It was bad enough to be told that the man she loved no longer loved her. Worse was finally finding out who it was he’d left her for. Even worse was seeing the size of Courtney Ellison’s baby bump.
The realisation that Daryl had been cheating on her for months had been devastating. Mostly because she’d believed him when he’d insisted he hadn’t slept with his new love as yet.
God, she couldn’t bear to think about how stupid and gullible she’d been where that man was concerned.
She would not think about it any more, she vowed staunchly. Instead, she steeled her spine and eyed Jack with what she hoped was a steadfast gaze. The last thing she wanted to do was break down in front of the likes of him.
‘Well?’ she said sharply. ‘Out with it.’
His blue eyes darkened, his thick dark brows bunching together in a puzzled frown.
Another first, Vivienne thought with perverse triumph. First surprise and now confusion.
‘Are you saying you’ll actually consider my proposal?’ he asked.
Vivienne laughed. ‘Not if it’s a proposal of marriage. But I’m prepared to consider a work proposal. It’s occurred to me that I was foolish to quit my job, especially if it’s going to make people think I’m about to top myself. So yes, Jack, tell me what you want me to do, and if I like the idea I’ll do it.’
Once again, Jack gave her a look unlike any he’d ever given her. He also did something else: he smiled, a slow almost amused smile which was annoyingly unreadable.
Vivienne wondered what she’d said that had tickled his fancy. Possibly her crack about a marriage proposal. It was well known around the building world that Jack Stone was a confirmed bachelor. No surprise there. How could he be anything else? The man was a workaholic. He wouldn’t have time for a wife and a family. She’d never seen him with a girlfriend in tow, either. Not on site at any of his building projects, or even at last year’s Christmas party.
Vivienne suspected, however, that he didn’t live the life of a monk. He was too male for that. ‘Testosterone on legs’ was the way one of her female colleagues at Classic Design had once described him.
Vivienne knew what she meant. Well over six feet tall, Jack possessed the same broad-shouldered, powerful body that you saw on wood-chopping champions. Just look what he’d done to her bathroom door! His face was all male as well, with a high forehead, strong nose, granite jaw and a wide, uncompromising mouth. Short dark hair and thick dark brows completed the macho picture.
There was no doubt a lot of women would find him quite attractive, despite his lack of warmth and charm. He did have nice blue eyes, Vivienne conceded, but they were usually hard and cold. They rarely twinkled with humour as they had a moment ago. Not that that made any difference to her. Jack was not her type and never would be.
For some reason, however, she couldn’t help wondering just who his type of woman was. Who did he sleep with? When he could find the time, that was. It occurred to Vivienne that maybe he had a mistress stashed away somewhere who made herself available to him just for sex without expecting anything else. Except money, of course. Which Jack had plenty of.
Vivienne looked deep into his eyes, trying to see if he was that kind of man. His eyes didn’t waver, boring back into hers, their expression no longer amused. A strangely erotic shiver ran down Vivienne’s spine as she realised that, yes, he probably would have a mistress. How odd, she thought, that she would find such an arrangement rather titillating. She should have been disgusted. But she wasn’t. Not even remotely.
‘You’ve gone very quiet all of a sudden,’ Jack said, breaking into her somewhat shocked silence.
‘Sorry. Just thinking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today. That was what I was doing in the bath all that time—thinking.’ After which she’d listened to music, some very loud, mind-numbing music. Hence her not hearing anyone knocking on the bathroom door.
‘Not much to be gained by too much thinking,’ Jack said. ‘Doing is the solution to most of life’s problems. You need to keep busy, Vivienne. Whether it’s working for me or someone else is immaterial. But you need to do something, not just sit around, not eating and not sleeping whilst your mind torments you with depressing thoughts. Next thing you know you’ll be stuffing yourself with pills every day, weeks will go by and before you know it you’ll be unemployable.’
‘Oh dear... From the sounds of things, it wasn’t just Nigel telling tales but Marion as well.’
‘They only have your best interests at heart, Vivienne.’
‘And you, Jack? Do you only have my best interests at heart by offering me this job?’
He shrugged. ‘I have to confess your best interests weren’t my first priority when I came here today. But that doesn’t mean I’m totally heartless. Trust me when I say that one day you’ll be glad that you didn’t marry that bastard.’
Vivienne’s teeth clenched hard in her jaw at Jack’s possibly well-meaning but still wounding words. She’d loved Daryl and it would take her longer than one miserable month to get over his betrayal.
At the same time, she wasn’t about to crawl into a hole and let him destroy her entirely. Jack was right. She did still have her work.
‘Perhaps,’ she bit out. ‘All right, run your proposal by me and I’ll see what I think.’
Five minutes later, Vivienne had to admit that Jack had surprised her. And also intrigued her. The last thing she would have expected him to want her services for was to do a complete refurbishment of a holiday home he’d bought out in the bush. Well, not the bush exactly. Port Stephens was on the coast not that far north of Newcastle, which was the second biggest city in New South Wales and not too long a drive from Sydney—two and a half, maybe three hours.
Because of its location, Port Stephens had become a popular holiday and retirement area. Vivienne had never been there herself, but she’d seen a segment about the area on a travel programme not long ago. Whilst the beaches and bays did look spectacular, and the various townships dotted along the coast perfectly civilised, there was still a lot of rugged bush around. Not only that; from what Jack told her, the house he’d bought wasn’t a typical beach shack sitting just off the sand. It did have water views but it was set back in the hills, and was simply huge, with a décor that was a mad mixture of Mediterranean villa and a fifties Hollywood mansion.
All in all, Francesco’s Folly sounded fascinating, and would no doubt be a challenge to fix up. A distracting and consuming challenge which would take ages. Just what she needed right now.
‘I have to admit you’ve surprised me,’ she said.
Jack leant back in his chair. ‘But are you interested in doing the job?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said in a firm voice.
‘Now you’ve surprised me,’ Jack admitted. ‘I was sure you were going to say no.’
Vivienne shrugged. ‘I only said I was interested, Jack. I haven’t said a definite yes yet.’
‘Fair enough.’ Jack glanced at his watch then up into her face, his blue eyes no longer twinkling with humour. He was back to business. ‘Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Marion said you don’t have much food in this place so I suggest you get yourself dressed and we’ll go find a local restaurant. We can work out the details of the job over lunch. I can’t actually sign you up till contracts have been exchanged on the property, but that shouldn’t take long. I rang my solicitor last night and told him to hurry things through. Meanwhile, I’m sure the estate agent handling the sale will be only too happy to give us the keys so that you can look through the place. I’ll drive you up there tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Vivienne exclaimed.
‘What’s wrong with tomorrow? Don’t tell me you have anything else you have to do, because we both know you haven’t.’
Vivienne suppressed a sigh. She supposed it was too much to ask Jack to act any differently than he usually did when he was on site, charging through each minute of the day like he was perpetually on a deadline. If the man did have a mistress, she could just imagine how his visits to her would go. He’d ring her in advance and tell her to get her gear off so that she could be ready to service him the second he walked in the door.
Once again, Vivienne was shocked that she found such a scenario perversely exciting. Shocked that her body thought so too, her belly and nipples tightening underneath her robe. Thank the Lord it was a thick fluffy robe which hid everything. But her cheeks still flushed slightly as a wave of heat raced involuntarily through her veins. Her teeth immediately clenched down hard in her jaw as she battled for control over her mind, and her uncharacteristically wayward flesh. Vivienne wasn’t used to being sexually excited by her thoughts. She’d always needed romance to turn her on. And a man she was in love with.
Her immediate somewhat panicky response was to tell Jack that she wasn’t hungry and he should go get himself something to eat then come back later. But then Vivienne decided she was being silly. Jack didn’t know her secret thoughts, or feelings. On top of that, she was hungry.
‘Well, go on,’ Jack ordered. ‘Go and get dressed.’
Vivienne rolled her eyes but still stood up and headed for her bedroom, hopeful that the irritation Jack’s bossy manner always evoked in her would douse the unexpected heat he’d been somehow generating. Not that it was him exactly who’d been turning her on: it had been her imaginings over his mistress, the one who probably didn’t even exist. Why she’d invented her, Vivienne had no idea. But she vowed to put her and what Jack did with her right out of her head.
But typically that was easier said than done. As she put on her underwear—white cotton bikini briefs and a white stretchy bra, which minimised rather than enhanced her double-D-cup breasts—Vivienne started wondering what kind of underwear mistresses wore. Something very sexy, no doubt. Nothing made of cotton, that was for sure. Or possibly nothing at all.
‘Oh God!’ Vivienne cried, and dropped her head into her hands.
CHAPTER FOUR
JACK ANSWERED FIVE missed calls, arranged for a man to come and look at Vivienne’s bathroom door tomorrow and booked them a table for a late lunch in the time it took Vivienne to make her reappearance, dressed in bone-coloured slacks, a white T-shirt and a black linen jacket. Her hair was still down and she was wearing only a minimum of make-up, especially around her eyes, which were bloodshot and red-rimmed.
‘You’ve been crying,’ he said stupidly before he could think better of it.
Vivienne shot him a droll look. ‘No kidding. It’s what women do when the man they love turns out to be a two-timing rat. I’m sorry, Jack, but if you want me to work for you in the coming weeks you’ll have to risk being on the end of a few crying jags.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘As long as you don’t expect me to do anything about them.’
She looked taken aback. ‘Like what?’
‘I have two sisters and a mother,’ he informed Vivienne. ‘If I didn’t hug them when they cried in front of me—which is depressingly often—I would be banned from their lives for ever.’
‘You have two sisters and a mother?’
Jack laughed at the astonished expression on her face. ‘What did you think—that I was a foundling, abandoned on a building site when I was a few days old?’
She smiled. She actually smiled. Not a common trait of Vivienne’s. She was one serious girl.
‘Not quite,’ she said. ‘But you don’t come across as a man in touch with his feminine side.’
‘Then you’d be wrong. Living with three women for a good chunk of my life meant I had no choice. Though it was more their feminine side I had to be in touch with rather than my own. I have to confess I’m not the kind of guy who cooks and cleans and sends soppy cards, but I do hugs very well.’
‘And you bring the right flowers, when required.’
Jack wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or witty.
‘Which I haven’t thanked you for,’ she went on with seeming sincerity. ‘Sorry, Jack. It’s not like me to be rude. Or ungrateful. I guess I’m not myself at the moment.’
‘Apology accepted. Now, shall we get out of here? Time’s marching on and I’ve booked us a table for lunch.’
She blinked. ‘You have? Where?’
‘Why don’t I just surprise you again?’
* * *
He certainly did surprise Vivienne again, in more ways than one. Not only by taking her to a very trendy seafood restaurant which overlooked nearby Balmoral Beach, but by the way he was treated there by the staff—like he was an extremely valued client who deserved the very best table and the very best service. Which he definitely got, with drinks brought and their orders taken in no time flat.
Clearly, Jack had been there more than once, which gave rise to the speculation that he might not be as much of a workaholic as she’d imagined him to be. Maybe he did have an active social life. And a proper girlfriend as opposed to a mistress. Not that she would ever ask such a personal question. Not directly.
But a certain amount of curiosity got the better of Vivienne in the end.
‘I gather you come here often?’ she said casually as she lifted her glass of mineral water to her lips. She’d declined his offer of wine. If she started drinking, she might become maudlin again.
‘Often enough,’ he replied noncommittally. ‘My mother lives on that hill over there. She loves seafood so I usually bring her here at least once a month. We also came here this year for Mother’s Day. The rest of the family came too. Given both my sisters are now married with children, we had to book a seriously large table.’
‘I see,’ Vivienne said, then decided, what the heck? She wanted to know more. ‘And you, Jack—why aren’t you married with children?’
It was a reasonable enough question and he didn’t seem to mind her asking, judging by his nondescript expression.
‘If I said I never had the time, or the energy, you probably wouldn’t believe me. But it’s true. My dad died when I was seventeen, leaving the family in terrible debt. I had to leave school and get to work straight away. I wasn’t happy, I can tell you; I’d made plans to go to uni to become an engineer. But that quickly went by the board. Still, I’m not complaining about that. I made good with what I did.’
‘You certainly did,’ Vivienne agreed. ‘Your company is not only successful, it’s one of the few construction companies in Sydney with a reputation for finishing projects on budget, on time and with good workmanship.’
Jack smiled at her. ‘You forgot to mention that I hire only the best in the business as well, which includes interior designers.’
‘And you forgot to mention why, after you made good, you still didn’t have time for marriage and children. Let’s face it, Jack, you’ve been at the top of the building ladder for some time now.’
‘True. But getting there was a hard slog. Then there was the responsibility of looking after my two younger sisters and my mother. My mother in particular. Mum’s not the strongest woman, emotionally. After my dad died, she totally fell apart. Even now, she has a tendency to fall into a depression at the drop of a hat. Some people are like that, you know. It’s hard on them and hard on the people who love them and care about them.’
‘Yes,’ Vivienne said with more empathy than he could possibly realise. ‘I’m sure it is.’
‘It’s a difficult situation to understand unless you live it,’ he said, assuming—mistakenly—that she wasn’t personally acquainted with such problems. ‘Anyway, like I said, by the time I was making serious money I just didn’t want to take on any further commitments or responsibilities. I still don’t. I... Hell, Vivienne,’ he broke off suddenly, his blue eyes startled. ‘Why on earth am I telling you all this?’
Vivienne rolled her eyes. Truly, anyone would think he’d committed a crime by unburdening his soul a bit. At least he had one. Unlike some people!
‘For pity’s sake, Jack,’ she said, a little more sharply than she intended. ‘Don’t go all “macho male” on me. There’s no harm in expressing your feelings occasionally. Women do it all the time. You should hear Marion and me when we have a girls’ night out. If you must know, I think it’s sweet the way you’ve looked after your family, especially your mother. As for your not wanting marriage and children... Well, there’s nothing wrong with that either. You have the right to live your life as you see fit. I was just curious. After all, you’re quite a catch. I dare say you’ve had loads of women running after you over the years.’
‘I’ve had my moments of being targeted.’ He opened his mouth to say something more then shut it again. Vivienne was wondering what he’d been about to say when their meals arrived—his and hers lobsters, along with French fries and side salads.
‘Oh my God,’ she said with a groan as she salivated over the food. ‘I didn’t realise till this very moment just how hungry I was.’
‘You and me both. Come on, let’s stop with the chit-chat and tuck in.’
Tuck in they did, all conversation ceasing as they went about the all-consuming task of totally stuffing their faces. Vivienne gave the occasional satisfied sigh whilst Jack did nothing but crunch and munch. It wasn’t until there wasn’t a morsel of succulent flesh left on her lobster that Vivienne lifted her head, only to find that Jack had just finished his lobster as well and was licking his fingertips with relish.
No, not licking. Sucking.
‘That was seriously good,’ he said between somewhat noisy sucks.
Vivienne didn’t say a word. Because she was staring at what Jack was doing and having the most inappropriate thoughts about his fingers. His amazingly long, thick fingers...
When a decidedly kinky fantasy involving herself and Jack filled her head, Vivienne sat up straight, pressing her spine hard against the back of the chair. She was totally rattled, not just by the erotic nature of her thoughts, but by the way her muscles had tightened deep inside her, as though in anticipation of being invaded by Jack’s fingers. She took several deep, calming breaths whilst she struggled to make sense of her behaviour. This was the second time that day that Jack had somehow turned her on. Not consciously, of course. Or deliberately. He would have no idea what mad thoughts he’d been evoking, first about his having a mistress stashed away somewhere, and now about his doing seriously intimate things to her with his fingers.
She wondered dazedly if her focus on things sexual had something to do with Daryl leaving her. Vivienne had been plagued over the past month by thoughts that she hadn’t satisfied him in bed, despite his always having said that she did. She’d wondered, during her think-fest in the bath, if Courtney Ellison did kinky things to Daryl that he’d always secretly craved, and which he now couldn’t live without. Maybe her own weird behaviour today was a rebound or a revenge thing, a crazy desire to prove to herself that she could be as wildly sexual as any woman.
Whatever, Vivienne could not deny that she was turned on at this moment. If only Jack would stop sucking those damned fingers!
She turned her eyes away, then did what she always did when life threatened to overwhelm her: she concentrated on work.
‘So, Jack,’ she said, looking back at him with her business face on. ‘Tell me exactly what the terms of my employment will be.’
Jack frowned as he picked up his white linen serviette and wiped his fingertips.
‘I can’t really give you specifics yet,’ he said. ‘Not till I see the place again. If you come with me tomorrow, you can inspect Francesco’s Folly for yourself and tell me how long you think the job will take to complete. I always prefer to pay designers a lump sum rather than so much per hour. At the same time, given you would be doing me a special favour by taking this job, I am prepared to be generous.’
Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted. Jack Stone was not known for his generosity. He was a fair businessman, but tough.
‘How generous?’ she asked.
‘Very generous.’
‘But why? I’m sure you could get any number of up-and-coming young designers to do the job for next to nothing. It would be a feather in their cap.’
‘But I don’t want any other up-and-coming designer, Vivienne. I want you.’
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN JACK SAID he wanted Vivienne, he’d meant it as a strictly professional statement, the same one he’d made to Nigel earlier that day.
But as he looked deep into her gorgeous green eyes—eyes which had widened slightly at his words—the thought hit Jack that he didn’t want Vivienne just professionally, but physically as well.
It was a stunning realisation, one which left Jack speechless. After all, not until today had he seriously fancied Vivienne. Okay, so he’d been aware of her good looks, and had occasionally given her a second glance as she’d walked by.
But she’d never given him a hard-on. Not once.
Yet she’d already done that twice today. Once, when he’d seen her naked in the bath, and right now, here, in this restaurant.
It was this second unexpected erection which totally threw him, because there was nothing happening which should have stirred lust in him: no nakedness; no flirtation. Hell, they were just discussing business.
But lust was very much in control of Jack’s body at that moment. And his mind. Effortlessly, it stripped Vivienne of her clothes until she was naked before him, the mental image of her sitting there in the nude bringing his arousal to an almost painful level.
God in heaven, he thought frustratedly, what on earth am I going to do now?
Absolutely nothing, he decided ruefully. Because there was nothing he could do. To make a play for Vivienne in her present emotionally charged and highly vulnerable state was both unconscionable and extremely unlikely to be productive.
But what of later? he wondered. The job he’d asked her to do would take weeks. No, probably months. Could he wait that long before making his move? Probably not, if the bulge in his jeans was anything to go by. Hopefully, it wasn’t Vivienne herself sparking all this urgent desire, but his long stint of celibacy.
‘But why do you want me?’ Vivienne persisted.
Jack hoped his face didn’t betray the thoughts which immediately ran through his head. Because they had nothing to do with work.
‘Why? Because you’re seriously good,’ he replied, all the while wishing that she wasn’t. At this moment, he wished she were seriously bad. The Courtney Ellison type of bad. If that were the case, the possibilities were endless.
The waiter arrived fortuitously at that moment, sweeping away their plates and asking them if they wanted dessert. Vivienne declined. So did Jack, briskly ordering them coffee instead. By the time they were alone again, he’d managed to stop the X-rated images bombarding his brain, his conscience castigating him at the same time for reducing a nice girl like Vivienne to little more than a sex object.
Vivienne was seriously glad that the waiter arrived when he did, stopping her from making a fool of herself by asking more stupid questions as to why Jack wanted her specifically for the job. What had she been expecting him to say, for pity’s sake? She already knew that he liked her work. He’d said so on many occasions. Had she been looking for more praise? More ego-stroking? Or something else—something which she hardly dared admit, even to herself...
When another embarrassing wave of sexual heat started flowing through Vivienne’s body, she stood up so abruptly that her chair almost tipped over backwards. She grabbed it just in time, throwing Jack a weak smile as she excused herself and headed for the rest room.
It was a flushed and confused Vivienne who leant on the washstand and stared into the wall mirror above the twin basins. Lord, what was happening to her here? First, she’d entertained kinky fantasies involving Jack’s fingers, then she’d started hoping he’d say he wanted her and her only for the job because he wanted her. Which was even crazier, considering any female with a brain in her head knew when a man fancied her. And Jack didn’t. Never had. The same way she’d never fancied him. Until today, that was. Suddenly, she seemed to be finding him extremely attractive. No, not just attractive—sexy. Dead sexy.
The logical part of Vivienne’s mind told her this definitely had something to do with Daryl leaving her. His desertion had unhinged her and she’d become desperate. Desperate for someone, if not to love her, than at least to want her. Women sometimes did stupid things after being dumped. A girlfriend of hers had once cut her hair very short and bleached it white. Another had gone out and had a boob job. A third had slept with a different man every night for a month. You didn’t reach the age of twenty-seven without having witnessed a few of your female friends lose the plot over men.
Vivienne had no intention of cutting her hair. Or of going blonde. Or having a boob job. Neither was she about to cruise bars every night in search of one-night stands. But she was awfully tempted—awfully, awfully tempted—to try to make Jack Stone want her for more than redecorating Francesco’s Folly. She wanted him to look at her with fire in those hard blue eyes of his. Wanted him to want her so badly that he’d stop at nothing to have her.
Vivienne shook her head, her shoulders slumping. Who was she kidding? None of that was ever going to happen. She wasn’t the kind of girl who could turn a man’s head against his will. She wasn’t a flirt, let alone a femme fatale. Before Daryl, she’d had less than a handful of lovers. She was, if truth be told, on the shy side when it came to bedroom matters. Daryl had been the one to pursue her, to seduce her, to make her fall in love with him.
Vivienne frowned at this last thought. Was that true? Had Daryl somehow made her fall in love with him? How odd that sounded, as though she hadn’t had any choice. If there was one thing Vivienne was proud of, it was her ability to make choices in life. To decide. That was what she’d been doing in the bath today—deciding what to do with the rest of her life. Not that she’d come to any solid conclusion in the matter. She’d still been too upset to think rationally. In the end, she’d just lain back in the warm water and listened to music, unaware of time passing and the water cooling.
Jack breaking down the door had shocked the life out of her, not to mention seriously embarrassed her. She hadn’t enjoyed his getting an eyeful of her bare breasts. An exhibitionist, she was not! Which made her subsequent sexual responses to him even harder to fathom. None of it made any sense at all!
When another woman came into the rest room Vivienne scurried into one of the cubicles where, with a bit of luck, she could sit and think in peace. She hated not being able to think clearly.
So what are you going to do about this job offer from Jack, Vivienne? came that stern voice that would pop up in her head on the rare occasions she began to waffle over something. You don’t have to do it. He can’t force you. Come on, girl, make a decision!
Vivienne gnawed at her bottom lip as she considered the pros and cons.
To knock him back would not be the best of moves work-wise, if she wanted to continue being a designer. Jack was a powerful man in the building industry. At the same time, it was going to be awkward, being alone with him in the car tomorrow and then working with him on such a personal project. No doubt they would have to spend more time together than when she usually worked for him. Not an enjoyable situation, if she kept being besieged by hot thoughts about him all the time.
But what was her alternative? Say no and stay home, wallowing in her misery? Vivienne shuddered at the thought. She supposed she could pack her bags and go on a holiday somewhere. But she would still be alone. Alone and unhappy, with nothing to distract her. She’d rather take back her resignation and return to work for Classic Design than do that. Running away never solved anything. You had to face things in life. Face reality!
Okay, so face it, Vivienne! For some weird and wonderful reason today, you’re madly attracted to Jack. Madly attracted and seriously turned on. That’s the truth of the matter.
But there’s absolutely no basis for this sudden attraction, she argued with herself. Jack wasn’t even her type, physically. Vivienne had always found big men intimidating, not appealing at all.
Maybe it was just a temporary aberration. Maybe she’d wake up tomorrow and these mad feelings would be gone. Maybe when she saw him in the morning, she’d only feel what she used to feel for him. Which was a mixture of irritation and exasperation at his bossy ways and less than charming manner.
Soothed by such sensible reasoning, Vivienne decided not to make a hasty decision. She’d wait and see what happened tomorrow. If the drive up there with Jack was a nightmare of frustration and confusion, she’d decline his offer, saying she was sorry but she simply wasn’t up to such a big job at this time.
Surely Jack would understand?
It was a relief to find, as she made her way back to their table, that when she looked over at him, sitting there drumming his index finger on the white linen tablecloth, her only feelings were wry ones. He really was a most impatient man. Impatient, demanding and not happy, unless things were going his way.
Remembering this, Vivienne conceded Jack probably wouldn’t react well if she rejected his proposal. No doubt he would argue with her then offer her more money, neither of which would work. If he knew her better, he’d know she couldn’t be bullied, or bribed into anything she didn’t want to do.
But maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Clearly, she was already over what had taken possession of her earlier. Her brain was now crystal clear and firmly in control of her body.
‘Coffee not here yet?’ she said politely as she pulled out her chair and sat down.
‘Nope. So, is it a yes or a no, Vivienne? Give it to me straight.’
Vivienne almost smiled. Oh yes, things were right back to normal. But she still wasn’t about to be bullied into saying yes prematurely.
‘I think, Jack, that it would be wise for me not to commit myself till I see Francesco’s Folly in person.’
‘Okay, I’ll pick you up early tomorrow morning. Around seven. So don’t go taking too many of those sleeping tablets the doctor gave you.’
Vivienne gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Marion’s a good friend but she talks too much. What else did she tell you about me?’
‘Not much. She did say that you owned rather than rented your apartment. But that was only because I asked her. She didn’t volunteer the information.’
‘I see. And why did you want to know that?’ she asked, thinking to herself that he’d probably been trying to gauge her financial situation. Knowledge was power, after all.
‘No good reason. It surprised me, that’s all, how starkly furnished the place was. It didn’t have your signature warmth and style.’
‘Oh,’ she said, taken aback that he would notice. Her chest tightened as it did whenever she thought of the reasons why her apartment was the way it was. You couldn’t explain something like that. When Marion had asked her the same thing, she’d just said she hated clutter. Of course, it went deeper than that. Much, much deeper.
‘I haven’t long had the apartment renovated,’ she said. ‘The decorating’s not finished yet.’
‘Ah. That explains it, then. I thought maybe the boyfriend had taken some things with him when he left.’
Vivienne rather liked the disdain with which Jack said ‘the boyfriend’ rather than Daryl’s name.
‘Daryl didn’t own anything,’ she bit out. ‘Only his clothes.’ And she’d bought most of them. His salary as a mobile phone salesman didn’t extend to trendy designer wear. God, but she’d been a fool where that man was concerned. Quite unconsciously her right hand went to the fourth finger on her left hand, where her engagement ring had resided until a month ago.
She’d bought that, too, Daryl having promised faithfully that he would pay her back.
But he never had.
Currently, it was languishing in the top drawer of her bedside table, a visual testament to her stupidity.
Vivienne realised suddenly that Courtney Ellison must have paid for the rock she’d been proudly displaying in those photographs published in the gossip section of last Sunday’s paper. No way could Daryl have afforded a diamond that size, not unless it was a fake one. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was a fake diamond. A fake diamond to go with his fake persona.
The coffee arrived at that point, in a silver pot, along with a jug of cream and a plate full of after-dinner mints. The waiter poured the coffee then left them to do the rest. Vivienne added cream and two cubes of sugar to hers. Jack left his black.
‘He didn’t leave you because of you, Vivienne,’ he said abruptly after taking a sip of his coffee. ‘It was because of the fortune he stands to inherit as Courtney’s husband.’
Vivienne gritted her teeth before looking up. ‘Maybe.’
Marion had said the same thing, and of course the logical part of Vivienne agreed with her. But she still couldn’t get it out of her head that somehow she was at fault as well. Perhaps Daryl had got sick of her obsession with tidiness, not to mention her sexual inhibitions. She wasn’t keen on oral sex, or adventurous positions where she felt exposed and vulnerable. Even being on top bothered her. Daryl had always said that he didn’t need her to do any of that stuff if she didn’t want to; that making love to her was enough for him.
‘No sane man would leave a nice girl like you for a woman like Courtney Ellison,’ Jack said. ‘Not unless the carrot was gold-plated.’
Vivienne might have been flattered, if the thought hadn’t struck her that if Daryl was such a cold-blooded fortune hunter then he’d probably pursued her because of her money. She might not be in Courtney Ellison’s financial league but she wasn’t poor either. She owned her own apartment and car, and still had a substantial bank balance. On top of that, as one of Sydney’s most successful young designers, she earned a six-figure salary.
The conclusion that Daryl had never loved her, that their relationship had been nothing but a con from the start, was even more shattering than his leaving her.
When Jack saw Vivienne’s face go ashen, he decided a quick change of subject was called for.
‘Before I forget,’ he said as he plonked his coffee cup back onto its saucer. ‘The chap I’ve organised to come look at your bathroom door will be at your place the same time as me—seven. Not that he can fix it on the spot. When I told him the door would need replacing, not repairing, he said he’d have to take measurements to make sure he got the right door.’
Vivienne made a scoffing sound. ‘And you trust a tradesman to arrive on time? When I had my apartment renovated I soon discovered that tradies have a totally different time schedule to the rest of the world.’
‘Then you should have called in my company to do the work,’ Jack said. ‘Trust me when I tell you the carpenter I’ve booked will be at your door bang on seven. He knows that if he’s late I won’t be hiring him again.’
‘I’ll have to see it to believe it.’
‘Then you will. I’ll be on time, too. Just make sure you’re up and ready.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ came her rueful reply. ‘I’m nothing if not punctual.’
Jack frowned at the underlying depression in her words, anger quickly joining his concern. That bastard had done a real number on Vivienne’s self-esteem. If he ever came across him again, he’d flatten him, and to hell with the consequences!
‘You sound tired,’ he said. ‘Come on; drink up your coffee and I’ll take you home. I can see you’re in need of some serious sleep.’
Vivienne opened her mouth to tell him that he wasn’t her boss—yet—so he could stop with the orders. But then she realised that he was only trying to be kind. He just didn’t know any other way but bossy and controlling. So she drank her coffee and let him drive her home. Once there, she declined his offer to walk her to the door, but he just ignored her and did it anyway. Vivienne decided not to argue. She was beyond arguing.

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