Читать книгу Second Chance Proposal: A Man Without Mercy / Bring It On / Rancher to the Rescue - Miranda Lee - Страница 12

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘THAT DIDN’T TAKE long, did it?’ Jack said as he popped on his sunglasses then started up the powerful engine of his Porsche. ‘I told you the door man would be on time.’

Vivienne gave him a cool smile in return before putting on her own sunglasses. After sleeping for fourteen hours straight, she’d woken at six this morning with a clear head and a determination to take control of her life once more—which included not falling apart over Daryl’s lies, and not entertaining any further wanton thoughts about Jack Stone.

It was a still a relief, however, when he arrived and she was able to open the door to him without instantly wondering if he’d spent last night with his mistress, or whether other parts of his body were as big as his fingers. Yes, she did still find him more attractive than she had in the past. He looked extremely good in those tight blue jeans, white T-shirt and a navy zip-up jacket. But her thoughts didn’t turn lustful, even when he bent over to show the door man the broken hinges.

Vivienne was also able to fold herself down into the low passenger seat of his sexy black sports car without worrying that being alone with him would prove too much for her. She felt rested and relaxed and almost back to her normal self. Thank heavens!

‘I’ll remember to call you the next time something goes wrong in my place and I need a tradie,’ she said. ‘You seem to have all the right contacts.’

‘Call me any time you like,’ he replied.

Vivienne frowned at the uncharacteristic warmth in his voice. She supposed he was just being nice so that she’d do the job he wanted her to do, the same way he’d been nice to her yesterday. But she seriously wished he’d go back to being as brusque and matter-of-fact as he usually was. That way, there’d be no chance of a repeat of what had happened to her yesterday.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something personal?’ he said.

Vivienne’s frown deepened. ‘How personal?’

‘It’s about Daryl.’

‘What about Daryl?’

‘I only met him the once. Last year at your Christmas party. I’ve been puzzling over what was it about the man to make you fall in love with him?’

It startled Vivienne, that phrase Jack used about Daryl making her fall in love with him. For that was what she had thought herself: that somehow Daryl had made her fall in love with him.

‘It sounds like you didn’t like him much,’ she said.

‘You could say that.’

‘But why? You only spoke to us that night for a few minutes.’

Jack shrugged. ‘It doesn’t take me long to form opinions of people.’

‘In that case, what was your opinion?’

‘He was a slick-talking, superficial charmer whom I wouldn’t trust an inch.’

‘Goodness! You really didn’t like him, did you?’

‘No, but obviously you did.’

‘Well, yes...yes of course I did. I loved him.’

Jack liked the way she said that in the past tense. He liked also that his questions were making her think about the rotter she’d been planning to marry. He needed Vivienne to get over him fast. To move on with her life. Because that was his only chance of success with her in the near future.

Jack was not a patient man at the best of times. Seeing Vivienne again this morning had done little to dampen his desire for her, despite her wearing a rather androgynous black pants suit and having put her hair back up. He knew now what she looked like with her hair down, and what her breasts were like underneath that crisp, white schoolgirl blouse.

‘But why, Vivienne?’ he persisted. ‘What was there to love about him? Surely it wasn’t just because he was handsome?’

‘No,’ Vivienne denied, though Daryl was handsome. Very handsome. ‘It was more the way he treated me.’

‘You mean he said all the things you wanted to hear. Conmen are very good at lying, Vivienne. And giving compliments.’

‘True,’ Vivienne agreed. Daryl had paid her never-ending compliments. Looking back, she could see that they had been over the top. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. Or that good a cook. And facing the evidence of her ex-fiancé’s character was beginning to make her angry again. Though the anger this time was more directed at herself than him. How could she have been so stupid as to be taken in by that creep? What kind of idiot was she? It was some comfort that she hadn’t finalised any arrangements for their wedding— as though deep down she’d known the wedding would never take place.

‘Would you mind if we stopped talking about Daryl?’ she said a bit sharply.

‘Sorry,’ Jack said. ‘Do you want me to shut up altogether? It’s just that it’s a rather long drive. It could get a bit boring if we just sit here in silence. I could turn on the radio if you prefer, or put on some music. I have a flash stick with heaps of songs on it.’

‘What kind of songs?’ Vivienne asked, vowing to forget all about Daryl. He wasn’t worth thinking about, anyway.

For a minute there, Jack had thought he’d made a big mistake, bringing up the subject of Vivienne’s ex. She’d become very uptight with his questions. Clearly, she was still in love with the bastard. Or thought she was. It irked Jack that dear old Daryl had probably been great in bed. Men like that usually were. But what the heck? He wasn’t too bad in the sack himself.

Jack felt confident that, if and when he managed to seduce Vivienne, she’d be happy enough in the morning. Not that he wanted actually to seduce Vivienne. Seduction suggested sneaky methods, such as excessive flattery, which had obviously been one of Daryl’s tactics for getting a girl into bed. Jack had never learnt the art of flattery. He called a spade a spade. If he told a girl she was beautiful, it was because she was beautiful. Jack hated liars and manipulators, hated empty chit-chat as well. He was a doer, not a talker.

Or he usually was. It had come as a genuine surprise to him that he’d talked to Vivienne more yesterday than he’d ever talked to any woman. He’d even told her about his family background, and the problems he’d had with his mother. Which was a thought...

Jack decided not to bother with music for now and to stick to chit-chat.

‘You’ll never guess what my mother’s gone and done,’ he said.

Vivienne seemed momentarily taken aback by his sudden change of subject, her head whipping round to look at him.

‘Er...no, I couldn’t possibly guess. What?’

‘She’s having an affair with her next-door neighbour.’

‘Heavens! I hope she’s not best friends with his wife. That’s not very nice.’

‘No no, Jim’s not married. Recently widowed.’

‘Then it’s not really an affair, is it? I mean, an affair suggests something illicit. Or secret.’

‘True. Call it a fling, then. She’s having a fling. They’re not in love, or anything like that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She said so. They’re just good friends. And you know what? I’ve never seen her happier. Or more confident. I was somewhat shocked at first but, once I thought about it, I realised it was the best thing to happen to her in years.’

‘So when did you find all this out?’ Vivienne asked.

‘Yesterday afternoon. I dropped in to see her after I left you.’

Jack was pleased when she smiled at him.

‘You love her a lot, don’t you? And worry about her a lot.’

‘Mothers who live on their own can be a worry, especially ones who are on the emotionally fragile side.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s so true.’

Jack detected a touch of irony in Vivienne’s remark. Maybe her mother was a widow as well. Or divorced. But then he recalled Marion saying something about Vivienne inheriting some money recently. That usually meant a death in the family. But who? He would have to tread carefully. He didn’t want her getting upset.

‘You sound like you’ve had some personal experience with emotionally fragile mothers,’ he said.

‘Yes. Yes, I have, actually. Dad divorced Mum when she was still quite young and she never got over it. She died a couple of years ago. Heart attack,’ Vivienne added, hoping it would stop Jack asking further questions about her mother’s death. If she told him the truth it would be like opening Pandora’s box, which she preferred to keep solidly closed.

‘That’s sad, Vivienne. And your father?’

‘Oh, I haven’t seen him since he walked out on Mum when I was about six. He went overseas and never came back.’

Jack’s sidewards glance showed true shock. ‘What kind of man would do something like that?’

Vivienne knew that there were excuses for her father’s behaviour but to explain them would be delving into that Pandora’s box again.

She shrugged. ‘To give him credit, he did leave us well provided for. He gave Mum everything they’d accumulated during their ten-year marriage: the house. The furniture. Two cars. And he paid child support for me till I was eighteen.’

‘And so he should have!’ Jack said, clearly outraged. ‘He should also have kept in touch. Been a proper father to you. I presume it was just you, Vivienne? Sounds like you don’t have any other brothers or sisters.’

‘No. There was just me,’ she said, her chest tightening with the effort of staying calm in the face of memories which were better kept buried.

Jack shook his head. ‘It never ceases to amaze me how some men can just walk away and turn their backs on their families, especially their children. Why have children if you’re not going to love and care for them? Bloody hell, did you see that?’ he growled, thumping the steering wheel at the same time. ‘That stupid idiot in that four-wheel drive almost took my front off.’

Vivienne was extremely grateful that that stupid idiot in the four-wheel drive had interrupted what was becoming an increasingly awkward conversation, giving her the opportunity to deflect Jack’s attention onto other less painful subjects.

‘So how long do you think it will take us to get to Port Stephens?’ she asked.

‘Mmm. Let’s see... It’s going on eight and we’re about to turn onto the motorway. It took me two and half hours last Sunday from here, but I didn’t stop anywhere.’

‘You don’t have to stop anywhere for me,’ Vivienne said. ‘I’ll be fine. I had a big bowl of porridge for breakfast which usually keeps me going till lunchtime.’

Jack’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Fancy that. I had porridge too. And you’re right. It does stick to your ribs. But I think we might still have a coffee break at Raymond Terrace.’

‘I’m not sure where that is. I haven’t been up this way before.’

‘Really?’

‘To tell the truth, I haven’t done much travelling of any kind. Never even been out of Australia.’ Or Sydney, for that matter, she didn’t add. No point in courting more awkward questions.

‘I haven’t travelled all that much, either,’ Jack replied. ‘If and when I do take a break, it’s to places that it doesn’t take long to fly to, like Bali or Vanuatu and Fiji. You know me—busy, busy, busy.’

‘Maybe it’s time you slowed down a bit.’

‘I couldn’t agree with you more. That’s one of the reasons I bought Francesco’s Folly.’

‘Francesco’s Folly,’ Vivienne repeated thoughtfully. ‘Do you know why it was called that?’

‘The estate agent said Francesco was the name of the Italian who built the place back in the late seventies. The folly part will be self-explanatory once you see the place. I gather our Italian had a large family, most of whom he outlived. He finally passed away a couple of months ago at the age of ninety-five. His two great-grandsons inherited the place but they both live in Queensland and wanted it sold, pronto. Which is where I came in.’

‘I can’t wait to see it,’ Vivienne said.

‘And I can’t wait to show it to you,’ Jack replied.