Читать книгу Second Chance Proposal - Miranda Lee, Jennifer Faye - Страница 11

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.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Jack asked as she went about slowly inserting her key into the lock.

She sighed as she turned and glanced up at him. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said somewhat wearily. ‘Thanks for the very nice lunch, Jack. I did thank you for the flowers before, didn’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’m not quite all there at the moment.’

‘I can see that. But you’ll be better tomorrow. And even better the day after that.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘I know so. All you have to do is do what Dr Jack tells you. Till tomorrow morning, then,’ he said, giving Vivienne no warning before his head bent to deliver a goodbye peck.

It was just a platonic kiss but, when his lips made contact with hers, Vivienne’s heart stopped beating altogether. Thank God he spun away immediately and strode off without a backward glance. Because if he’d looked down into her face after lifting his head he would have seen something not so platonic in her eyes.

‘Crazy,’ she said with another sigh. ‘I’m definitely going crazy.’