Second Chance Proposal: A Man Without Mercy / Bring It On / Rancher to the Rescue
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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.’