A Man Without Mercy

Vivienne opened her mouth to reply but he’d already hung up. Which was just as well, with Marion listening avidly.

‘Fine,’ she said into the dead phone. ‘Thank you again. Goodbye.’

‘I think he likes you,’ Marion said straight away.

Vivienne put her phone back down on the table before answering.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Feminine instinct. I mean, he could have employed any competent interior designer to do up this house of his, but he came looking specifically for you.’

As much as there was a part of Vivienne which was flattered by the truth in Marion’s statement, she wasn’t about to fall victim to thinking Jack had had anything but work in mind when he’d come in search of her the other day. What had happened between them was as unexpected to him as it was to her.

‘Yes, well, he knows my work, doesn’t he? He knows I’ll do a good job.’ And you’ll give him good head at the same time, came the truly wicked thought.

Vivienne still could not believe how much she liked doing that. It was a mystery all right. But Jack’s motivations weren’t a mystery. He was a typical man who could enjoy sex without having his heart involved. Yes, he liked her, but he didn’t care for her to any great degree. He certainly didn’t love her. And she was strangely comfortable with that. Sleeping together whilst they worked together was as much a bonus for her as it was for him. She refused to feel guilty about it any more. Or to continue to worry that she was on some kind of perverse rebound trip.

‘I’m still not convinced,’ Marion said. ‘And you know what? I think you like him back.’

Vivienne smiled at her. ‘Hard not to like a man who brought me flowers then gave me such a dream job.’ Not to mention countless orgasms. ‘But you’re right. I do like him a lot better now than I did.’

‘Hmm. He’s single, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. And wants to stay that way.’

‘Does he have a girlfriend?’

What to say to that? ‘Yes, he does,’ she said at last. Impossible to use the word ‘mistress’.

‘Oh. Pity. What’s she like, do you know?’

‘Not really. I’ve only met her the once.’ Yesterday, when she’d been suddenly transformed into Vivienne the Vamp.

‘Is she blonde?’

‘No. A redhead.’

‘Oh. Like you. Beautiful? Sexy?’

Vivienne shrugged. ‘I dare say Jack thinks so.’

‘But you don’t.’

‘She’s okay, I guess. She’s a working girl. A designer, like me. Jack met her through work.’ Lord, this word game she was playing was getting a bit complicated. Vivienne wished now she hadn’t started it.

Marion snorted. ‘I suppose she’s hoping he falls in love with her and marries her in the end.’

Vivienne almost laughed, because nothing could have been further from the truth. But she could hardly say that.

‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Most women want love and marriage.’ But not me. Not right now, anyway. I just want lots of great sex. With Jack.

Marion was frowning. ‘If she’s a designer, why didn’t Jack ask her to redecorate Francesco’s Folly?’

Vivienne had to think quickly. ‘I guess he didn’t want her to get ideas about it becoming their future home together. Jack told me yesterday that he bought it on impulse when he was up that way, looking for land for a retirement village. I think he wants it as his secret hideaway.’

‘I see,’ Marion mused aloud. ‘Yes, I see. Jack’s really not going to marry her then, is he? Poor thing. She’s going to get her heart broken if she’s not careful.’

No, I won’t, Vivienne thought with a stab of surprising certainty. What I’m doing with Jack has nothing to do with my heart. It’s not a love affair. It’s a fling; that’s all it is. A strictly sexual fling.

‘She’s the sort of girl who can take care of herself,’ Vivienne said firmly as she stood up and carried the now empty mugs over to the sink. Which was true— most of the time. She’d been taking care of herself for as long as she could remember. Not by choice, by necessity. Independence and self-sufficiency had become an ingrained habit. So had emotional toughness.

Until she’d met Daryl, that was. He’d wormed his way under her skin and through the hard shell she’d encased her heart in. Her love for him had made her act in ways which were uncharacteristic and unwise. Being with him had made her weak. And blind.