A Man Without Mercy

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.