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.
Jack had been right when he’d said it was a good thing that she hadn’t married Daryl. It was. He would have been a horrible husband, and she a pathetic wife. His betrayal still hurt when she thought about it. But not as much as it had. Perhaps because she didn’t think about it as much any more.
‘You’re thinking about Daryl, aren’t you?’ Marion said intuitively from where she was still sitting at the kitchen table.
Vivienne turned from the sink and looked over at her friend. ‘Who?’ she said with brilliant nonchalance.
Marion laughed. ‘Now, that’s a step in the right direction.’
JACK JUMPED OUT of his Porsche at twenty past seven, annoyed that he was late picking up Vivienne. He hated being late, especially tonight. But one couldn’t always control the traffic. He hoped she wouldn’t be angry with him.
Her smiling face when she opened the door was reassuring.
‘You’re late,’ she chided him. But gently.
‘There was a breakdown on the bridge,’ he explained. ‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologise. I understand. I’ll just get my purse and lock up.’
Perversely, Jack felt irritated by her casual acceptance of his tardiness. If she’d been looking forward to tonight as much as he was, she would have been more upset. But of course, she wasn’t emotionally involved with him, was she? He was just a male body to her. A bed partner with whom she could play erotic games. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend. She preferred the role of mistress. It was stupid of him to want more from her when it was obvious she was incapable of giving him more at this time in her life. He should just take what he could get and, when the time came, walk away.
Clenching his teeth hard in his jaw, Jack determined to treat her the way she wanted to be treated—as nothing more than a sex object. A plaything. His own personal Penthouse Pet. There would be no pity for her. Or mercy.
Which meant dinner would definitely not be lingered over. He wanted her back in his bed as soon as possible.
So, as she walked back down the hallway towards him, he let his eyes travel slowly over her from top to toe, not bothering to hide his lecherous intent. She hadn’t obeyed his command not to dress sexily, he noted, which puzzled him slightly. If she didn’t want anyone to guess at the true nature of their relationship, she should have worn something less...provocative.
Her dress was purple, a wrap-around, figure-hugging style which showed off her hourglass shape in a way which did little to dampen his desire for her. Her hair was up, but in a softly sexy style, with tendrils hanging around her lovely face. She was wearing more eye make-up than usual, making her green eyes look huge. As for her glossed lips...they looked downright wicked. And then there were the earrings, long crystal drops which drew the eye down to her impressive cleavage.
‘I told you not to wear anything sexy,’ he said brusquely once she was close enough to touch.
She shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘I decided a mistress wouldn’t go out with her lover looking dreary.’
‘True,’ he said, and without asking her permission swept her into his arms and kissed her.
Vivienne only resisted for a second or two, and then only because of shock at his sudden move. This was what she wanted, after all—to be in his arms again. To feel the heat of his flesh pressed hard against hers. And his
