Книга - Nine Month Countdown

Nine Month Countdown
Leah Ashton


One night at a wedding… !Workaholic Ivy Molyneux is primed for the biggest promotion of her life – she couldn’t be more ready to take over Australia’s biggest mining operation! Trouble is, after a wildly out-of-character and just plain wild one-night stand at her sister’s wedding, it might have to be delayed… by about nine months.Ivy thinks hooking up with fellow guest Angus Barlow is pretty crazy – until she finds herself telling this gorgeous SAS officer that she’s pregnant. Craziest thing of all? She finds him even more irresistible than ever! Ivy’s hoping it’s just the baby hormones – otherwise the next nine months are going to be even more challenging… !







‘Ivy, what’s going on?’

She’d been staring unseeing down at her fingers, which she’d been wrapping and unwrapping around the stem of her champagne glass.

She took a breath. The deepest breath she could remember taking.

Then she lifted her gaze and met his.

Even in the moody bar lighting she now finally had enough light to see the colour of his eyes. Hazel. They were lovely eyes, sexy eyes, but right now they were hard and unyielding.

Yes, he’d worked out that this night wasn’t going to pan out the way he’d planned.

‘Angus—I’m pregnant.’


Dear Reader (#ulink_0002f6ba-55d5-5c74-95e5-1aeec3ed5b53)

I started writing Ivy and Angus’s story just after my daughter turned one. The most amazing—and exhausting!—year of my life had come to an end, and I was finally writing again.

It’s probably no surprise that a baby popped into this story! But Ivy’s story is very different from mine. Ivy certainly hasn’t planned her pregnancy. In fact Ivy falls pregnant at exactly the worst possible moment in her career. For Ivy, her career is everything—so it’s as if her whole world has collapsed around her. Plus she also has to deal with a gorgeous, charming soldier who just won’t go away!

I now know first-hand how life-changing children are—in a way I never comprehended before. But what would it be like to share such a life-changing experience with a practical stranger? That question is where Ivy and Angus’s story begins, and I just had to keep writing until this unlikely couple made it to their happy-ever-after.

I hope you enjoy Ivy and Angus’s story!

Leah

PS I’ll let you in on a secret—I often name my heroines using baby names I love but that my husband vetoed. I still think Ivy is a beautiful name!


Nine Month Countdown

Leah Ashton




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


An unashamed fan of all things happily-ever-after, LEAH ASHTON has been a lifelong reader of romance. Writing came a little bit later—although in hindsight she’s been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember. Sadly, the most popular boy in school never did suddenly fall head over heels in love with her …

Now she lives in Perth, Western Australia, with her own real-life hero, two gorgeous dogs and the world’s smartest cat. By day she works in IT-land; by night she considers herself incredibly lucky to be writing the type of books she loves to read and to have the opportunity to share her own characters’ happily-ever-afters with readers.

You can visit Leah at www.leah-ashton.com (http://www.leah-ashton.com)


For Regan—

who thinks all my heroes are based on him, but they’re not.

You’re my hero, though, baby.

I’m having so much fun

sharing my happy-ever-after with you.


Contents

Cover (#u8aa5c1c2-3715-59a1-934e-0dbf3b93cadc)

Introduction (#ufa5b8123-301a-5334-8b81-f1ddbc4506cd)

Dear Reader (#ulink_105c615b-502c-5006-9b73-162e76fac691)

Title Page (#u393b1176-dfc3-520e-9d87-eacfb911c56f)

About the Author (#ufb5602e2-2aca-57c0-8e95-3645110fe157)

Dedication (#u0aed6607-99d0-5384-8f93-5971d145fb22)

ONE (#u95b842da-ef24-5079-a9db-0e96c780665f)

TWO (#uc61f7bec-bb29-5f47-bdd0-77ab56260d94)

THREE (#u8014dab1-a18c-5720-980c-8014690dc084)

FOUR (#u8607399a-2e5b-5f3a-8fce-305aabe69f6e)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#ulink_c63cd8cc-9d97-597c-9cb4-f58e3cd94ca6)

It had started exactly eleven steps down the aisle.

Ivy knew this, because she’d been counting.

Step, together one. Step, together two.

Generally the counting happened when she could feel the famous Molyneux temper bubbling away inside her. Or on the rare occasions she was nervous—although she couldn’t remember the last time that had been. But today, it was neither of those things. The bride—her sister April—was the one who should be feeling anxious. Marriage wasn’t something Ivy could see herself doing any time soon. She dated, occasionally, but never anything serious. Right now, her focus was on her work, and the family business, and everything else took a back seat. Because in Ivy’s experience relationships had an irritating habit of leaching into everything. And when it came to her career, well—anything that could damage that was just not acceptable.

But anyway... She’d been walking down the aisle, happily aware that the crowd seated in rows of white wooden chairs were peering around her for a glimpse of the bride, when she’d felt it. At exactly step eleven.

Someone wasn’t looking around her. Not at all. Someone was looking right at her, in a way that Ivy wouldn’t have thought possible. In a way that had weight.

And it was so strange, and so unexpected, that Ivy even stopped counting.

But she didn’t stop walking, and she didn’t shift her gaze from exactly where she was heading: the celebrant, a pretty wooden trellis temporarily constructed on the exclusive Nusa Dua beach, and the cerulean blue of the Indian Ocean beyond. Because today she was April’s chief bridesmaid, and she took any job that she was given seriously. Bridesmaid or Board Executive—it didn’t matter. Work was work, and Ivy always lived by the idea that you should never do anything if you weren’t going to do it right.

So she started counting afresh, and then made sure she completed her bridesmaid duties to the best of her ability.

But that weight didn’t lift until well after April had kissed her new husband. In fact, it wasn’t until April and Evan stood together to accept the hugs and well wishes of their guests that Ivy could finally openly search the crowd without fear of raising the ire of the videographer.

But by then it was too late. That heavy, heavy gaze was gone.

* * *

Much later—what seemed like hours of smiling for the photographer later—Ivy stood with her two sisters and the rest of the bridal party at the back of the enormous marquee that would host the wedding reception.

The luxury hotel their mother had booked for the occasion loomed four storeys high on three sides, hugging the marquee as it stared out to the ocean. A welcome whisper of a breeze skimmed Ivy’s bare shoulders and pushed the silk of her full-length dress against her legs. It was still warm, but Bali’s famous humidity appeared to have let up just a little. Regardless, a blonde make-up artist hovered amongst them, busily ‘fixing’ Ivy and her sisters before their big entrance. Can’t have your faces melting!

Ivy shifted her weight rather than rolling her eyes—which reminded her once again that crazily expensive, handmade, bespoke heels did not guarantee comfort. Not even close.

The Balinese wedding planner was barking out instructions in a failed attempt at a stage whisper, but having reviewed the day’s minute schedule—and provided a few useful suggestions—Ivy knew exactly where she should be. She strode over to Sean, Evan’s best mate—and best man—and hooked her arm through his.

‘Are we going in?’ he asked. Beer in hand, he clearly wasn’t taking his best-man duties as seriously as Ivy would’ve liked.

In fact, the music April had chosen for their entrance had started, so Ivy used her free hand to pluck the beer from Sean, and to hand it to the wedding planner.

‘And we just follow them?’ Sean asked as he watched Mila and Ed disappear into the marquee.

‘You were at the rehearsal, right?’ Ivy said, but she was smiling as she tugged Sean behind her.

Inside, the marquee opened up—it was only the rear wall that had, well, a wall. Otherwise it was edged with white fabric gathered curtain-like against each support. April’s two-hundred-odd guests sat at white-draped tables topped with ivory flower arrangements amongst dozens of sparkling chandeliers—and beyond them, framed by the marquee like a postcard, was the ocean. Of course, a Molyneux wedding would never be anything less than spectacular—but even Ivy was impressed. And timing their entrance just as the sun began to sink beneath the darkening blue of the ocean? Perfect.

Ivy was about halfway to the bridal table when she realised she was counting her steps again.

Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four...

But this time it annoyed her. Maybe it was the distraction of...of whatever it was she thought she’d felt during the ceremony—or maybe it was just that it kind of made sense that she’d be a bit tense while walking down the aisle, given her feelings about love and relationships. So counting her steps then had been okay.

But now? No, it wasn’t acceptable. Because now she recognised why she was doing it.

She was nervous. The way her stomach was flip-flopping all over the place made that crystal-clear.

Why?

She was used to having so many eyes on her. How many times had she been the spokesperson for Molyneux Mining? She had years of media training behind her. She’d been interviewed on live television, and she’d been splashed all over the newspapers—accurately and otherwise—her entire life.

So, yes, nineteen-year-old Ivy counted her steps all the time. Twenty-seven-year-old Ivy a hell of a lot less. Now, thirty-one-year-old Chief Operating Officer of Molyneux Mining Ivy shouldn’t need to do it at all.

Thirty-one-year-old Ivy was an accomplished, confident—powerful, some might say—grown-up. Counting steps was just...juvenile.

Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty—

‘What did I do?’ Sean asked as he pulled out her spindly chair at the long bridal table.

Ivy blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘You just told me to “Stop it”.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘With some force.’

‘I didn’t,’ she said, very quickly. Then sat down and fussed needlessly with her silverware as Sean took his own seat.

Ignoring Sean’s gaze, Ivy looked up to watch April glide across the marquee, arm in arm with her new husband—and both with stars in their eyes.

Her little sister had never looked more beautiful: like a princess with her blonde hair piled up high, and the oversized skirt of her dress floating about her like a cloud.

Ivy couldn’t help but smile, the ridiculous mystery of the step counting put aside for the moment. She was so happy for April. Today was her dream come true.

Slowly she relaxed into her chair, allowing that inexplicable tension to ease from her body.

And it was right about then—right about when she decided that yes, it was totally fine to slide her heels off beneath the privacy of the long table cloth—that she felt it again.

That look. That heavy concentration of attention that made the back of her neck prickle, but other parts of her...tingle. And Ivy was not one for superfluous tingling.

But this time there was nothing stopping her from looking up—from searching the crowd for this person, for this...

Man.

There he was, on the opposite side of the parquet dance floor. With his close-cropped hair, and the broadest of broad shoulders, Ivy would’ve guessed he was in the military, even if she hadn’t already known he was.

Angus. His name was Angus...Something. She remembered his name had stood out amongst April’s seating plan and guest list—a name she didn’t recognise, and who April also didn’t know. An old school friend of Evan’s: All I know is that he’s a soldier, April had whispered with some awe, one of those special ones. SAS.

Amongst a million other wedding-planning things to do—and a million more work-related concerns—she hadn’t given the mysterious Angus Somebody another thought.

But right now, the man had somehow taken up all her thoughts. And when their gazes finally connected—when she could truly see all that remarkable intensity—it was almost as if he’d taken over her body, too. Her skin was hot. Her mouth was dry.

And from this distance, she couldn’t even see the colour of his eyes.

Oh, God. What would happen if he was close enough for her to see if they were blue, or green, or grey?

Based on her current reaction, she’d most likely burst into flames.

No.

Now she was being silly. He was just a man, just a guest at the wedding.

Just a distraction she didn’t need.

She was April’s chief bridesmaid. And she was Chief Operating Officer of Molyneux Mining. Neither of those things were conducive to gazing like a lust-crazed idiot across the dance floor at her sister’s wedding.

Yet she was still doing exactly that.

And just as she was sternly telling herself that it really wasn’t that hard to look elsewhere...anywhere...but at him...

Something happened.

He winked.

* * *

Angus Barlow always knew what he was doing. He was measured, methodical, structured. Calm. Not easily distracted, or swayed by others.

So he’d known what he’d been doing when his gaze had first collided with Ivy as she’d walked down that aisle. He’d been having a damn good look at a beautiful woman.

Her long black hair was looped and twisted up to leave her neck exposed above her bare shoulders. Her skin had glowed in the sunlight, and was still managing to do so now, even in the candlelit marquee without the help of the rapidly setting sun.

She had a great profile. A long, thin nose and a strong chin.

The sea breeze had done fabulous things to the pale purple dress she wore, plastering it hard against her curves as she’d walked. And if he’d continued to watch her rear view, rather than turning to observe the bride’s arrival—well, Angus didn’t really think anyone could blame him.

And now, hours later, he’d found himself again compelled to look at Ivy.

Angus supposed it could be argued that Ivy wasn’t the most beautiful woman at the wedding. In fact, Angus had heard that many considered her unlucky she didn’t inherit more of her father’s movie-star looks, the way her two younger sisters had. Although Angus couldn’t agree. It was true she did take more after her unusual mother—in both looks and personality, given the way she was following exactly in her mother’s business footsteps. But he liked the angles to Ivy’s face: the sharpness of her cheekbones, the slant to her brows.

Plus he’d really liked the contrasting plump of her lips. He’d never noticed before tonight, never really even looked at the many photos of her that could be found in the paper, or the footage of her on TV. But right now it seemed impossible he hadn’t.

So yes, he did know what he was doing.

Right on cue, he felt a twinge in his bandaged right wrist, as if to remind him at least partly why he was doing this.

Not why he was looking at Ivy Molyneux. But why he was here, at this wedding, at all.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, of course. He’d declined the original invitation, only to break his wrist during a training exercise in Darwin a month or so later.

So rather than where he should be, deployed with his squadron in Afghanistan, he was at Evan’s wedding. Surrounded by people who were part of a world he’d exited so abruptly more than fifteen years earlier, and that he’d truly not missed at all.

This was not his thing: an opulent, diamond-drenched evening jammed full of the superficial and the vacuous.

He was on a singles table of sorts. His fellow guests were a mixture of the different flavours of wealth he remembered from high school: old money, new money, and used-to-have money. Then there were the people aware of their luck and good fortune—and then those that were painfully, frustratingly oblivious. In his experience, most of the wealthy fell into the second category. But even then, they generally weren’t bad people. Just not his type of people.

Ivy Molyneux was certainly not his type of people either. A billionaire heiress born into obscene wealth, how could she be anything but extraordinarily ignorant of what it was like to actually exist in the real world?

And yet that was the thing. Amongst the hundreds of faces here at this wedding, amongst all this glitz and glitter, when she’d met his gaze it had felt...

Real.

That he certainly hadn’t expected.

That was why he hadn’t looked away, and why his interest in her had become much more than a simple visual appreciation of a beautiful woman.

That was why he’d winked.

And Ivy’s jaw had dropped open, then almost immediately snapped shut.

Then her eyes had narrowed, just before a near imperceptible shake of her head—and she’d turned her attention to the groomsman beside her, as if Angus no longer existed.

But somehow he knew, knew deep within his bones, that this wasn’t even close to over.

* * *

It had taken considerable effort, but Ivy managed to avoid looking at Angus throughout her entire maid of honour speech. Thanks to years of practising public speaking, Ivy knew how to ensure the entire crowd felt she was talking directly to them. Unfortunately tonight the block of about five tables immediately surrounding Angus’s might have felt rather ignored.

But, it couldn’t be helped.

Not that the not looking helped a lot. Because he’d definitely just kept on looking at her.

She knew it, because her whole body felt his concentrated attention. It had only been sheer will that had prevented the stupid racing of her heart or the odd, inexplicable nerves that churned through her belly from impacting her voice. Honestly, she felt as though, if she let herself, she’d come over all soft and breathy and...pathetic.

But of course she hadn’t, and April had given her the tightest of hugs after her speech, so that was a relief. That was all that mattered tonight, that April was happy.

Even her mother—on the parents’ table in prime position near the cake—had lifted her chin in the subtlest of actions. Ivy had learnt long ago that that was about as effusive as Irene Molyneux ever got, so she’d take it.

With her formal duties out of the way, Ivy should now be able to relax for the remainder of the speeches. But of course she couldn’t.

By the time dessert was served, and Evan had delivered his—hilarious by the reaction of the guests, even if Ivy registered barely a word—speech, Ivy was about to crawl out of her skin in frustration.

Finally the dancing began—and Ivy made her escape.

With the straps of her heels tangled in her fingers, the lawn outside the marquee was cool beneath her bare feet. She had to walk some distance before she could hear the ocean above the exuberant cacophony of music and voices of the reception.

The hotel gardens stretched along the beach from either side of the main hotel building. Lights dotted pathways that led to bungalows and villas, but they were all empty, with every guest at the hotel also a guest at the wedding.

And it felt empty, which Ivy appreciated. She’d flown in from London only...yesterday? No, the day before.

Ivy smiled—it was recently enough, anyway, that jet lag still had her confusing her days.

But after a series of intense business meetings, a thirty-six-hour journey from London after delays in Dubai, the madness that was the last-minute planning for the wedding, and then that disconcerting attention from Angus Whoever—Ivy was seriously happy to finally be alone.

She took a long, measured breath and waited for her muscles to relax as she exhaled.

But they didn’t.

‘Ivy.’

She spun around to confront the reason for the tension throughout her body. Angus wore a cream linen shirt, untucked, and dark knee-length tailored shorts—a variation of what the majority of male guests were wearing. Unlike the majority of male guests, he still managed what should be impossible—to look as if he was attending a wedding, rather than a barbeque. Maybe it was his posture? The extreme straightness of how he stood, combined with the way his clothing hung so perfectly from his muscular frame? Whatever it was, Ivy suspected he looked equally gorgeous taking out his garbage.

‘You followed me,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘You knew I would.’

Ivy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Don’t be absurd.’

While his shirt was clearly visible in the limited light, the rest of him blurred into the darkness behind him, his face all angles and shadows. Even so, Ivy knew, knew, he was looking at her in disbelief.

‘Look,’ she said, in her no-nonsense work voice, ‘I really don’t have time for this.’

‘This being?’

He really did have a fantastic voice. Deep and authoritative.

Not that it made any difference.

‘This,’ she said, waving her hands to encompass them both.

‘I’m still confused,’ he said. ‘Can you elaborate?’

Ivy gave a little huff of frustration. ‘I don’t have time for whatever two random strangers might do when they meet at a wedding.’

And she didn’t. It had been hours since she’d checked her email.

A laugh. ‘C’mon, Ivy. I’m sure you can think up a far more interesting descriptor than whatever.’

‘I could,’ she said. ‘But that would take more of my precious time. So—’

She was half a step towards the path when Angus’s hand wrapped around her lower arm. He wore a light bandage that encircled his palm and extended halfway to his elbow, the fabric just the tiniest bit rough against her skin.

‘Honey, everyone has time for...’ his grip loosened and his fingers briefly traced a path across her wrist ‘...talking.’

Ignoring her body’s traitorous shivery reaction to his touch, Ivy went on the defensive. ‘This isn’t just talking.’

But, of course, that was a mistake.

She sensed, rather than saw, his smile.

‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it?’

Ivy shook her head, as if that would somehow help her brain reorganise itself. She was just...off. Unbalanced. If she was to walk away from him now, she’d be counting her steps, definitely.

‘No,’ she said. ‘The point is there is no point. That’s the point.’ Seriously? Could she be any more ridiculous?

She tried again. ‘You’re not my type, Angus.’

The shadow of his smile told her immediately that she’d made a mistake. Now he knew she knew his name.

But standing so close to him, Ivy supposed she should be relieved she could speak at all. What did this man do to her?

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. As if that was that.

And then he surprised her by casually sitting on the sand. He leant right back on his elbows, his legs crossed at the ankles. ‘Sit.’

Logic would’ve had her back at the marquee by now, so it came as no surprise that she found herself seated beside him. She sat more stiffly though, her hands rested on the silk skirt that covered her knees, her gaze firmly on the black of the ocean.

A big part of her knew she really needed to get back to the marquee. What if April needed her? Plus it really had been hours since she’d checked her email—maybe she could pop by her suite on the way back?

She’d levered herself onto her knees to stand when she felt Angus’s hand on her arm. Electricity shot across her skin and she found herself completely still.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘We’re supposed to be having a conversation, remember?’

‘But, my emails—’

The man’s laughter was loud, and strong and totally unexpected in the darkness.

‘Emails? You’re on a deserted tropical beach with a guy who is seriously attracted to you—and you’re thinking about email? That cuts deep.’

Ivy smiled despite herself, and rearranged her legs so she was sitting again, his hand—unfortunately—falling away.

‘You’re seriously attracted to me?’ she said.

‘I’ll take smug if it means no more talk of work.’

Ivy smiled again. ‘Deal,’ she said. For a long minute, she studied the ocean again. Her eyes had adjusted now, and she could just make out the occasional edge of foam along the crest of a wave.

Something had changed, Ivy realised. The stiffness in her shoulders had loosened. A tightness in her jaw was gone.

She couldn’t say she was relaxed, not sitting beside this man. But the tension she felt had shifted—maybe it was that her everyday tensions had lifted? Only to be replaced by another flavour of tension, but Ivy had to admit the tension that radiated between her and Angus was vastly, vastly preferable—no matter how uncomfortable it felt.

Uncomfortable, because she didn’t know what to do with it. But also...different. Unfamiliar. Exciting.

She twisted to face him.

‘Hi, I’m Ivy Molyneux,’ she said.

‘Angus Barlow.’

And she smiled. It had been an intense few days, so frantic that she’d barely acknowledged her beautiful surroundings.

For the first time, she really felt the beach sand beneath her toes. Felt the kiss of the ocean breeze.

She deserved a break, even if she didn’t have time for a holiday.

And really, what was the harm of letting her guard down with a gorgeous, charming stranger, just for a few minutes?

Then she’d go check her email, and then back to the wedding.

Simple.


TWO (#ulink_812859ac-931a-5deb-8708-edbf9ebfbe26)

Very calmly, Ivy snapped the clear lid over the end of the test, and took a long, deep soothing breath.

She was sitting on the closed lid of a toilet. A very nice toilet in a very expensive Perth skyscraper, but a toilet, none the less. A public toilet.

This had been a very stupid idea.

Buying the test itself had seemed the rational thing to do this morning. Her driver, Simon, hadn’t suspected a thing when she’d asked him to stop at a pharmacy on the way to her ten a.m. meeting. And even if he had wondered why Ivy Molyneux was bothering to run into a pharmacy for whatever lady thing he thought she needed—rather than asking one of her assistants—it wasn’t as if he’d ask her.

Yet she’d still fidgeted in the back seat of the car as they’d driven away, as if Simon had X-ray vision and could see through the layers of her handbag and pharmacy paper bag should he glance in his rear-view mirror.

The plan had been to wait until she was home this evening. Safely alone in the privacy of her home in Peppermint Grove, where she could pee on a stick and irrationally stress and worry alone for the two minutes she was supposed to wait because—come on, it was totally normal to be two days late, even if that had never, ever, ever happened before...

Of course someone else had just walked into the bathroom, and now she had to wait in this excruciating state as she listened to the other woman pee—because it now seemed beyond her to look down, to look down at the test that by now would display the result.

The reality.

All she had to do was look down and this would all be over.

This thing, this day, this moment that she had not expected at all. That night seemed a lifetime ago. April was already back from her honeymoon. Ivy’s work days had been as endless as ever and her weekends had been so blurred into her weeks that she’d barely noticed them. Life had gone on. She’d gone on, just as normal. That night—that totally out of character night—was long behind her. She hadn’t given it, or Angus, another thought.

Well, barely. Maybe, just maybe, when she’d been in that space between wake and sleep when her brain finally emptied of all things Molyneux Mining, maybe she’d let herself remember. Remember the way her skin had shivered when Angus had looked at her. The way her heart had zipped to a million beats a minute when he’d finally touched her. How she’d felt in his arms. How he’d felt beneath her fingertips.

How it had all felt. To do that. To do something so crazy, so uninhibited, so...

Reckless.

The toilet flushed beside her, then footsteps, and then the cubicle door closed. The basin had some silly sensor arrangement to turn on, and Ivy had to wait as the other woman tried to work it out, and then listen to her jump and giggle when the water finally gushed out.

Just go. Just go, just go, just go.

But also just stay. Stay, stay, stay for ever, so she never had to look down, never had to know.

But then she wasn’t into delaying things, was she? That was why she was here, in this public toilet, holding the test.

Because she couldn’t wait. Couldn’t even wait until her ten a.m. meeting was over. She’d excused herself mid meeting, and now she’d taken way, way too long.

The bathroom door clicked shut, and Ivy was finally alone amongst all this marble and the softest of background music.

And now she had to look down.

And now she couldn’t lie to herself that she was just being silly, and that there was nothing to worry about, and that she was on the pill and even if she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t forgotten a pill amongst all the time zones and delays on the way to April’s wedding that surely the odds were still in her favour. Because people tried to do this for years and it didn’t work. People who were trying, people who wanted this, people...

Two pink lines.

She’d looked down only to confirm what she already knew. What she’d known deep down for the past two-hundred-odd minutes since the absence of her period had suddenly dawned on her.

She was pregnant.

She was pregnant.

Ivy took a deep, audible breath, and willed the tears in her eyes to go still. Then she stuffed the test back into its box, back into its pharmacy paper bag and back into her handbag.

Then she went back to the meeting with her business face on and no one—she hoped liked hell—was the wiser.

No, only one person knew that Ivy Molyneux’s life had just completely fallen apart.

And unfortunately, that number would soon have to increase to two.

* * *

Angus’s feet pounded on the heavy rubber of the treadmill, his breaths coming slow and regular.

Sweat had long ago soaked his grey T-shirt black, and the muscles of his calves and thighs had given up protesting and now simply burned.

This was the bit he loved. This time after he’d conquered the arguments from both his brain and body and simply kept on going.

He’d been like this since his late teens, since the sudden death of his father. He’d gone for his first run immediately after his mum had told him the terrible news—an impossibly long run fuelled by intense, raging grief. And that run had triggered a near addiction that had him craving the adrenalin rush of exercise, craving the burn, and craving the pain.

He had no issue admitting that one of the reasons he’d joined the army was so he could be paid to reach this high. On some days he couldn’t believe his luck that he earned his living effectively living out many a childhood fantasy—the helicopters, the firearms, the boats, the tactical training...

Angus shook his head as he ran, shifting his focus back to his body.

Running on a treadmill was not his preference. Here in the gym at the barracks, he’d much rather be lifting weights, or, even better, completing a punishing PT session with the rest of his squadron.

But when it came down to it, the method was irrelevant. Winning the battle over his body was what mattered. Especially now, especially while injured.

Technically he was on medical leave, but clearly losing physical condition wasn’t an option in his job. He’d been down at the barracks daily, excluding that weekend in Bali. Even there he’d made locating the hotel gym a priority.

Except the morning after the wedding. That morning he’d slept in.

Despite the sweat and the screaming of his muscles, Angus grinned.

Ivy must have worn him out.

He reached out to slow the speed on the treadmill, reducing his pace from near sprint down to a brisk walk as he cooled down.

It wasn’t the first time the beautiful billionaire had popped into his head. It surprised him. There had been no question as to what that night had been. Neither he nor Ivy wanted anything beyond those few...admittedly incredible...hours on that beach.

Angus smiled again as he remembered the way Ivy had taken charge as they’d walked back to the hotel.

If anyone asks—I was in my suite, working.

He’d grinned then, too. And how would I know that?

She’d just glared at him, and protested silently when he insisted on walking her to her room. He had, of course, checked that no one would see them.

He wasn’t a total jerk, after all.

Although kissing her on her doorstep had not been gentlemanly—or planned.

He’d seen it in her eyes—and felt it in her body—that she’d been about to invite him in. But she hadn’t.

And he would’ve declined, anyway. He was sure.

It was for the best.

In his experience, keeping things simple was always for the best.

Later, after his shower and as he walked across the car park, he felt his phone vibrating in the backpack slung over his shoulder. Automatically he fished it out, then, on seeing it was an unknown number, considered for a moment whether he should bother answering.

Work-related numbers weren’t stored on his phone, of course—but then, no one was going to be calling him while he was on leave.

But could it be to do with his mum?

So he answered it, if a bit gruffly, and was certainly not expecting the contradictory soft but firm—and familiar—female voice he heard.

‘Is that Angus Barlow?’

‘Ivy Molyneux,’ he replied, and then smiled when she gave a little sound of surprise.

‘Uh—yes,’ she said. A pause. ‘I asked Evan for your number.’

She was nervous, her words brisker than normal.

‘That wasn’t very discreet,’ he said.

Hell, it didn’t bother him. Ivy could’ve announced the fact they’d had sex on the beach to the whole wedding reception and he wouldn’t have cared.

But he knew she did.

Unease prickled at the back of his neck.

‘No, it wasn’t discreet at all,’ Ivy said, her words pancake flat.

Then there was a long, long pause.

‘Why did you call me, Ivy?’ He was gruff now.

She cleared her throat. ‘Are you free tonight?’ she asked, much more softly.

Relief washed over him. He’d continued walking as they’d been talking, and now he propped a shoulder against the side of his black SUV.

He smiled. He remembered that tone from that night. That soft, intimate—almost shy—voice. So different from the brash confidence of Ivy Molyneux, mining executive.

He was jumping at shadows. Ivy Molyneux was a woman who went after what she wanted. This phone call was nothing more. Unexpected, but also—not unwelcome.

‘I’m free,’ he said. ‘How about we meet at Ms Black at eight?’

A wine bar in Subiaco he’d visited with the rest of his squadron after they’d returned from their latest assignment—before they’d quickly relocated to the pub next door. It was sophisticated, intimate, stunning. Very Ivy.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I—uh—guess I’ll see you there.’

‘Ivy—’ he said, before she had the chance to hang up. ‘I’m still not after anything serious.’

He felt it was important he was honest.

But judging by her almost shriek of laughter before she ended the call, he had nothing to worry about on that front, regardless.

* * *

How had she let this happen?

For what felt like the hundredth time, Ivy had to stop herself fidgeting. So far she’d swivelled her bar stool, kicked her heels against the foot rest and attempted to tear a coaster into a million pieces.

She’d counted every step she’d made tonight. From her house to her car, and then from where her driver dropped her right outside this incredibly trendy bar to this seat. It was ridiculous.

In front of her sat an untouched glass of champagne.

She didn’t even know why she’d ordered it. Out of habit?

Or denial?

Ha!

As if it weren’t the only thought reverberating about her head.

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.

How had she let this happen?

This being pregnant. This being dressed in a cute cocktail dress on a Thursday night to tell a man she didn’t even know something that would change his life for ever.

The dress was new. She’d dragged one of her assistants out shopping. Ivy had made sure she’d smiled a lot and dropped hints about her ‘date’ tonight while still being deliberately coy.

That was all that had kept her going as the seconds and minutes had crawled along—focusing on her...plan.

In all honesty, it was far from her best plan. In fact, it was most likely her worst.

But she needed a plan right now. She needed a way forward, a way to fix this.

Because Ivy Molyneux didn’t make mistakes.

‘Ivy.’

At the sound of Angus’s already familiar deep voice, Ivy channelled Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman as she slowly pivoted her chair to face him. What she really wanted to do was disappear between the floorboards. So, so badly.

But then she saw him.

In Bali, in his casual wedding attire, he’d been undeniably handsome. Heck, he’d be undeniably handsome anywhere.

But in the intimate lighting of the bar, in dark jeans, boots and a slim fitting black shirt he was...just plain gorgeous. His clothes weren’t particularly formal, but he somehow managed to still look effortlessly dressed to impress. He looked darker, taller, broader than she remembered.

Especially now that he was standing so close to her. Close enough to touch.

And then he did touch her. Casually leaning forward to brush a kiss against her cheek and to bring his lips to her ear.

‘You are stunning,’ he said. His breath momentarily tickled her neck.

Ivy shivered.

He stepped back, his appreciative gaze sweeping over her.

She loved the dress she’d bought today. Teal silk with a feminine wrap bodice and a fitted skirt that hit mid-thigh, it flattered her curves and on any other day would’ve made her feel on top of the world.

That it didn’t helped bring her back to reality.

This wasn’t a date.

This so wasn’t a date.

Ivy slid off her chair, waving away the arm he offered her. Without a word she headed to the back of the bar. It was busy, with all but the three tables along the far wall occupied.

Each was marked with a small reserved sign, and it was towards the middle table that Ivy gestured.

‘I booked a table,’ she said.

She’d booked three, actually, and paid for a night’s worth of meals on all. It was still hardly private, but it would have to do.

‘Dinner?’ Angus asked.

Despite everything, Ivy managed a smile. Clearly dinner and conversation were not what Angus had planned for the night.

He was close beside her, and she could practically feel his growing tension.

Well, that situation wasn’t about to improve for him.

She took her seat, and Angus took his. He must have plucked her champagne from the bar, as he placed it before her, his wrist still bandaged as it had been in Bali.

That was nice of him.

Would he be a good dad?

She gave a little shake of her head. No. This wasn’t fair, that she knew and he didn’t. That he thought he was here for meaningless flirtation followed by meaningless sex, when he so, so wasn’t.

‘Ivy, what’s going on?’

She’d been staring, unseeing, down at her fingers, which she’d been wrapping and unwrapping around the stem of her champagne glass.

She took a breath. The deepest breath she could remember taking.

Then she lifted her gaze, and met his.

Even in the moody bar lighting, she now finally had enough light to see the colour of his eyes. Hazel.

They were lovely eyes, sexy eyes, but right now they were hard and unyielding.

Yes, he’d worked out that this night wasn’t going to pan out the way he’d planned.

‘Angus—I’m pregnant.’


THREE (#ulink_98af49b8-d4d9-573e-a28d-38b921ceceee)

Pregnant?

All the stupid, obvious questions were on the tip of his tongue.

Are you sure?

How...?

Is it mine?

But he knew all the answers:

Of course she was. That she wanted to be anywhere but here was clear in everything about her. She was one hundred per cent sure or she wouldn’t be putting either of them through this.

The how hardly needed explaining. He’d been there, too.

And was it his?

Well, that was only a faint hope that this was all a terrible mistake, rather than a genuine question.

And he was grateful that a small smidgen of his brain told him to swallow the words before they leapt from his mouth.

Because of course it was his. He had known what he’d been doing in Bali—known he’d pushed her out of her comfort zone, known he’d pursued the electric attraction between them to what he’d felt was the only logical conclusion...

But that she didn’t normally have random sex with a practical stranger on a beach had been abundantly clear.

So yes, it was his.

With the basics covered, he dropped his head, gripping his skull with his hands.

He swore harshly.

That was about the sum of it.

‘Angus?’

He kept his head down, but he nodded.

‘I know this is a shock. I know this is the wrong place to tell you. When I called I hadn’t planned this...but...’

It didn’t matter. Who cared where she told him?

His thoughts leapt all over the place, as if his brain was incapable of being still, or of grasping onto anything at all.

He’d never felt like this.

He’d been in combat many more times than once.

He’d been in the most stressful situations that most people could imagine. Real stress. Real life-and-death stress, not running-late-for-work stress.

And yet this had thrown him. This had sent his ability to think, and apparently to talk, skittering off the rails.

‘Um, the thing is, Angus, I have a plan.’

His gaze shot up, linking with hers in almost desperation. ‘A plan?’

Ivy nodded slowly. And then she seemed to realise what he was thinking.

She looked down, studying her untouched champagne glass again.

‘No,’ she said, so softly he had to lean closer. ‘Not that.’ Her gaze darted back to his, and she looked at him steadfastly now. With that directness, that realness he’d liked so much in Bali. ‘I’m thirty-one, and I have money and every resource I could wish for at my disposal. In every possible way this is the last thing I want. But a termination isn’t an option for me.’

She barely blinked as she studied him. Long, long moments passed.

Angus cleared his throat. ‘I’m thirty-four with a career I love that takes me away from home for months at a time and could one day kill me. I don’t want this. I don’t want children.’ Ivy’s gaze wobbled a little now as Angus swallowed. ‘But for no reason I can fathom, I’m glad you’ve made that decision.’

Now he glanced away. He didn’t know why he’d said that, or why he felt that way. The logical part of him—which was basically all of him—didn’t understand it.

It made no sense. But it was the truth. His truth.

When he looked back at Ivy she was again studying her champagne glass.

‘Well, it’s good we’re on the same page, then,’ she said, her tone now brisk and verging on businesslike. ‘So, here’s my actual plan.’ By the time she met his gaze again, she was all business. Ivy Molyneux of Molyneux Mining—not Ivy the girl from the beach. ‘I’ll get straight to the crux of it: I’d like us to get married.’

Straight after the pregnancy news, Angus would’ve thought it would take a hell of a lot to shock him.

That did it.

‘What?’

She held up a hand. ‘Just hear me out,’ she said. ‘What I’m proposing is a business arrangement.’ A pause, and then a half-smile. ‘And, yes, marriage.’

Ivy might find this funny, but Angus sure as hell didn’t.

He remained stonily silent.

‘The term of the agreement would be twelve months from today,’ Ivy continued, clearly warming to her topic. ‘As soon as possible we would reveal our—until now—several months’ long secret relationship to family and friends, and, shortly after, our engagement. Then, of course, our—’ now she stumbled a little ‘—our, um, situation would mean that we’d bring our wedding forward. I thought that we could make that work in our favour. A Christmas Eve wedding would be perfect, I felt.’

A Christmas Eve wedding would be perfect?

Angus’s brain was still requiring most of its synapses to deal with his impending parenthood. But what little remained was functioning well enough to realise that this was completely and utterly nuts.

‘Is this a pregnancy hormone thing?’ he asked, quite seriously. ‘Can they send you loopy?’

Ivy’s gaze hardened. ‘I can assure you I am not crazy.’

More than anything, Angus wished he’d had time to order a drink. For want of another option, he gestured at Ivy’s champagne. It wasn’t as if she could have it, after all.

She nodded impatiently, and then carried on with her outrageous proposal as he downed half the drink in one gulp.

‘After the wedding we’d need to continue the illusion that we’re a couple, but given the nature of your work that shouldn’t be too hard. My house is huge, so we could live quite separate lives when you are home. Not being seen in public together will help, anyway, for when we separate a few months after the baby is born.’

She blinked when she said baby, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was true.

‘After the separation you’re free to do whatever you like, and then, as soon as legally allowable, we’ll divorce, and carry on with our lives.’

‘Except for the fact that we’re parents of a child we had together.’

A reluctant nod. ‘Well, yes.’

Angus took a second long swig to finish the champagne he’d barely tasted. He plonked the glass down with little care, and then leant forward, watching Ivy’s eyes widen.

‘Why?’ he asked.

Ivy actually shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I can assure you that the remuneration you’ll receive for this will be a life-changing amount. Millions of dollars.’

Pocket change to her.

‘And a house, too, if you like,’ she added, as if an afterthought.

‘Before tonight, Ivy, I never wanted children, and I never wanted to get married,’ he said. ‘Now I’m having a child, but, I can assure you, absolutely nothing has changed on the marriage front. I wouldn’t have picked you to be the old-fashioned sort, Ivy, but I’m not. Even with a diamond-encrusted solid-gold carrot.’

Ivy shook her head, as if she couldn’t comprehend his rapid refusal. ‘I promise you that this will cause you minimal impact, I—’

‘It’s marriage, Ivy. Nothing minimal impact about that.’

She gave a little huff of frustration. ‘Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as signing a contract, nothing more.’

‘Signing a contract of marriage, Ivy. And you still haven’t told me why.’

Now that he had her glass, Ivy had transferred her fidgeting to her fingers—tangling and twining them together.

Had she really thought he’d agree, just like that? An offer of a crazy amount of money and all sorted? Even if her proposal made no sense on any level?

He studied her. Was she was so detached and separate from reality in her billionaire’s turret that she truly believed that money could buy her anything? It was his immediate and rather angry conclusion.

He could feel every sinew in his body tense in frustration at the thought of the level of entitlement, of arrogance that would lead to such an assumption...

But now as he looked at Ivy, it didn’t fit. He hadn’t seen it in her in Bali, and he still didn’t recognise it now.

Sure, she was still some distance from normal, but he knew it wasn’t entitlement, or arrogance, that had triggered her plan.

It was something he could understand. That he could recognise.

It was desperation.

* * *

Ivy didn’t know what to do now.

Maybe he was right. Maybe pregnancy hormones had sent her loopy, because, honestly—had she really thought he’d just agree?

In her experience some people could be bought for the right price. Actually, make that many, many people. But nothing about Angus had indicated to her that he was one of those people. In fact, if she’d spent even a minute properly considering her plan, she would’ve seen this fatal flaw.

Which of course was the problem. She hadn’t spent any time thinking about it, at least not thinking about such pesky details like: what if he doesn’t agree? Because she’d been clinging to this plan as if it were a rope suspended over the abyss that was her pregnancy, and she just couldn’t, could not, let it go.

But, the thing was, if this plan had something to do with mineral exploration or extraction, she certainly wouldn’t give up this early in the fight.

And that meant that she’d have to—at least partly—answer his question.

‘When I turn thirty-two,’ she said, looking him in the eye just as she always did during business negotiations, ‘my mother will relinquish her position as Chief Executive Officer of Molyneux Mining to me. It’s the same age she was when my grandfather died and left her the company, and this has been planned literally from when I was born.’ She paused. ‘I turn thirty-two in July next year. Based on some useful internet calculators—pending me seeing a doctor—our baby will arrive approximately one week before that date.’

Our baby. A slip of the tongue, but Angus displayed no reaction.

‘Although the succession plan was determined before my birth, I can assure you that I want this too. I’m very different from my mother in many ways.’ A huge understatement. ‘But in this way, we are in sync. We both live for Molyneux Mining. This is incredibly important to me.’

It is everything to me, she almost added. But somehow she didn’t think that would help.

It was near impossible to read Angus’s expression, but he nodded. ‘I get that you love your job. I get that you don’t want to give that up. What has this got to do with marrying me?’

‘About ten years ago just under half of Molyneux Mining was listed on the Australian Stock Exchange. We’re still majority family owned, but I report to a board of executives, as well as to our shareholders. We also have a number of significant projects in progress, including a joint venture to mine manganese in the Pilbara, which is reaching final negotiations. It is also widely known that I will take over Molyneux Mining next year, and that we are already in a period of comprehensive change management.’

‘So you’re worried that a baby will impact your share price?’

Ivy’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, not the baby. No one had better think that a baby will impact my professional performance.’

Oh, how she hoped that was true. She ignored Angus’s mildly incredulous raised eyebrows.

‘It’s all about how the baby came to be here, that’s the problem. My whole career has led to my next birthday. Everything I have done, every decision I have made, has been with this succession in the front of my mind. I am known for being meticulous in my planning. For never making a snap decision, for never being reactive in my actions. Even my boyfriends have been chosen with some consideration for my career—I always do background checks. I never take anything or anyone on face value.’

Except she’d never done a background check on Angus. The only thing she’d cared about that night was how good Angus had made her feel.

‘So a baby is okay. But hot, crazy sex on a beach with a stranger isn’t.’

Ivy recoiled a little, and felt her cheeks grow warm.

Now her gaze dipped to her fingers. With some effort she untangled them, laying her palms flat on the table to force them still.

‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ she said. ‘But yes. Ivy Molyneux would never be that reckless.’

There was that word again. Reckless.

This time it triggered a remembered snatch of conversation, the echo of her mother’s voice from a time for ever ago: How could you, Ivy? How could you be so reckless?

‘But you were,’ Angus said. ‘We both were. I was there.’

His low words snapped Ivy’s attention back from a better-forgotten memory. And something flickered in his eyes. Despite all this, despite this situation, despite this conversation, she recognised it.

Heat. Not like in Bali, but still there. Despite everything.

She knew her already warm cheeks were now scarlet, but all she could do was ignore that. And, as she should’ve at the wedding, ignore this thing between them.

Or at least try to.

‘I know,’ she said, very softly. ‘That’s what I’m trying to fix.’

The shocking warmth of his hand covering hers drew her attention downwards again, and she realised belatedly she must’ve been wringing her hands.

She’d trained herself out of all her fidgeting and step counting years ago, but right now this unexpected regression managed barely a blip amongst everything else that whirled inside her.

As in Bali, his touch impacted everything. She knew her heart had accelerated, and her whole body now seemed focused on where their fingers overlapped. Completely inappropriate warmth pooled low in her belly, and for long seconds Ivy wished like anything that this were a very real date.

But then Angus spoke.

‘I get what you’re trying to do, Ivy,’ he said.

Instantly hope began to blossom inside her, delicate and beautiful. But then his fingers tightened gently on hers, and Ivy knew.

‘My answer is still no.’

And for the second time today awful, unwelcome tears filled her vision.

Ivy never cried.

But then, Ivy never did a lot of things she’d been doing lately.

* * *

She snatched her hands away from beneath his, and for the briefest moment Angus reconsidered his decision.

He’d never be this close again to the fortune she’d offered him. Would he regret it some day? Was living a lie for twelve months really all that bad given such a massive payday?

And a second consideration snuck into his subconscious.

Or maybe he should just do this for Ivy?

Angus straightened in his chair, subtly putting further distance between them.

No. He wouldn’t regret passing on the money. His parents had taught him the value of hard work and, in every aspect of his life, he’d never been one to take shortcuts.

And for Ivy?

No. That was a slippery slope he did not want to get on. When he was deployed, he never allowed himself to clutter his mind with those he left behind. It was why he would never marry, and it was why he had never meant to have children. It wasn’t fair to anyone to be shoved aside in that manner. But it was what he did. It was, quite simply, who he was.

So no, he wasn’t going to do this for Ivy.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel like eating,’ Ivy said, breaking the silence. She pushed her chair backwards a little quickly, and steadied it with one hand as she stood.

Angus followed her lead and pulled himself to his feet, more than keen to get out of the bar. Around them, other couples and small groups appeared to be enjoying their meals. A man reached out to stroke the cheek of his date. Four well-dressed young women suddenly cackled with laughter and clinked their wine glasses together.

Everyone else’s lives appeared to be carrying on beautifully, and normally, and yet Angus’s life had just irrevocably changed for ever.

It still didn’t seem possible. Didn’t seem real.

Ivy was already negotiating all the happy diners, and Angus needed to take several large strides to catch up with her. Automatically, he reached out and rested his hand in the small of her back.

At his touch, she went still, her chin shooting up as she met his gaze.

She’d done a poor job hiding the sheen to her eyes back at the table, and she was far less successful now. Again her gaze was more than wobbly, and he was reminded that he wasn’t alone in his shock and disbelief.

He felt he should say something. Something reassuring and supportive.

But he didn’t have any experience in this kind of thing. Hell, his ex-girlfriends had made it clear he was a complete failure at even the most simple of relationships—let alone what to say to the woman who had just announced she was carrying his child.

So he said nothing at all, and Ivy’s gaze just kept on wobbling.

‘Ivy!’

Against his palm, Angus felt Ivy tense.

At the bar, only a few metres away, sat a seriously glamorous blonde. Her hair tumbled in generous waves over one shoulder, and beside her was a significantly less glamorous man.

Ivy appeared struck dumb, and didn’t move a millimetre as the pair approached them.

‘It’s been months!’ the blonde exclaimed. ‘How are you?’

‘I—uh—’ Ivy began, and then went silent, simply sending him a panicky glance. Her body was moving now. She was trembling.

Immediately Angus slid his hand from her back to her waist, and tugged her gently against him. Even now, when he shouldn’t, he noticed how naturally she fitted against him. And how soft and warm her body felt.

‘I’m Angus Barlow,’ he said to the couple, offering his free hand.

Then for the next three minutes he scrounged every last ounce of charm he possessed to conduct the most trivial of conversations, while Ivy managed the occasional nod and single-word response. And then he politely excused them, and escorted Ivy outside as quickly as their legs would carry them.

Outside, the night was cool against his skin. His arm was still around Ivy, and in the cold it seemed illogical to remove it, given the flimsiness of her dress.

He was still walking briskly, keen to put as much space between himself and the bar, when Ivy came to an abrupt stop and disentangled herself from him.

‘Where are you going?’ she said.

Angus paused. His car was parked in the opposite direction.

‘I have no idea,’ he said.

And amongst all that had happened tonight, those four little words were suddenly hilarious, and he burst into a harsh bark of laughter.

A moment later, Ivy joined in, and they both stood together on the footpath, cackling away just like those women having dinner.

When they both fell silent, Ivy looked up at him again.

No wobbles this time, just direct, real Ivy.

‘Thank you,’ she said.


FOUR (#ulink_ababc92b-1415-5dbc-8bf2-48fd62aa3f65)

Ivy listened half-heartedly to her sisters’ enthusiastic gossip. They sat across from her, their finished breakfast plates pushed aside. To her left sat Ivy’s mother, nursing a mug full of cappuccino.

Around them, Sunday morning at the exclusive beachside café was a buzz of activity. Ivy found herself picking up random snippets of conversation: the waiter two tables to her right repeating an order; an older man complaining at the lateness of his grandson; and from somewhere behind her a high-pitched: Really? followed by raucous laughter.

Their table abutted a wall of bi-fold windows, their louvred glass panes opened to welcome the salty breeze. Beneath them, keen sunbathers lay on brightly coloured towels in an irregular patchwork. It was an unusually warm October day, and Cottesloe Beach was, it seemed, the place to be.

It had worked out perfectly, really. Her family—just Mila, April and her mother—had dinner every second Sunday. But this weekend she’d suggested breakfast instead, so here they were.

The weather would be perfect for it! she’d said.

And everyone agreed.

As lies went, it was very much the whitest of them, but it still sat so uncomfortably. All to avoid refusing a glass of wine.

She was so close to her sisters, as different as they were. Mila, with her chocolate-brown curls and brilliant smile, was the baby, and the family artist. Never much interested in study, she’d barely finished high school before beginning a string of courses at TAFE—jewellery design, dress making, and a few others that Ivy had long forgotten. But then she’d started—and this time finished—a pottery course, and that was it. Mila had found her calling. Now she had her own studio, with a shop front for her work out the front, and space for her to teach out the back. Quiet, but opinionated and wise, Mila could always be counted on to see through the crap in any situation.

Then there was April. Beautiful, clever but flighty, she’d been the real rebel. She’d partied through uni, and still partied now. She’d completed her Environmental Science degree—chosen for its not so subtle dig at the way her family had made their fortune—but, apart from a few internships, hadn’t settled into full-time work. April brought sunshine wherever she went—always the first to smile and the first with a kind word.

And there she was. Ivy. The eldest by three years, she’d followed the script exactly as her mother had hoped: a diligent student throughout school. A top student at university, all the way through to her masters. Then straight to work for the family company, working her way up, just as her mother had, with, of course, a healthy dose of expected nepotism.

But Ivy knew she deserved her position at Molyneux Mining. She’d worked her butt off to get there.

So, yes. In contrast to her arty sister, and her partying sister, there she was: studious, perfect daughter Ivy. Mila and April even gave her well-deserved needling for it.

But, of course, it had never been entirely true.

Ivy knew that. Her mother knew that. But no one else did.

Her mother had fixed her mistakes of more than a decade ago.

Unfortunately, Ivy was no closer to fixing her latest mistake.

She just needed time.

She would tell them about her pregnancy. Soon.

Just not today.

‘Earth to Ivy?’ April was grinning at her, fun sparkling in her gaze. ‘You still with us?’

Ivy blinked, and forced a smile. ‘Sorry. Just thinking about an email I have to write when I get home for the Bullah Bullah Downs project.’

In unison, her sisters groaned.

‘I was just saying that I saw Holly at the shops yesterday,’ April said, with a grin. ‘She had some very interesting news.’

Ivy went perfectly still, pasting on a faux smile. She had the fleeting, horrifying thought that somehow she’d forgotten blurting out the news of her pregnancy to Holly as she’d exited the bar on Thursday night.

‘Apparently,’ April continued, ‘you were with a rather hot guy?’

So Evan hadn’t told April she’d asked for Angus’s number. She could barely remember the vague, somehow work-related excuse she’d given her brother in law, but apparently it had been plausible.

‘Oh, he was a blind date,’ Ivy said, with a dismissive smile. ‘He was nice enough, but it was a bit of a disaster, really.’ That was true, in a way. ‘No spark, you know?’

Definitely a lie.

The conversation moved on, her mum and sisters familiar enough with her occasional forays into dating to accept what she’d said.

But Ivy remained silent, quietly furious with herself.

She couldn’t have news of her pregnancy leaked until she was one hundred per cent prepared, and gossipy speculation about her and Angus would not help that cause.

She needed to be more careful.

And more importantly, she really needed to fix this.

Soon.

* * *

‘Gus! How are you, mate?’

Angus finished the last two repetitions of the set, then swivelled on the seat of the leg press to grab his towel. Cam Dunstall wore his own towel hung over his shoulders, but he clearly hadn’t begun his workout as he was the only person in the crowded barracks gym not coated in a layer of sweat.

‘Good,’ Angus said automatically.

Cam’s attention darted to his still-bandaged right wrist. ‘Going okay?’

Angus smiled at his friend’s obvious concern. They both knew if his wrist was busted, so was his SAS career. He wasn’t much use if he couldn’t use a firearm.

‘Nah, it’s no big deal,’ he said, truthfully. ‘I met with the specialist today. He’s happy with my progress. He sees no reason why I shouldn’t be back on deck within the month.’

Cam’s smile was broad and relieved. ‘Awesome news, mate. Hey, you missed out on some fun last week—middle of the night hanging out of a Black Hawk chopper. Good times.’

Cam then went into great detail about the training exercise, while Angus mopped his face and arms of sweat. He’d finished today’s workout. In fact he’d been here for the couple of hours since his doctor’s appointment.

The good news about his wrist was not unexpected. To be honest, his hand felt very near to normal now—if the doctor had let him he’d already be back at work.

So his workout was supposed to be the highlight of his day. It was Monday, four days since Ivy had dropped her bombshell.

On Friday he’d gone for a run instead, needing to be outside.

Then on the weekend he’d stayed at home, deciding that cutting back two huge branches from the towering blue gum in what was once his mother’s back garden was the best use of his time. But even two days wielding a chainsaw hadn’t helped.

And today hadn’t helped either.

He still didn’t feel normal. The exercise high he craved eluded him.

It wasn’t fair.

That made him smile. Out of all that had happened, the incredible bad luck that had plonked him and Ivy in this situation—that was what was unfair?

‘Mate?’ Cam was looking at him strangely. ‘I was just asking if you’d heard that Patrick has been moved. To training.’

Ah. A smile was certainly not appropriate here. That was no promotion.

‘He’s still not right, then?’ Angus asked, knowing that was probably the wrong way to phrase his question, but at a loss to come up with something better.

‘Yeah. That post-traumatic crap. Like Tom, I guess.’

Like Tom.

Guilt lowered Angus’s gaze momentarily. How long since he’d called him? They’d come through SAS selection together seven years ago. Tom—strong, confident, supportive, brave Tom. His closest mate. The best soldier he knew.

Or at least, he had been.

‘Some of the boys are going out for a beer tonight. Want to come?’

Cam was clearly keen to move the conversation on.

Angus got that.

But he shook his head. No. Ivy had texted him earlier, and he was meeting her for a coffee.

Not that he told Cam that, but the other man jumped to the approximately right conclusion anyway, giving him crap about choosing a girl over his mates.

So Angus laughed and let the words roll off him, wishing like hell they were true.

* * *

‘Thanks for meeting me.’

Angus raised an eyebrow as he slid into the fifties-style café booth. ‘This isn’t a business meeting, Ivy.’

She shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

It was just easier for her to think of it like that. She’d even prepared for this meeting, in a way. Mentally determining an agenda of items to cover, so that this could be over as efficiently as possible.

She was sure Angus would appreciate that, too.

Quick, efficient and over quickly. A good plan.

‘So, I’ve got a couple of points I’d like to discuss, and I’ll start with the most important. Do you intend to be a part of our child’s life, and if so, to what extent?’

Angus didn’t even blink at her directness. ‘I intend to be the best father I can be,’ he said. ‘Which means I want to be a huge part of their life.’

Ivy nodded sharply. It was the answer she’d expected, although she couldn’t exactly say why. She was pleased, though. She’d never been close to her own father. ‘Excellent. Okay, so the next point is—’

‘Hold it there.’ Angus glanced at the coffee she’d downed in the few minutes she’d been waiting for him. ‘Now the big question is out of the way, how about I go get us both a coffee, and some cake, and we relax a bit?’

‘Relax?’

He grinned. ‘Honey, the way I see it we just agreed to another eighteen-odd years to talk about this baby. Why rush things now?’

And with that he stood, and headed for the counter.

Ivy just watched him in somewhat stunned silence as he made his order, and returned to the table with a number on a chrome stick, which he placed between them.

‘I just asked for whatever you had again, plus a selection of cakes as I have no idea what you like. Okay?’

Ivy nodded numbly.

‘Great!’ he said. ‘So, tell me something about yourself.’

‘Pardon me?’

He shrugged. ‘You heard me.’

Ivy bristled. ‘Look, it’s great that you’re all so fine and relaxed and cool with this, but I don’t think you understand how—’

‘Ivy,’ he said, so firmly that her words froze on her tongue. ‘I promise you that I understand exactly what is going on here. It’s all I’ve thought about for four days. I dreamt about it, even, although I can’t say I’ve spent much time sleeping. I am exhausted, and stressed out of my mind. And frankly, I’m over it. I’m over feeling like that, but I can’t do anything about it. Neither can you.’

Ivy’s gaze travelled across his face, for the first time noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes and the spidery lines of red in his stare.

He’d just described her weekend, and beneath a thick layer of concealer she even had the matching blackened eyes.

‘But we’ve both decided to do this, so we might as well get to know each other. So again—tell me something about yourself.’

Tell him something?

I’m scared? I don’t know what I’m doing? I have no idea what to do with you?

‘I think that Aussie Rules football is the best game in the whole entire universe.’

And then Angus smiled. A gorgeous smile, an amazing smile.

‘So now we have two things in common,’ he said.

* * *

A selection of cakes later, Ivy stood with Angus outside the café. It was dark between the street lights, and only the occasional car swished past.

‘Where’d you park?’ Angus asked.

Ivy shook her head. ‘I didn’t. I just need to call my driver and he’ll come pick me up.’

A sudden gust of wind made her shiver, and Ivy wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

Angus took a step towards her—and for a moment Ivy thought he might put his arm around her again, as he had at the wine bar. But then he didn’t, and Ivy took a little longer than she would’ve liked to decide she was relieved.

Tonight hadn’t been as she’d planned. They’d talked about all things unimportant—the favourite football team they shared, the latest movies they’d seen, and even the weather. It had been kind of like a date.

Or rather exactly like one. Except it hadn’t had that early-date awkwardness. The overenthusiastic laughter or the well-rehearsed anecdotes.

It had been...nice. Better than nice.

‘I don’t remember—did you ask me to tell you something about myself?’

‘No,’ Ivy said, smiling. Then added in an obedient sing-song voice: ‘So, Angus, tell me something about yourself.’

‘I don’t leave ladies waiting on the street in the dark. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

Ivy raised her eyebrows. ‘What if I live on the other side of the city?’

Angus had already walked a few steps, and looked surprised she hadn’t already followed. ‘Do you?’

She lived a five-minute drive away. ‘No.’

He smiled. ‘Well, there you go. But it wouldn’t have mattered. I like driving.’

He waited another moment. ‘So am I waiting here while you call your driver, or are you letting me drive you home?’

It would take longer to call Simon and wait for him than for Angus to drive her home, and she could think of no good reason to refuse. So she found herself walking beside Angus the short distance to his car, parked around the corner.

It was exactly the type of car she’d expect him to drive: big and black and foreboding. Although its vast size didn’t assist with the unexpected sensation of intimacy when the doors were shut and they both sank into the lush leather seats.

Angus didn’t switch the radio on, and they sat in silence after she gave him the brief directions to her house.

Now it did feel like a first date. As if they’d just been out for a romantic dinner and Angus were driving her home and they were both wondering if there’d be a kiss on her doorstep.

How sweet. How quaint. How backwards given how she and Angus had met.

Ivy dug her nails into her palms, needing to force herself to face reality.

She couldn’t let her thoughts wander like this. She needed to focus, to remember what this really was.

‘I have an estimated due date,’ she said, the words sounding brittle in the silence. ‘July the second.’

Instantly the atmosphere in the car shifted.

There. Romantic notions gone.

‘Okay,’ Angus said. And Ivy supposed he couldn’t say much else.

‘That was what we were supposed to talk about today,’ she said. ‘That’s why I wanted to meet. To tell you that I had a scan today, and the baby has measured at five weeks and one day and that it’s due on July the second.’

Her words were more jumbled than brittle, now.

‘Thank you,’ Angus said, and Ivy couldn’t interpret his tone at all.

He slowed the car to turn into her driveway. The entrance was gated, but Ivy reached into her handbag for the small remote that swung the gates open.

Angus nosed the car up the long curved driveway and came to a stop before the limestone steps that led to the front door of her rambling nineteen-thirties double-storey home.

An automatic porch light flicked on, but otherwise the house was in darkness.

‘No butler to meet you?’ Angus asked, although his tone was not pointed, but curious.

Ivy laughed. ‘Do you think I have someone feed me grapes as I bathe, too?’

He shrugged. ‘You have a driver, so I assumed you had other staff.’

‘No,’ Ivy said. ‘I mean, because of the hours I work I have a weekly cleaner and a regular gardener, but that’s it. My home is my sanctuary, and I value my privacy.’

It already felt a little too private in the car, so Ivy opened her door and slid her feet out onto the driveway. She turned to thank Angus for the lift, but he’d climbed out of his seat too, and in a few strides stood beside her at the bottom of the steps.

Ivy didn’t know what to do now. Why had he done that? Why hadn’t he driven off and escaped while he could?

‘So I’m confused. If you value your privacy, why have your driver ferry you to meet me, twice? Where did you tell him you were going?’

‘Simon would never intrude on my personal life,’ Ivy said.

Although it had taken considerable subterfuge to attend her dating scan today without Simon knowing. In the end, she’d had him drop her off some distance away, and she’d walked to her appointment.

He never would’ve commented if she’d asked him to drop her off right outside the ultrasound clinic. But really? April and Mila didn’t even know yet. She couldn’t have her driver find out first, no matter how discreet he might be.

‘But regardless,’ Angus said, ‘wouldn’t it just be easier to drive five minutes from your house to meet me?’

He appeared genuinely flummoxed, and Ivy couldn’t help but smile. ‘Easier, yes—if I had a licence.’





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