by Leah Ashton
But it had been unwise to persist with this faux cosiness, this illusion of a sexy weekend away between a loved-up couple—complete with a home-cooked breakfast.
He didn’t want this.
He didn’t want any of this.
But more importantly, he wasn’t capable of it, either.
TEN
The drive to Paraburdoo could only be described as awkward.
As was the flight home.
They spoke, but it was terribly, terribly polite.
Everything had changed so quickly. One moment all was well, and Angus had been all warm and sexy; the next it was clear—so clear—that it was over.
But what was it?
It was dangerous. As dangerous as how she’d felt when she’d woken to the smell of pancakes, or when Angus had kept touching her so subtly as they’d cleaned the kitchen. A hand on her hip, here. A deliberate brush of her fingers, there.
So, so dangerous.
She should be grateful she’d made that silly comment. And logically, she was.
She’d known that it would end, and soon. Was it wrong that she’d hoped it to last even a few hours longer? Could it really hurt if they’d pretended until they arrived back in Perth?
Or at least until they’d left the homestead?
Well, of course it could. Because what would it have achieved? Really?
A few more kisses. Maybe more, if they’d been quick.
No. Stop it.
Ivy had her hands rested neatly on her lap as she sat in the back seat of her car. It took everything she had not to twist them into knots. Because Angus sat beside her.
That had been another brilliantly awkward conversation:
‘I’ll get a taxi home.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I insist.’
‘Ivy—’
‘Please just let me drive you home.’
And however she’d said that last bit had finally convinced him. That bothered her, too.
What had she revealed for him suddenly to agree? Why had she even cared?
Why couldn’t he have just signed the bloody contract?
Why? Why? Why?
The car rolled to a stop on a quiet, tree-lined street in Swanbourne. Ivy didn’t know what she’d expected, but the lovely federation cottage with its neat box hedges and generous sprays of lavender was definitely not it.
‘It was my mum’s,’ Angus said, reading her mind. ‘But I like it.’
She liked that he did, not that it mattered.
‘I’d imagined something more...macho,’ she said.
‘And what does that mean?’
Something modern and concrete and angular?
No. That didn’t fit Angus.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe a log hut where you drag the food you’ve hunted with your bare hands?’
Angus barked a surprised laugh, the sharp sound unexpected amongst the still-simmering tension. ‘You’re unique, Ivy,’ he said.
She liked that he’d said that too.
He grabbed his backpack, and climbed out of the car.
He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t look back, either; he just walked up the recycled brick path to his front door.
‘We going straight to your place, Ms Molyneux?’ her driver asked, looking in his rear-view mirror.
Ivy realised she was staring at the now-closed cottage door.
She gave her head a little shake.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
The weekend was over.
* * *
‘Ivy? Are you listening?’
Ivy blinked. She was at April’s place, a lovely house perched on the beach in North Cottesloe. She held a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, and she’d been watching April as she’d talked, but, as hard as she tried, she hadn’t really been listening.
It was three days since she’d arrived back from Bullah Bullah Downs, and yet Angus still crowded her thoughts.
She tried to tell herself that was normal; after all, she’d never had such a casual—uh—relationship before, so it probably made sense that the experience would linger.
It was just that the lingering had been at the most inappropriate times. Like during an important conference call today when she’d completely lost her train of thought, or now—when clearly April had just told her something important.
‘I’m sorry. Something’s on my mind.’
‘I know, I know,’ April said, with the air of the long suffering, ‘work.’
Ivy opened her mouth to correct her sister, but then snapped it shut. No. It was impossible to tell April only part of the story, and she still wasn’t ready.
‘Well,’ April said, dragging out the word theatrically, ‘I know it’s a bit earlier than I’ve always said, but Evan and I have decided to try for a baby!’
Ivy went completely still.
April was beaming. ‘I know it’s kind of weird to tell you—I mean, basically I’m telling you that Evan and I are having lots of unprotected sex—but, you know, I just had to tell somebody.’
It took some effort, but Ivy arranged her lips into a smile. ‘That’s brilliant, April, how exciting.’
April tilted her head, studying Ivy. ‘You okay?’
Ivy nodded vigorously. ‘I’m fine. And I’m thrilled for you.’
And she was. Just the secret that she was keeping from everyone now felt a million times larger.
‘I’m going to tell Mila too. Not Mum though.’ Her sister paused. ‘I’d rather keep it a big surprise for her and tell her when we fall pregnant. She’ll be over the moon!’
‘You think?’ Ivy asked, surprised. ‘She wasn’t all that maternal with us.’
They’d had a team of wonderful nannies to look after them while their mother worked her incredibly long hours. She still worked those hours, now.
‘Of course. Who wouldn’t want to be a grandmother?’
‘I suppose,’ Ivy said, but didn’t really agree.
But then, her relationship with her mother had always been different from that of Mila and April. Her mother had always been tougher on her, always held her to a higher standard of achievement, always pushed her harder. Because—her mother said—you’re just like me.
Now would be the perfect time to tell April of her pregnancy.
Right now.
Because now she didn’t just feel as if she were omitting something, she felt as if she was outright lying.
But April would shriek with excitement and ask a million questions and be all joyful and just plain happy, and she wouldn’t understand when Ivy tried to explain why she was so damn terrified about it all. So. Now wasn’t the right time.
But she did have to tell her. And Mila, and her mother.
Soon. Very soon, because she couldn’t keep hoping she’d miraculously come up with a better plan.
It wasn’t going to happen.
And as nice as it would be to tell only April and Mila, and to bask in their excitement before they started to connect the dots and work out what it actually meant for Molyneux Mining, the better way was to tell them all together.
Because her mother would connect the dots immediately. She’d leap right to the point, because that was what she did. As in business, it would be better that way.
April had left the room, and came back now with a small pile of pregnancy magazines, which she placed carefully on the coffee table in front of Ivy.
‘Look, I know this is totally jumping the gun, but honestly, I don’t know anything, and none of my friends have had kids yet, and...’
Yes. She’d tell them all at dinner on Sunday.
* * *
That evening, Angus pushed the buzzer on the stainless-steel panel b
olted to Ivy’s limestone fence, and waited.
After a minute, Ivy’s voice came through the speaker. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Angus,’ he said.
He’d then fully expected to have to explain why he was here, but instead the gate immediately began to open.
Surprised, he climbed back into his car, and drove up the neat driveway.
Ivy stood with her arms folded at the base of the steps that led to her front door, dressed in jeans and a loose T-shirt, waiting for him.
He jumped out of his car, and slammed the door behind him. ‘I expected that to be more difficult.’
‘I expect that people call before visiting,’ Ivy said, one eyebrow raised. Her hair was loose, and a few tendrils blew across her cheeks in the evening breeze.
He shrugged. ‘I was concerned that warning you may have resulted in another contract on arrival.’
‘I let you in because I didn’t want you to pull another stunt like at the airport.’
Angus grinned. ‘I like that. Now I’m a stuntman, and a soldier.’
Ivy rolled her eyes, but his comment had the desired effect as she couldn’t hide a subtle smile. ‘I suppose you want to come in?’
‘Up to you,’ he said. ‘I’m mainly here for a delivery.’
He held out a small brown paper bag.
Now he’d intrigued her. ‘For me?’
‘Don’t get too excited.’
She took the bag, and he could see her warring with her inherent politeness.
‘It’s dark,’ she said, eventually. ‘Come inside, I’ll open it in there.’
He followed her into the house. They walked past a broad, curving staircase and elaborate leadlight doors to the open-plan kitchen and living area.
While the kitchen was modern, the house seemed to have retained most of its original features—with detailed ceiling mouldings, a high plate rail on the walls and wide polished jarrah floorboards. The furniture was a mix of old and new, and it felt as if Ivy had decorated it, rather than some fancy interior designer.
He liked it, and he told her so.
Ivy smiled. ‘Thanks. I used to walk past this house on the way to school. I always wanted to live here when I was a kid. I thought it was magical with all its arches and curves, and the Juliet balcony upstairs. My mum bought it for me after...’ Her words trailed off as she walked over to the fridge. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘That’s quite a gift.’
‘Well,’ Ivy said, ‘at the time my mum wanted to make quite the gesture.’
‘About what?’
Ivy held open the fridge door and pointed at the shelves. ‘Juice? Wine? Beer? Water?’
‘Beer,’ he said. He hadn’t planned to stay, but now he couldn’t remember why.
He watched her as she carried the beer to the bench, and then located a bottle opener in her cutlery draw.
Her jeans were faded and loose, as if they were her old favourites—and he imagined her taking off her tailored work clothes to slide into them.
Which wasn’t the greatest idea.
He immediately wondered if she’d worn the same style of underwear today as she’d worn in the Pilbara: plain and simple but incredibly—incredibly—sexy. Or if she’d worn a skirt to work today like the one she’d worn when they’d had lunch. Prim, and fitted and—yep—incredibly sexy as well.
‘Let’s just say,’ Ivy said, ‘that my mother was keen to end what she considered my rebellious phase.’
It took him a moment to remember what they’d been talking about.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me when I was ever rebellious?’ she prompted.
He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t surprise me at all.’
Ivy pushed the now-opened bottle across the kitchen bench towards him. She leant one hip against the granite, a glass of juice in her hand.
‘Really?’ she said, and seemed pleased. ‘I don’t think anyone has ever thought me capable of being a rebel.’
‘But you just said you were.’
This wasn’t making a lot of sense.
Her gaze darted downwards, as if she now found her juice endlessly fascinating. ‘I wasn’t, not really.’
‘Just enough for your mum to buy you a house so you’d stop being one.’
‘No, it wasn’t like that,’ Ivy said to the flecks of stone in the bench top. ‘I mean, yes, I did say that, but...’ Then she looked up and caught Angus’s gaze. ‘Really, it doesn’t matter, does it? My mum bought me a house, which probably fits every spoilt-little-rich-girl stereotype ever, and that’s the end of it.’
She’d left the bag he’d handed her on the corner of the bench, near where Angus stood, and now she strode over to pick it up, clearly hoping to change the subject.
Her movements were rushed and awkward, and it took some effort for Angus not to reach out for her—but to do what, he wasn’t sure.
‘Ivy, you go after what you want, and what you think is right,’ Angus said, deciding if he couldn’t reassure with his touch, he’d try something else. ‘I might not always agree with you, but I can still respect your drive, your focus. So yes, if what you wanted wasn’t the “right” thing to do, I have no trouble imagining you rebelling.’
Ivy studied him for a moment, with wariness in her eyes—as if waiting for a punchline.
But after a while, her lips curved into half a smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That was a nice thing to say.’
‘And for what it’s worth,’ he added, ‘I don’t think anything about you is stereotypical. Of anything, or anyone.’
Her smile broadened. ‘Are you saying I’m a bit weird?’
He grinned, too. ‘You know I’m not.’
Her gaze dropped again.
He tapped at the bag she was still holding. ‘Can you hurry up and have a look?’
When she looked up her gaze was teasing again. ‘Goodness, you’re pushy!’
‘You’re surprised?’
Then she laughed, and it was as if all that awkwardness—and whatever it was she’d almost told him—had never happened.
She dumped the contents of the bag onto the bench.
A couple of thick, glossy booklets; an application form; and a few other bits and pieces he’d printed off the Internet.
‘A learner’s permit application?’ Ivy asked, picking up the offending piece of paper as if it had a disease. ‘Why would you think I’d want this?’
‘Because I think it’s crazy that a woman your age, in a city like Perth with less than stellar public transport, doesn’t have a licence.’
Ivy shrugged. ‘I’m not going to get a licence just to make you feel better.’
‘No, although I’m surprised you’d be comfortable being the only mum in your mothers’ group being dropped off with bub in a limo. Now, then you’d be fitting every spoilt-little-rich-girl stereotype in the book.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you come across mothers’ groups in all your researching?’
No, actually. Tom had told him, years ago, after a ‘swarm of babies’ had descended on his home a few months after he’d had his first.
‘I can come up with other similarly awkward scenarios, especially as our baby grows up. I don’t know about you, but I would’ve hated being dropped off at footy training in the family Rolls Royce with a driver in a silly hat in the front seat.’
‘I don’t own a Rolls, or a silly hat for my driver to wear,’ Ivy said, but the bite had gone from her words.
‘I’ve hit a nerve?’
Ivy ran her hands through her hair, absently piling it up on top of her head before letting it tumble back down to her shoulders. ‘You can be very annoying, you know that?’ she said, then sighed. ‘I used to get crap at school because I had a driver drop me off, not my mum. Ev
eryone thought I was a snob—which is saying something given I went to a very posh school. My sisters were good at dealing with that sort of teasing, but I was just rubbish at it. I tend to think of clever things to say half an hour after it would’ve been useful.’ She looked down at her tummy. ‘What if this little bub takes after me in that way, and not you?’
‘True,’ he said, with a completely straight face, ‘that would be tragic.’
Ivy reached out to gently shove him on the shoulder. ‘Ha-ha. Let me guess—you were the most popular boy in school?’
‘Close,’ he said. ‘Maybe third most popular is more accurate.’
He was only partly teasing. School had been a lot of fun for him—until his father’s sudden death had ripped it all away.
Ivy was looking at him curiously. ‘You okay?’
Angus deliberately smiled, annoyed that he’d revealed something in his expression.
‘Of course. So—you’re going to get your licence, then?’
Slowly, Ivy nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It would seem so.’
‘Great!’ he said, with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary. ‘I’ll come over on Sunday for your first lesson.’
‘Pardon me?’
Angus took a long sip of his beer. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he said. ‘We still have a lot to work out before the baby arrives—and we’ll need to come to some sort of parenting arrangement so access, financial issues and so on are clear between us. And I still think it’s important we continue to get to know each other better.’ He paused, then added, ‘Clothed.’
As he’d intended, Ivy blushed a deep scarlet.
‘Are you sure that’s the best idea?’ she asked. ‘We can have those discussions in a meeting room at the Molyneux Tower. Or my lawyer’s office. Keep it more formal. And surely they can wait a few months, anyway?’
‘I can’t see any benefit in a delay,’ Angus said. ‘Especially as I could be deployed at any time once I return to work.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But what are you worried about? Am I that irresistible?’
Ivy glared at him. ‘I know that I’m clear that we can’t...um—’
‘Have sex?’ he prompted helpfully.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We can’t do that again. It’s too complicated.’
