by Anne Oliver
Slowly, Ivy pulled herself to a seated position.
‘Careful!’ he said, automatically.
She responded with a glare. ‘I am not an invalid. Even my doctor gave me the all-clear.’
‘As long as it doesn’t happen again.’
She sighed. ‘It won’t.’ She gestured at the half-eaten box of crackers and the remaining wedge of Cheddar cheese on the coffee table. ‘I am suitably fortified, I promise.’
But still, he watched warily as she crossed the room to the adjacent kitchen. She walked slowly—he suspected mostly for his benefit—and made it to the fridge in one piece.
On cue, she threw her arms out with a flourish, and took a theatrical bow in his direction. ‘Waa-lah! Behold! The amazing walking woman!’
Angus didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow, although he couldn’t help his halfway smile.
Somehow they had fallen into a truce. A demilitarised zone of sorts.
But this wasn’t what he had planned—this rather cosy scene in such a luxurious setting.
But then, he’d expected they would talk in a meeting room at a mine site. As it turned out, the three Bullah Bullah Downs mines were located many, many kilometres away from the homestead, and when he’d asked Ivy said she’d had no plans to visit them.
So he had been right. Ivy had run away to Bullah Bullah Downs. She’d quite literally sent the contract, and run.
And while a big portion of him was incredibly angry at her behaviour, all he saw as Ivy walked towards him with an overflowing platter in her arms was how she’d looked, crumpled on the ground beside the car.
Fragile. Vulnerable.
Not that she’d appreciate him thinking that. And Angus didn’t really think it was true. Ivy was strong, Ivy was independent.
But she was also pregnant, and for reasons he didn’t fully comprehend—she was scared.
‘I may have gone overboard in my attempt to divert any hint of a rumour,’ Ivy said, putting the platter down on the coffee table. ‘So please enjoy your sushi and selection of soft cheeses. There’s also a lot of wine in the fridge.’
Angus leant forward to study the feast. ‘And I see you aren’t about to starve, though.’
‘No,’ Ivy said with a smile. ‘Hard cheeses, bread and nuts seem to be my thing at the moment. And apples. And cake. There are actually quite a few cakes in the fridge. I may have been a little overenthusiastic when I made my catering order, too.’ She paused. ‘I suspect any rumours will instead be in relation to my new-found gluttony.’
For a while they both ate quietly, picking at the decadent food before them.
Tension still simmered between them, but now it wasn’t tinged with anger.
Pity he’d have to change that.
‘Why did you send me that contract, Ivy?’
Ivy’s head jerked up. She put her plate back on the coffee table, and then rearranged her legs from underneath her so she sat primly on the edge of the sofa, rather than comfortably cross-legged amongst the pillows.
‘I should’ve done it to start with.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
She looked away, staring out through the now darkened window at nothing.
‘I felt it was my only option.’
‘That doesn’t answer it either. Why?’
Her gaze snapped back to meet his, and it was immediately obvious that their truce was over. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘This is so easy for you, while everything in my life has to change. It’s not fair.’
Just like that, Angus was angry, too.
‘This is life-changing for me too, Ivy.’
But she shook her head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I told you what’s at stake here. My entire professional career hangs in the balance. Nothing has to change for you.’
Nothing had to change for him?
But before he had a chance to set her straight, Ivy continued, oblivious to his clenched jaw and the frustration running through his veins. ‘I don’t think you understand that I have to fix this. I can’t just carry on like it’s all okay, and that we’ll work it out, because we won’t. We can’t have coffee and lunch and talk about football and cancel meetings and just hope that magically it will all work out. Because it won’t.’
She was pacing the room, crossing from the couch to the kitchen and back. Her arms were wrapped tight around her, and she didn’t look at Angus at all.
He stood up, deliberately blocking her path, needing her to look at him.
Needing the Ivy he knew to be looking him straight in the eye when she spoke.
But she instead stared at a spot somewhere on his chest, her jaw in a stubborn line.
‘How does not seeing me at all fix anything, Ivy? That was all I saw in the contract, nothing about your career. Or about how you’ll erase what happened between us in Bali.’
Her gaze shot upwards to cling with his. ‘I don’t want to erase what happened in Bali,’ she said softly, then shook her head as if she’d only just realised what she’d said, her cheeks a deep pink. ‘I mean, just the bit where I forgot to take my pill that day.’ Then her gaze dropped down to her belly, which she covered with her hands. ‘Oh, I don’t think I meant that either, which makes no sense at all.’
Her fingers rubbed at her eyes, smudging make-up he hadn’t even realised she’d put on after her shower.
‘Ivy, tell me how the contract fixes anything.’
Her hands fell away. ‘It doesn’t fix everything,’ she said. ‘But it fixes you.’
‘What does that even mean?’
She threw her arms in the air, taking a step backwards so she could gesture between them. ‘It fixes this. It fixes me having to see you, having to deal with you being all strong and nice and sexy and confusing. I’m not myself when I’m with you. I make poor decisions; I don’t think straight; I don’t do anything right. I can’t control anything right now. I can’t stop my stupid body fainting. I can’t stop eating crackers. I can’t stop the fact that my whole world is going to collapse around me once I finally get the guts to tell anyone but my lawyer that I’m pregnant.’ She took a step towards him, tilting her chin upwards to meet his gaze. ‘But I can control this. I can stop this. It’s a start, anyway.’
Then her shoulders slumped, and she went to walk away.
But Angus’s hand shot out, wrapping around her upper arm.
‘You can’t control me, Ivy. You can’t control everything, no matter how badly you want to.’
He stepped even closer. Ivy’s chest was moving up and down as she took deep breaths, as if trying to pull herself together.
Angus loosened his grip on her arm, letting his hand run down past her elbow to her wrist. Beneath his fingertips, she shivered.
‘Are you okay?’ he said, suddenly worried. ‘Are you cold?’
She laughed, but without humour. ‘No, Angus. That’s just yet another thing I apparently can’t control.’
* * *
Ivy’s heart felt as if it were beating a billion miles an hour. That seemed to be what it did when Angus was so close to her, doing that strong and sexy thing he did so well.
And her skin shivered too, of course, when he touched her.
He’d gone completely still, which was good. It gave Ivy some chance of pulling herself together. Mortification was attempting to distract her from the immediate sensation of Angus’s touch. Because mortified she should be, for pacing around the homestead, ranting to Angus about things he certainly didn’t need to know.
But then his fingers began to move again, and the only thing Ivy could possibly think about was the man standing right in front of her.
‘I didn’t need to carry you inside today,’ he said, his voice low and like velvet.
‘You were making a po
int,’ she said. ‘About expectations.’
She’d barely needed the prompt. Today had confirmed that Angus Barlow was never going to behave the way she expected—or wanted.
But he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘At least that was a far secondary consideration. Mostly I just wanted to touch you.’
Ivy closed her eyes as warmth pooled low in her belly.
He was still touching her, his fingers having traced their way back up along her arm, across her shoulder to lightly brush against her exposed collarbone.
His touch was so light Ivy found herself swaying towards him, wanting him to be firmer, wanting to feel more than a hint of his strength and his heat.
She jumped at the sudden weight of his other hand on her hip, and his hand went still, as if allowing her a moment to adjust.
And then that hand was moving too, his thumb exploring the shape of her hipbone, his fingers flaring out to caress the upper slope of her backside.
Then the hand curled around further, to splay across the small of her back. Firm. Hard.
Her eyes still closed, she could suddenly feel his breath against her cheek, then her ear.
‘You lose control when you’re near me,’ he said, so softly.
It was pointless to argue, even if she was capable of it. Instead she simply sighed.
‘Ivy, I don’t want to be in control around you.’
Her eyes snapped open at the feel of those words against her lips. If she moved even a centimetre, their mouths would touch.
But she didn’t have to. The hand on her back pulled her firmly against him, his other hand sliding up to tangle in her still-damp hair.
And then his mouth took hers, and he was kissing her.
Hard and hot and all-consuming.
Out of control. But then, that was hardly unexpected.
Her own arms had managed to make their way to his shoulders, to cling and to wrap behind his neck. He didn’t really need her to pull him closer, but she gave it a go, wanting to feel every inch of him plastered against her body.
She kissed him back without restraint, far more so than in Bali. She tasted his tongue, explored his mouth, licked and sucked his lips.
And, God, how he kissed her back. He was right, she was never in control around him, but as they kissed he gave her the illusion of control, letting her take the lead, letting her press smaller kisses along his jaw, or break away to change the angle of their lips or choose to take things slow or fast.
But it wasn’t real. The moment Angus lost patience with her playfulness she found herself in the air for the second time today, being carried to the couch, and pushed deep into the pillows beneath his delicious weight.
And he kissed her then with intent, his hands inching beneath her singlet, her skin aching for his touch.
Her fingers slid along his spine, digging into the heavy muscles as they explored his breadth and shape. But then they found what they were really after—the hem of his T-shirt—and she got to work pulling the fabric upwards, desperate to feel his naked skin against hers.
She cradled him between her thighs, and it was impossible not to rub her body against that hardness.
Then his fingers made it to her bra, cupping her through the satin and lace, his thumb perfectly rough against her nipple.
But then he went still. Completely still.
‘Is it okay for the baby for me to be on top of you? Should we swap?’
He might as well have thrown a bucket of water over them both.
Ivy had frozen when Angus went still, but now she felt as cold as ice, the mention of their baby plunging her back into reality.
How had she let this happen?
She pulled his shirt back down, and shoved both her hands against his shoulders.
‘Get off me.’
Instantly he was on his feet. ‘Are you okay?’
There they were again, those lovely concerned eyes.
Ivy sat up, pulling her bra and singlet back to where they were supposed to be. She knew she was blushing, could feel it covering pretty much every square inch of her skin.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘Take any of the other rooms. They all have fresh linen.’
Then she noticed all the food still out. She grabbed at a random serving platter. ‘I’ll just put this away first. You can go to bed, though.’
She just wanted him away from her.
‘Ivy,’ he said. ‘What just happened?’
She shook her head. ‘I think it’s better if we both agree nothing happened, don’t you?’ She remembered his words from that first coffee. ‘You know, we’ve got eighteen years ahead of us and all that?’
Eighteen years with yet another meaningless night of sex to try not to think about...which of course, would be all this would’ve been. No, not a good idea.
Finally she managed to look at him.
He nodded sharply. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll help you tidy up.’
Then together they put the food away and cleaned up the kitchen.
Very politely, very awkwardly.
Then, just as Ivy began walking up the hallway to her room, Angus spoke.
‘I’m not going to sign that contract, Ivy. I’m going to be part of our baby’s life, and that means I’m going to be a part of yours. Like it or not.’
She didn’t bother turning around. ‘I know.’
SEVEN
Angus lay in his incredibly comfortable king-size bed and stared up at the elaborate ceiling rose above the guest room’s elegant chandelier without really seeing it.
He’d had a really good night’s sleep.
He’d always been good at sleeping anywhere, and at any time—an essential skill in his career. And he certainly didn’t need air conditioning, a fluffy doona and fancy sheets.
There were only two times in his life he remembered being unable to sleep: a couple of weeks ago, when Ivy told him she was pregnant. And the night his father died.
That was it.
He also didn’t really dream. He just lay his head on the pillow—or in his swag, or on the ground—and slept. Boom. And he slept for however long, and woke up. That was it.
Tom had asked him once if he had bad dreams.
Bad dreams about what they’d seen. What they’d done. What had happened to them. What could’ve happened to them. What could still happen to them.
Because it turned out Tom had really bad dreams. The type of bad dreams where he woke up soaked in sweat, or where his wife needed to shake him awake.
The type of dreams where sometimes he didn’t want to go to sleep.
Sometimes, Angus had said. Sometimes I have bad dreams.
And Tom had nodded, and swallowed, and looked so damn relieved that his mate understood what he was going through that Angus had been glad he’d lied.
But it had been a lie.
Because he didn’t have those dreams.
He didn’t come home from combat and then feel unsafe in his own home. He wasn’t alert to every sound, to every movement.
He didn’t sometimes sleep in his lounge room with all the lights on. Or drive all night so he didn’t have to sleep at all.
He didn’t gamble or drink or do drugs to dull painful memories.
He debriefed, he came home, and he was fine.
But not everyone came home fine. Tom hadn’t come home fine. The guy that Cam had told him about—Patrick—he was messed up too.
And Angus knew some of the guys saw psychs at times. It made sense. Most guys seemed to work their way through it, and they’d all been told enough times about normal reactions to trauma that he knew it was just that: normal.
Although some guys didn’t work through it. Tom hadn’t.
But how a
bout him? How about Angus?
How could he be so unaffected? How could he blissfully sleep like a log when he’d experienced so much, knew so much?
When your work dealt directly with life and death—and the pendulum could so easily swing one way or the other—of course that would mess you up, at least a little?
At some point—before Tom’s diagnosis with post-traumatic stress disorder—Angus had been quietly rather proud of his resilience.
He’d thought he was particularly tough. Thought he was particularly strong.
But Tom had been tough, as tough as Angus. Tougher. Stronger.
So now...now he didn’t think he should be proud.
Now he wondered what it was he lacked.
Of course it wasn’t the same, but wasn’t it at least a little unusual that he could have the most explosive kiss of his life with a woman who’d literally turned his life upside down, and then sleep in a strange bed for—he rolled over to check his phone—almost eight hours straight?
Shouldn’t he have tossed and turned, just a little?
Yesterday Ivy had tried so desperately to control him—to pack him away into a neat little lawyer-lined box. She didn’t like the undeniable pull of attraction between them, that was clear. To be honest, Angus wasn’t a big fan, either.
It did complicate things.
Last night Ivy had told him she lost control around him, and he’d openly told her that he found it pretty hard to stay in control around her, too.
And that did surprise him. He’d followed Ivy up here because that contract had made him so damn angry—and because he wasn’t going to let Ivy manipulate him.
He certainly hadn’t intended to kiss her.
He wanted a relationship with his child, and he wanted a cordial relationship with Ivy. Nothing more.
There was a reason he was single now, and his previous girlfriends had all eventually become fed up with him.
He’d begun to join the dots years ago, beginning to see the similarities between his ability to process and shrug off the impacts of war and his ability to distance himself so effortlessly within a relationship.
The thing was, in his job, it was a good thing. In day-to-day life, not so much.
