Harlequin KISS November 2014 Box Set: Behind Closed Doors...Fired by Her FlingWho's Calling the Shots?Nine Month Countdown

by Anne Oliver

  She needed this. Her structured, controlled, planned life had plummeted into a chaos that she had no idea how to fix. Maybe she couldn’t fix it, and if she thought about that too long it terrified her.

  But this felt good. This, at this moment, felt right.

  Even if it wouldn’t feel right tomorrow.

  It didn’t matter.

  Angus’s lips coasted along her jaw, pressing hard kisses along her neck.

  ‘You good?’ he said, deep and low, against her ear.

  She nodded firmly yes. And as if that might not be clear enough, she said it aloud, too.

  She felt his smile against her skin.

  Ivy’s hands had shoved his T-shirt up as much as was possible, her fingernails grazing his chest and those lovely muscles of his stomach, before she explored lower, sliding just beneath the top of his shorts.

  Then Angus pushed her top up, and his mouth quickly covered her nipple, and Ivy went perfectly still.

  His tongue was hot, gentle, rough, all at once. He took his time, licking, kissing—waiting for her reaction before doing again what made her sigh.

  His big hands were flat on her back, holding her still. She sank down onto him as her head fell backwards, loving the feel of his hardness beneath her.

  She impatiently shifted her hips, and Angus used his teeth, so, so gently, against her breast. Later.

  But it already felt as if she’d been waiting far too long.

  Since the waterfall. Since Bali.

  Her hands had lain, useless and forgotten, on her lap, but now she put them to use, feeling for the snap closure on his shorts, as his head and shoulders blocked her view.

  For a moment, she did go still, though. To watch him kiss her breasts. She had the same realisation every time she was close to him: he was so big, so broad, so overwhelming.

  But right now, so careful. So focused.

  On her.

  It was a heady sensation. Sexy.

  And she didn’t just get to look at him, she got to feel him. Got to explore his strength, and experience how incredible all that controlled, amazing, coiled strength made her feel.

  Finally she pulled the snap open, and it was easy to rip apart the Velcro fly on the board shorts.

  He wore nothing beneath, and she shimmied backwards on his thighs so she could see what she’d just revealed.

  Angus leaned back against the chair, and then, with a cheeky grin, reached down to adjust the chair so he reclined back further.

  He looked so pleased with himself, Ivy grinned back, but then he reached for the button of her own shorts, and she formed her lips into a stern line.

  Later.

  She gripped his length in her hand, running her fingers from base to tip.

  His breath had quickened, and he studied her from beneath half-lidded eyes.

  She moved her hand again, enjoying the feel of him, the warmth and the sensation that he was growing even harder as she touched him.

  ‘Ivy.’

  The roughly spoken word dragged her attention back to his lips. She rose to her knees, desperately needing to kiss him again.

  And when they did kiss, it was rough and messy and desperate.

  Between them they unzipped her shorts, and somehow she managed to wiggle her way out of them, along with her bikini bottoms, twisting this way and that on Angus’s lap.

  ‘You’re killing me here, Ivy.’

  But finally she was free to straddle him again, and his hands cupped bare skin, gliding around to slide through her wetness, and to circle her where she needed it most.

  She groaned, and kissed him again. Hard.

  She reached for him, but then his lips were at her ear.

  ‘I’m clean. There’s been no one else since Bali.’

  It shouldn’t have been the perfect thing to say, but somehow it was. ‘Me too,’ she whispered.

  And then she couldn’t wait even a moment longer.

  She wrapped her hand around him again, then slid, not slowly at all, downwards.

  She sucked in a breath, the sensation of having him inside her, stretching her, filling her, almost too good.

  But then she moved, and that was even better.

  His fingers gripped her bottom, but she didn’t need him to guide her. They fell instantly into the perfect rhythm, and his mouth found hers, kissing her again and again.

  And the tension built inside her, growing and tightening low in her belly with every stroke and slide and sigh.

  Then his clever fingers touched her where they were joined, and that was all it took to push her over an edge she’d felt she’d been teetering on for ever.

  And fall she did, into wave after wave of sensation.

  Then Angus was moving her hips harder, and faster, and the waves just kept on coming, overwhelming her in a way she’d never, ever experienced.

  Then he was groaning into her ear, and finally, finally Ivy began to float back down to earth.

  She lay there, sprawled on top of him, the four-wheel drive loud with their heavy, laboured breathing.

  ‘Would it be wrong if I asked you to carry me inside again?’ Ivy asked.

  Her legs felt as substantial as fairy floss.

  She sensed his smile, even though her face was pressed against his chest. ‘No problem, just give me a minute. Right now, I just about need someone to carry me.’

  And Ivy just smiled against his still-heated skin.

  * * *

  ‘So I have a theory,’ Ivy said, a few hours later.

  On Ivy’s king-size bed, Angus rolled onto his side to face her. She stood in the en-suite doorway, wrapped in a pure white bathrobe, and with a towel twisted around her hair.

  ‘Yeah?’

  She nodded. ‘A theory that makes this weekend okay.’

  ‘This weekend is better than okay, Ivy.’

  She narrowed her cool blue eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’

  She crossed the wide floorboards to perch primly on the edge of the bed. Angus sat up, the sheet puddled around his waist.

  ‘Well, my theory is that you’d already seen me naked in Bali, so it isn’t like this weekend makes any difference.’

  ‘Because I would’ve been thinking of you naked whenever I saw you to pick up or drop off our kid, anyway.’

  ‘No!’ she said, swatting at his legs beneath the sheets. Then, ‘Really?’

  He shrugged. ‘Of course. On the plus side, now I can imagine you in daylight.’

  Ivy flopped onto her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Oh, no.’

  Angus grinned. ‘Look, we both knew in Bali that we were just having fun. We both know now that we’re just having fun. I’m sure we’re both mature enough to behave like grown-ups in the future.’

  ‘Except for the imagining me naked bit.’

  ‘If it makes you feel better, I don’t mind if you imagine me naked, too.’

  Ivy tilted her head to glare at him.

  ‘Do you want to hear my theory?’ Angus said.

  ‘Only if it doesn’t involve nudity.’

  ‘Done,’ he said. He reached for the tie of Ivy’s bathrobe, and tugged it open, just because he could. Ivy watched him, but didn’t move, the hint of a smile on her lips. The terry towelling of the robe didn’t move a lot, but it did reveal a lovely slither of skin. Not enough, though. ‘Okay, so my theory is that this weekend is a great idea because clearly we needed more than Bali to get this thing out of our systems. If we hadn’t slept together again, we would’ve had all this unresolved tension between us. This way we clear the air.’

  ‘So having sex now will be good for our parenting in the future.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You should be in the Molyneux Mining mar
keting department,’ Ivy commented.

  ‘You shouldn’t be wearing so many clothes.’

  He moved so he was leaning across her, one hand on either side of her face.

  ‘Well,’ she said, very softly, ‘technically I’m not wearing any clothes.’

  Angus reached between them, pulling her robe completely open. He levered himself upwards, to survey what he’d revealed.

  ‘You know what?’ he said, after a very long while. ‘I think you’re right.’

  He leant down, kissing her gently before pulling away to look at her again.

  ‘Although, maybe I’ll just check one more time.’

  Ivy laughed, then tugged him down for another kiss.

  * * *

  Angus made breakfast again the next morning.

  He’d woken beside Ivy after—as standard—another excellent night’s sleep.

  It had been a very long time since he’d last woken up in a woman’s bed. A year, at least. Maybe two.

  It was a slightly uncomfortable realisation.

  He’d had girlfriends, of course. Nothing too long-term—a few months, maybe.

  What he’d told Ivy yesterday had been partially true. He didn’t like emotional farewells.

  But not because he found them emotional.

  It was stupid really, that the tears always surprised him. There he was, thinking everything was fine, that both he and the woman he was seeing were happy casually dating. And then the tears came. The earnest requests to keep in touch whenever he could.

  Yet he never felt that way. He had no problem at all leaving. And if he was honest, it was more that he didn’t make time—rather than that he forgot—to reply to emails or to video call home when he could.

  So those farewells simply exposed a disconnect. Between the type of relationship he wanted—with no tears and no expectations—and the starkly, starkly different relationship his girlfriends had expected.

  Eventually a pattern even he couldn’t fail to miss had arisen amongst his ex-girlfriends’ angry, parting words.

  Thoughtless. Selfish. Cold. Distant.

  And he’d realised, maybe around the time that Tom had left the regiment, that it was better if he didn’t do relationships at all—even the most casual. So he might go out on the occasional date. But he’d never stay the night.

  No expectations. No hurt feelings. No confusion.

  He’d determined he simply wasn’t wired for long-term relationships. For marriage. For commitment.

  But everything had changed with Ivy’s pregnancy. Now he, like it or not, had a permanent commitment—to his child. He’d have a child who might, once old enough, want to come and wave goodbye. Who would expect him to email or video call and would maybe even make one of those welcome home signs to hold on his return.

  He hadn’t planned this, but it was his new reality.

  But what if he fell into his old habits? He’d been no good at maintaining a romantic relationship—what if the same applied to his child?

  He remembered how much it had hurt when his dad had chosen hours in his office over his son. He’d adored his father, and deep down he’d known he was loved. But sometimes he had felt like an afterthought. Forgotten amongst the importance of work.

  He didn’t want to be that type of father. It was why he’d never intended to have children, to avoid the risk altogether.

  So he needed to do everything he could to prevent that happening. To prevent his child being hurt.

  It was why he was so persistent that he would be part of Ivy’s life. They hadn’t yet talked about how they would manage their co-parenting, how they would share custody—how they’d do anything. He knew, instinctively, that Ivy wasn’t ready for that discussion yet.

  But what he did know was that he needed to do this right.

  Lawyers, obviously, wouldn’t work. Neither would unresolved tension with Ivy.

  ‘Morning.’

  Ivy padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She wore a pale pink singlet and neat white underwear, and Angus honestly didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful.

  She hardly looked at him as she climbed onto the bar stool. A hand reached up to pat ineffectually at her less than sleek hair.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror,’ she said, looking at him with a half-lidded sleepy gaze. ‘But I still suspect I should apologise for the state of my hair.’

  No, last night she’d been a bit too distracted after her shower to think about drying it.

  ‘You look stunning,’ he said, meaning it.

  She stuck out her tongue. ‘Ha-ha.’ Then she grinned. ‘But I forgive you, because you’ve made me breakfast again.’

  ‘Pancakes, bacon, bananas and maple syrup,’ he said.

  ‘Bacon?’

  ‘It’s a taste sensation,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’

  She raised a sceptical eyebrow, but tucked into her breakfast, none the less.

  Later, she helped him load the dishwasher.

  ‘I wouldn’t have picked you as a cook,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t get too excited—breakfast is my speciality.’ He could’ve left it at that, but then found himself still talking. ‘My mum was an incredible cook. I guess I picked up a few things from her. I do a mean lasagne.’

  ‘I’d love to try it one—’ Ivy began, then stopped abruptly.

  She took an already clean plate to the stainless-steel bin, and scraped at it with a knife to remove non-existent scraps.

  I’d love to try it one day.

  The atmosphere in the kitchen had shifted.

  Before it had been all light, and flirtatious, with everything they said and did touched by the afterglow of the night they’d shared.

  But with that one short sentence, this wasn’t the casual, one-off weekend they’d agreed to last night.

  Sun still streamed through the huge sliding doors, but now it seemed too bright. As if it were shining a light on all that was wrong with this image, rather than all that was superficially right.

  He should have returned to his own bed last night.

  Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue. Maybe Ivy wanted nothing more, either.

  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 no
t 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.