Nine Month Countdown. Leah Ashton

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

      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