Читать книгу Nine Month Countdown - Leah Ashton - Страница 10

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 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.’