Nine Month Countdown by Leah Ashton

Author:Leah Ashton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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