‘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.’
Pregnant?
All the stupid, obvious questions were on the tip of his tongue.
Are you sure?
How...?
Is it mine?
But he knew all the answers:
Of course she was. That she wanted to be anywhere but here was clear in everything about her. She was one hundred per cent sure or she wouldn’t be putting either of them through this.
The how hardly needed explaining. He’d been there, too.
And was it his?
Well, that was only a faint hope that this was all a terrible mistake, rather than a genuine question.
And he was grateful that a small smidgen of his brain told him to swallow the words before they leapt from his mouth.
Because of course it was his. He had known what he’d been doing in Bali—known he’d pushed her out of her comfort zone, known he’d pursued the electric attraction between them to what he’d felt was the only logical conclusion...
But that she didn’t normally have random sex with a practical stranger on a beach had been abundantly clear.
So yes, it was his.
With the basics covered, he dropped his head, gripping his skull with his hands.
He swore harshly.
That was about the sum of it.
‘Angus?’
He kept his head down, but he nodded.
‘I know this is a shock. I know this is the wrong place to tell you. When I called I hadn’t planned this...but...’
It didn’t matter. Who cared where she told him?
His