Australia: Bundles of Joy. Nicola Marsh

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      b) jocks

      c) thongs

      d) free-balling it

      The Perfect Man looks best in:

      a) a suit

      b) jeans

      c) underwear

      d) nothing at all

      The Perfect Man’s best accessory is:

      a) his cuff-links

      b) his Palm Pilot

      c) his tie-pin

      d) you

      Though she was tempted to answer’d’ to all of the above for a laugh, she typed a quick response.

      To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: The PM fallacy

      Luce,

      In my case, no such thing.

      Nice work, though. Perhaps applying these questions to Aidan might be more appropriate?

      Isn’t he your PM?

      K

      For someone who loved her scrapbook, and who had enjoyed jotting down quotes from her favourite people her entire life, she suddenly wished she’d ditched Keely’s Collection for a more practical guide. Perhaps something like Real Men Aren’t Perfect. Evaluate every relationship you’ve ever had and find out why.

      She’d devised her checklist as a tongue-in-cheek exercise when dumped by Ray all those years ago, though she’d forgotten to apply it when Jon had come along four years later and she’d really fallen hard. Maybe if she’d remembered it she wouldn’t have gone through the heartache of losing a man she’d thought she loved at the time. She’d also realised that if a guy who’d openly professed his love for her could then run out on her after discovering her inability to have kids—then any man could.

      Now, the fictitious man she’d described in her list had walked into her life. From his dark wavy hair and bluer-than-blue eyes to his fondness for doughnuts, he appeared perfect in every way.

      And what was she going to do about it?

      ‘Damned if I know,’ she muttered as she scanned a few inter-office memos.

      Lucy’s response came in just as she’d deleted the last one.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: R all the good ones taken?

      K,

      Aidan is an accountant, therefore can’t be PM material

      Luce

      Shaking her head, she wondered when Lucy was going to wake up, take off her rose-coloured glasses—literally—and take a good look at what was right in front of her. Aidan seemed an ideal match for her and, though he appeared conservative at first glance, she knew he harboured a wild streak. After all, she’d seen the car he drove, and a maroon convertible sports car with cream leather seats didn’t seem too boring to her.

      Add to that the abseiling equipment she’d glimpsed in the rear seat and there were definite possibilities there.

      The guy seemed to have it all—good looks, a great job, he was polite and genuinely interested in Lucy. What more did the girl need?

      Promising herself this would be the last e-mail she sent before settling down to work for the day, she responded.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: Perish the thought!

      Luce,

      That makes him into figures. Particularly yours if

      I’m not mistaken.

      Your PM is due in today.

      Y don’t U follow up?

      K

      (PS Get back to work!)

      Taking a leaf out of her own book, she clicked on the icon to bring up Lachlan’s website and hoped she could focus on work and not on the weekend ahead. Though the logical part of her brain knew that spending time with Lachlan at his beach house was work, she had a sneaking suspicion that her romantic side was telling her otherwise.

      Keely had watched Lachlan ride monstrous waves perched on an impossibly small piece of fibreglass for the last hour, her heart pounding most of the time.

      However, it was nothing compared to the way it thundered in her chest as he jogged up the beach towards her.

      The water-slicked wetsuit moulded to him like a second skin, delineating every last muscle of his toned body as he carried the surfboard under one arm as if it weighed nothing at all. He’d run a hand through his hair, sending dark spikes in all directions, while the deep blue of his eyes reflected the cloudless Torquay sky.

      As he got closer his boyish grin lit a fire within her, its heat licking along every nerve-ending in her body, heightening her awareness till nothing else existed but this man, this moment.

      ‘So, what do you think?’ He planted the surfboard in the sand and leaned against it, looking like an irresistible advertisement for the sport.

      ‘I think you’re nuts for balancing on that little board and inviting the sharks to nibble at your toes.’

      His smile broadened. ‘Care to try?’

      ‘The balancing or the nibbling?’ The words popped out before she could stop them and his smile turned to laughter.

      ‘I didn’t know you had a foot fetish. Lucky I’m a psychologist.’

      She rolled her eyes, enjoying the light-hearted banter they’d been trading all day. The drive from Melbourne to Bell’s Beach had taken just over an hour, and her initial nervousness at spending so much time confined in his car had vanished as they’d made small talk.

      ‘Then colour me crazy.’

      He squatted down beside her, effectively blocking out the sun, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Care for an in-depth one-on-one consultation?’

      His voice dropped lower, its tone seductively husky, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t offering her a professional evaluation.

      She leaned back on her outstretched arms in an attempt to put some distance between them. If she’d been hot before, having him this close ensured she entered meltdown.

      ‘Maybe I’m too complicated for you to figure out?’

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