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       Dedication:

      With thanks to the fabulous Meredith Webber,

      whose passion for slithering things reaffirmed my commitment

      to this story, and to Trish Morey, whose laughter is magic.

       Dear Reader

      Why do my Christmases always end in chaos? Every year I plan a beautiful Christmas, my detailed lists outlining tasteful table settings, inventive menus, glorious weather and great gifts. But every year … chaos. Glorious, wonderful chaos, with my family chuckling at my lists as they mix sausage rolls with salmon roulade, as they double the amount of brandy in the brandy sauce, as they rock with laughter when my mum gives me an ‘abdomeniser’—don’t ask, but apparently it’s because she knows I can use it …

      My Christmas always turns to muddle, and in exactly the same way my hero and heroine, Jess and Ben, are stunned as Christmas brings love and life-affirming magic. They’re a man and woman whose Christmas chaos gives them what they need most of all—each other.

      If you’re reading this before Christmas, then good luck with those lists. If you’re reading afterwards … Hooray—that was another muddle, and wasn’t it fabulous? Meanwhile, happy reading. Christmas and romance—my very favourite mix.

       Marion

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘ALL I want for Christmas is a males-only island. One bearded Santa with all-male reindeer, dropping gifts of boys’ own adventure books without a girl in sight. Nothing else. While I waited for the Blythe baby I read of a monastery where they don’t even allow hens. Research it for me, Ellen. I’ll spend Christmas there.’

      Ben Oaklander’s secretary was sorting the last of her boss’s documents into his briefcase. She didn’t blink. After working for Ben for five years, very little made Ellen blink. ‘You don’t need a monastery,’ she retorted. ‘Cassowary Island has cassowaries. There won’t be a lot else.’

      ‘Except a conference load of obstetricians. I’ll bet at least one’s female.’

      ‘If you don’t like women, why be an obstetrician?’

      ‘I like my mothers. I like my colleagues.’ Ben eyed his secretary and finally decided compromise was a good idea. ‘Thus I like you. I also like babies, whatever the sex. But that’s the end of my attachment.’

      ‘Yet you choose to date,’ she said, unruffled. She searched the desk for his USB stick and placed it in his briefcase. Back-up. Not that it’d be needed. Ben Oaklander was nothing if not meticulous. His keynote speech would be backed up four different ways, and he wouldn’t refer to notes once.

      ‘That’s it. Dating. Nothing more.’ Ben raked his long fingers through his dark, wavy hair, leaving it rumpled. Rumpled was Ben’s constant state. Sleepless nights delivering babies, plus a hectic research and teaching load meant crazy schedules, a constant five-o’clock shadow, shirts crushed from catnaps during long deliveries …

      But his rumpled state made not one whit of difference to his innate sexiness, Ellen thought. It was no wonder he had woman trouble. Her boss was thirty-five years old, tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous. As an obstetrician known for non-interference, Ben spent a lot of time waiting. While he waited in the small hours he used the hospital gym and it showed. His body … well, a sixty-year-old secretary shouldn’t think what Ellen was thinking about his body.

      And then there was his intellect …

      Ben Oaklander was fast gaining a reputation as one of Australia’s foremost obstetricians. The invitation to be keynote speaker at the international obstetrics symposium—held in Australia this year for the first time—was a signal to the world that he was on top of his game.

      But