Читать книгу Flirting with the Forbidden - Joss Wood - Страница 11

THREE

When she was very tired, stressed or emotional Morgan saw dots in front of her eyes and the letters on a page danced and shuffled about. However, this was the first time the room had ever moved, that faces had bopped and objects jiggled.

Morgan closed her eyes and wondered if she had imagined the last thirty seconds. She’d thought she’d heard her mother say that she wanted her to take over the organising the Moreau Charity Ball—the most anticipated ball on the international social scene, held once every five years, displaying the full collection of gemstones and jewellery the Moreau family had acquired over many generations.

There were only three thousand guests attending, five hundred of whom were invited by Hannah herself from among their loyal customers, long-time business associates and preferred suppliers. For the rest, whether they were royalty or the average Joe, they had to place a bid for a double ticket and the highest bids won the highly sought after tickets.

It was outrageous how much people were prepared to pay for a double ticket. Simply inconceivable... And that was why, along with the auction, the Moreau Charity Ball raised tens of millions for the various causes they supported around the world.

But for their money their guests expected the best entertainers, visually stunning dress sets, Michelin star quality food—the whole gilt-plated bang-shoot.

It was rich, it was exclusive, it was the social highlight of the half-decade. And if you wanted to be part of the experience then you paid, stratospherically, for the privilege of being there.

And Hannah wanted her to run it? Morgan felt her throat constrict. She lifted her left hand and didn’t realise that she was groping for Noah’s hand until his strong fingers encircled her palm and squeezed.

‘Breathe,’ he told her, his voice authoritative even though it was pitched at a volume only she could hear. ‘Again; in and out. There you go.’

Morgan felt the room settle as oxygen reached her brain and lungs. When she thought she could speak she licked her lips and considered removing her hand from Noah’s strong grasp. But since it seemed to be her only tenuous link to reality, she left it exactly where it was.

Morgan made herself look at her mother, who had the slightest smile on her face. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘Not at all,’ Hannah replied. ‘I’d like you to plan, organise and execute the ball.’

‘But—’

‘Riley will help you with the creative side—help you pick the theme, do the design. You both have an amazing streak of creativity and I know that it will look visually spectacular.’

Morgan shook her head, wishing she could speak freely and say exactly what was on her mind. I don’t do well with reading reports, writing reports, analysing spreadsheets. You know this! I’ve worked really hard to conquer my dyslexia, but it’s still there and it becomes a lot worse when I’m stressed. This ball will stress me out to the max! I don’t want to mess this up; it’s too important for me to be in charge of.

Hannah’s eyes softened but determination radiated from her face. ‘Honey, I know that you will be fine. I know that you also have your own commissions, your own business to run, so the full resources that are available to me are available to you too. We’ll hire you a PA for this project; she’ll type your reports and be your general gopher. James will keep an eye on the finances and you’ll liaise with Jack regarding the promotion and advertising of the ball. Noah will draw up plans to keep the jewels safe, and I’ll be on the other end of a mobile. You just have to co-ordinate, make decisions, boss people about.’

‘You’re good at that,’ James inserted with an easy grin.

And in a couple of sentences her mother, without announcing to the room that she had a problem reading and writing, waved away her biggest concerns.

Morgan reluctantly pulled her hand out from Noah’s and flushed, because she could sense those deep blue eyes on her face. What must he think of her? she wondered. That she was a candidate for an upmarket loony bin?

‘Why are you bowing out, Hannah?’ Riley asked, as forthright as ever.

Hannah picked up her pen and tapped the point on the stack of papers in front of her. Morgan saw a quick, secret smile on her face and frowned. It was a good question, and one she was sure she knew the answer to... Three, two, one...

‘I need a break—to step away from the business for a while.’

There it is and here we go again...Morgan thought. Now they were getting to the bottom of things. Every ten years or so her parents decided that they should try and live together again. They loved each other, but they loved each other more when they had continents between them. They refused to accept that while they adored each other they just couldn’t live together. How many times had her father moved in and out of the Stellenbosch farmhouse and, later, the Englewood mansion?

Morgan sent James a quick eye-roll and he responded with a faint smile.

‘Jedd and I have realised that we’ve been married nearly forty years and we want to spend more time with each other. He’s going to try to be a little less of a mad geologist and I’m going to accompany him on his travels. So I need you, Morgan, to organise the ball for me.’

Morgan expelled her pent-up tension in a long stream of air. If this was about her parents’ marriage then she gave her mum a week and she’d be on the company jet back home. Hannah couldn’t go five minutes without checking her email or applying her lipstick. Her father spent weeks in jungles without making contact, sleeping in tents and hammocks and, she suspected, not washing much.

A week, maybe two, and Hannah would be back and yanking the ball’s organisation into her beautifully manicured hands. Fine by her. She just had to ride it out.

What a morning, Morgan thought. Noah, the ball, her parents; she felt as if she was in sensory and information overload.

‘Right, down to business,’ Hannah said sharply.

Morgan frowned and held up her hand. ‘Whoa! Hold on, there, Mum.’ Morgan narrowed her eyes at her beautiful, wilful mother. If she gave her mother an inch, she’d gobble her up. ‘I will sit in on this first planning meeting and then I will decide how involved I want to become—because I know that you will whirl back in here in two weeks’ time and take over again.’

Blue eyes held green and Hannah’s mouth eventually twitched with a smile. She nodded, looked around the table and pulled on her cloak of business. ‘Okay. Now, we’ve wasted enough time on our family drama. Back to work, everyone.’

* * *

By the end of the two-hour meeting Morgan felt as if her head was buzzing. She desperately needed a cup of coffee and some quiet. Just some time to think, to process, to deal with the events of the morning.

She wanted to run up to her studio, lie down on her plush raspberry love seat and just breathe. But instead, because Hannah had asked her super-nicely, she was accompanying Noah to the Forrester-Grantham Hotel—the oldest, biggest and most beautiful of Manhattan’s hotels. It had the only ballroom in New York City big enough to accommodate the ball’s many guests, and the fact that it was lush, opulent and a six-star venue made it their instinctive hotel of choice.

Morgan had been delegated, by her mother, to introduce Noah to the hotel’s Head of Security and discuss the current security arrangements for the ball.

Yippee.

Riley, the last to leave, closed the door behind her and Morgan was left alone with Noah. She watched as he unfurled his long body and headed for the refreshment table in the corner. He placed a small cup beneath the spout of the coffee machine and hit the button marked ‘espresso’. He was different, Morgan thought. His body, under that nice grey suit, still seemed to be as hard as it had been eight years ago, but his hair was longer, his face thinner. Okay, he was older, but what felt so different? Maybe it was because now he radiated determination, a sense of power...leaving no one in doubt that he was a smart, ambitious man in his prime.

Noah snagged two bottles of sparkling water from the ice bucket, held them loosely in one hand as he picked up the small cup and brought it back to the table. To her surprise, he slid the cup and a bottle towards her.

‘You look like you need both,’ Noah said, pushing away the chair next to her with his foot and resting his bottom on the conference table so that he faced her. He picked up a bottle of water, twisted the cap off and took a long sip.

Morgan lifted the cup to her lips, swallowed and tipped her head so that it rested against the high back of the leather chair. Her mind skittered over all the questions she wanted to ask him: where did he live? He wasn’t wearing a ring but was he married? Involved? Why had he said no to her all those years ago?

She opened her mouth to say...what?...and abruptly closed it again.

The right corner of Noah’s mouth lifted and Morgan felt her irritation levels climb. ‘What are you smirking at?’ she demanded.

‘You, of course.’

Of course.

‘Well, stop it! Why?’

Noah lifted one shoulder and looked at her as he put the water bottle to his lips. Lucky water bottle... Really, Morgan! Do try to be less pathetic, please.

‘You’re sitting there thinking that politeness demands that you have to talk to me and the only thing you want to talk about is why I walked away so long ago.’

The ego of the man! The arrogant, condescending, annoying son-of-a... He was so right, damn him.

‘I haven’t thought of you once since you left,’ she said, with a credible amount of ice in her voice.

‘Liar,’ Noah said softly, his eyes sparking with heat. ‘You’ve also wondered what it would’ve been like...’

Also wondered? Did that mean that he had too? And why was she even having this conversation with him? In fact, why was he talking at all? The Noah she knew needed pliers and novocaine to pull words out of him.

‘Well, I see that you’ve grown some social skills. Have you found that talking is, actually, quite helpful to get your point across?’

See—she could do sarcastic. And quite well. Hah!

‘My partner nagged me to improve.’

His partner? Who was she? How long had they been together? Did they have children?

Noah laughed softly. ‘You have the most expressive face in the world. Why don’t you just ask?’

‘Ask you what?’ Morgan feigned supreme indifference. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Again...liar. When I say partner I mean Chris—my business partner.’

Single! Yay! Her girl-parts did a stupid happy dance and she mentally slapped them into submission because he hadn’t really answered the question.

‘And you?’

Morgan lifted her perfectly arched dark brown eyebrows at him. She knew that they were the perfect contrast to her blonde hair. And they made her eyes look greener than they actually were. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’

Noah grinned and disturbed the million bats squatting in her stomach.

‘You are such a duchess.’

Morgan bared her teeth at him. ‘And don’t you forget it. And, just to make it clear, I do not—ever!—want to discuss Cape Town.’

‘It’s a nice city.’

Morgan growled. ‘What we did in Cape Town.’ She pushed out the clarification between clenched teeth.

‘We did? All I did was kiss you—you were the one who was naked and hoping to get lucky.’

She was going to kill him...slowly, with much pleasure.

Morgan ground her teeth together. How was this not discussing the issue? Did he not understand the concept of letting sleeping dogs lie? Obviously not.

Noah pushed his hair away from his face and rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘As much fun as it is, exchanging barbs with you, I do need to say something about Cape Town.’

Please don’t. I’ve been humiliated enough.

Noah looked at her with serious eyes. ‘I should’ve handled it—you—the situation—better, Morgan.’ He held up a hand as her mouth opened and she abruptly shut it again. ‘It took guts to do what you did and I was cruel. I’m sorry.’

Morgan realised that she was wearing her fish-face and snapped her teeth together. He was apologising? Seriously?

‘So, that’s all I have to say.’

Ah... It was more than enough and, quite frankly, she’d still prefer to pretend it had never happened. But she had to respect him for apologising, although she had played her own part in the train wreck that had been that night.

She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her thighs. ‘Okay, then. Wow. Um...thanks. I suppose I should apologise for hitting on you naked. I was rather...in your face.’

‘A woman who looks like you should never apologise for being naked,’ Noah said, humour sparking in his eyes.

It made her want to smile at him and she wasn’t quite ready to do that. Nearly, but not quite yet.

‘Can we...ahem...put it to bed?’ he asked.

Morgan rolled her eyes at the very unsubtle pun.

Way past time to change the subject, Morgan thought. ‘Mum said something about you being on your own? That you’re not with CFT any more?’

Noah nodded. ‘I have my own company doing pretty much the same thing CFT are doing. Except that we’re branching out into security analysis; this is our first job for MI. I’m here to make recommendations about what systems should be put in place to secure the collection. That’s the first step. Hopefully it’ll lead to us installing those systems.’

‘Are you good at it?’

‘Very.’

‘Okay, then.’ Morgan twisted her ring around her finger and half shrugged. ‘Today aside, I don’t have much to do with the ball, but I would hate to see anything happen to the collection. It’s fabulous; the gems are magnificent and the craftsmanship is superb.’

‘Nothing to do with the ball? I think your mum has other ideas.’ Noah finished his bottle of water, carefully replaced the cap and placed it on the table. ‘If we get the job to install the systems then I will make damn sure that nothing happens to the collection. My business would be ruined if a diamond chip went missing, and that’s not a risk I’m prepared to take.’

Morgan went cold at the thought of losing the collection. The value of the pieces meant nothing to her, but the fact that her family was the custodian of Elizabeth of Russia’s diamond ring, a pearl won by an eighteenth-century Maharani wife, and the first diamond to come out of the first Moreau mine, meant a great deal. They were valuable, sure, but they were also historically important.

But if Noah was in charge of securing them then she knew that they would be fine. He exuded an air of capability and competence and, like all those years ago, when she’d felt secure enough to hand herself over to him, she felt confident about the collection’s safety.

Noah was reliable and proficient.

Everything she wasn’t—outside of her design studio. He was a living, breathing reminder of why she could never organise the ball. She would be stepping so far out of her comfort zone... A million things could go wrong and probably would and she’d be left holding the can. Nope, this was her mum’s baby and would remain so.

Besides, she so didn’t need the stress, the responsibility or the hassle of dealing with the sexy and not-so-silent-any-more Noah Fraser, with his sexy Scottish burr and sarcastic smile.

‘Come on—time to go,’ Noah said, standing up.

He watched as she uncrossed her legs and stood up. He looked her up and down and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

‘Looking good, Duchess. Of course not as good as you looked back then—’

‘I was nineteen,’ Morgan protested, conscious that she’d picked up more than a pound since she’d been a perfect size four. ‘Anyway, I’m that not much bigger.’

‘You’re not big at all, Duchess; you know you look great. My point was back then you were naked.’ Noah placed a hand on her back and pushed her towards the door. ‘Naked is always hard to beat.’

* * *

‘Taxi, Miss Moreau?’

Morgan sent Noah a look in response to the doorman’s question.

He shook his head slightly and jammed his hands in the pockets of his pants. ‘No, thank you. It’s a beautiful afternoon; we’ll walk.’

‘Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Moreau. Sir...’

Noah fell into step with Morgan as she turned right and headed to the traffic lights to cross Park Avenue. It was moments like this when he was reminded just how famous the people he protected actually were. When the doormen and staff of one of the most famous hotels in the world recognised you and greeted you by name, as numerous people had Morgan inside the hotel, you had pull, clout—a presence.

Morgan, surprisingly, took it all in her stride. She’d greeted some of the staff by name, introduced herself to others. She didn’t act like the snob he’d expected her to be.

‘Amazing hotel. I’ve never been inside before,’ he commented as they waited for the light to change so that they could cross the road.

A taxi driver directly in front of them leaned out of his window and gestured to the driver of a limousine to move and a transit van dodged in front of another cab, which resulted in a flurry of horns and shouted insults out of open windows.

New York traffic...crazy. And they drove on the wrong side of the road.

Morgan, adjusted the shoulder strap of her leather bag, looked back at the imposing entrance to the hotel and smiled. ‘Isn’t it amazing? I love it.’

‘A couple of the staff nearly fell over to greet you. Must be crazy, being so well known.’

‘Oh, I’ve been going there since I was a little girl; for tea, for dinner, for drinks—and of course we host the ball here every five years. It’s a great place.’

‘Great, yes. Safe? I’ll be the judge of that.’

Morgan grinned. ‘Oh, you and my Mum are going to get along just fine.’

* * *

It was a stunning spring afternoon for a walk back to the MI offices.

‘Hey, Morgan. Over here!’

Noah turned around and a camera flash went off in his face. He cursed.

‘Who’s the dude, Morgan?’

A paparazzo, wearing an awful ball cap and a fifty-thousand-dollar camera, popped up. Seeing Morgan’s thundercloud face, he lifted an eyebrow in her direction.

‘This is why I hate going anywhere with you in New York,’ Noah complained in his best petulant tone. ‘Nobody ever pays any attention to me!’

Morgan looked startled for about two seconds before her poker face slid into place. ‘Are you whining?’ she demanded, not totally faking her surprise.

‘I’ve been nominated for three BAFTAs and I’ve won a BSA but do I get the attention? No!’

Both Morgan and the pap looked puzzled. ‘A BSA?’ the pap asked, confused.

‘British Soap Awards. And you call yourself a pap? Your UK counterparts would kick your ass!’

‘Who are you again?’

It went against every cell in his body, but Noah forced himself to toss his head like a prima donna. ‘Oh, that’s just wonderful!’ He looked at Morgan. ‘I’ve wasted enough time—can we please go now?’

Morgan’s lips twitched. ‘Sure.’

Noah gripped Morgan’s elbow and turned her away.

She sent him an assessing look from under her absurdly long lashes. ‘Who are you again?’

Noah grinned. ‘He’s going to spend the next couple of hours combing through photos of Brit celebrities before he realises that he’s been hosed.’

Morgan grinned. ‘Excellent. Quick thinking, soldier. It won’t stop him from printing the picture, but it did stop him from hassling me further.’

‘Cretin.’

‘Um...is there anyone back home that might get upset by seeing us together? If there is, you should give them a heads-up.’

Who would care if his photo appeared in a society column? It took a moment to board her train of thought. Ah...a wife, partner, girlfriend or significant other. He thought he saw curiosity in her eyes about whether he was involved with someone or not.

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

Frustration flicked across her face at his reply. Yep, definitely interested—which was, in itself, interesting.

‘Does that happen often? The cameras in your face?’

Morgan jabbed the ‘walk’ button to cross the road. ‘All the time. It’s deeply annoying and I wish they’d leave me alone.’

‘Well, you are one of the world’s wealthiest heiresses.’

Morgan’s pulled a face as they crossed the famous street. ‘Moreau International is wealthy—me, not so much. And I’m not that much of a social butterfly. Much to my mother’s despair,’ Morgan said quietly as she pulled oversized Audrey Hepburn sunglasses out of her black bag and slipped them on. ‘Would you believe me if I told you that I’d rather pound a stake into my ear than attend a soirée or a cocktail evening?’

He wouldn’t, actually. Look at her—she radiated confidence, class and poise. She was Morgan Moreau and her blood ran very blue. Unlike his, which was of the cheap Scottish whisky variety.

You’re a long way from home, lad. Remember that.

‘Then why do you do it?’

Morgan sent him a surprised look, opened her mouth to reply and shut it again. She dodged around a group of teenagers looking in a storefront window and looked resigned. ‘So, what did you think of Sylvester Cadigan?’ she asked a few moments later.

Change of subject, but he’d circle back round to her later. ‘He seems competent. He wasn’t happy that I demanded a complete and detailed dossier of the security arrangements they put in place for the last ball. He thought that I was questioning his professionalism.’

‘Weren’t you?’ Morgan sent him a direct look with those bottle-green eyes.

‘Sure I was. I don’t trust anyone.’ Especially when it was his rep on the line. ‘I’ll have a lot more questions for him tomorrow, after I’ve reviewed the dossier he’s emailing me.’