Читать книгу Romance In Paradise - Sarah Mayberry, Avril Tremayne - Страница 13
ОглавлениеWasn’t there a song about yesterday and troubles seeming so far away? Morgan wondered as she stomped back into her bedroom, kicking her door closed behind her. Yesterday’s biggest problems had been how to re-set Mrs Killain’s fabulous teardrop diamond earrings into a more contemporary, cleaner setting, whether or not to attend the opening night of the Ballet Belle’s new production, and who to take to Merri’s wedding.
In one day she’d been slapped with an additional job, an old almost-lover, the attempted kidnapping of her mother, and a new bodyguard whom she wanted to jump.
Bats! On a freaking broomstick!
Right. First things first. Think it through... Her mum’s almost-kidnapping. No, don’t think of the ‘what ifs’. Push the emotion away...
Her mum was only superficially hurt, and by now both her parents were in the family jet on their way to a safe place. The house in the Cayman Islands was a well-kept secret and James would have arranged for additional guards for them. Her parents were out of harm’s way. That was good news.
Right: problem two. With her mum out of town, someone had to get cracking on organising the Moreau Charity Ball, and it looked as if she was now that someone. How was she going to manage to do that and keep her dyslexia under wraps? The last thing she wanted was to see pitying looks on the faces of Moreau staff...or from anyone else. Unfortunately a lot of people still equated dyslexia with stupidity, and she couldn’t just go around announcing, I’m dyslexic, but my IQ is one hundred and forty-eight.
No, her dyslexia was her issue to deal with, and she didn’t require sympathy, pity, or for anyone to make allowances for her. She’d just insist on short reports and plough through them at night...she’d make lists and check and double-check them.
Yay! What joy.
As for her almost-lover and new bodyguard...
She was intensely irritated with Noah on so many different levels that she wasn’t sure which one she ranked highest. How dared he and James talk over her head and make arrangements for her safety as if she was a child? Okay, there was a crazy Colombian gang who wanted to use her as a bargaining chip, but Noah could have asked how she felt about him guarding her. She wasn’t sure what her answer would have been if he had asked her... No, I’d rather shag you instead?
James would have had a coronary on the spot.
Noah irritation number two. How could he switch gears so easily and smoothly? Oh, she was royally ticked that one moment his hand had been tipping her into orgasm and the next he’d been all work—Mr I’ll-Protect-Her-and-Give-You-a-Discount!
And on top of that there wasn’t any chance of her getting lucky now; she knew that Noah took his duties seriously, and if he wouldn’t sleep with her while she’d simply been organising the ball then there was an ice chip’s chance in a fat-fryer that—having taken on the role as her bodyguard—he’d even consider picking up where they’d left off earlier.
And, really, did she want to get it on with a man who could flip it on and off with such ease? He had too much control and she too little...where he was concerned.
Well, no more. She was going to stop acting like a tart around him; she’d be cool and calm and collected.
Cool. Calm. Collected. Yep, she could do the three Cs!
‘Sulking?’ Noah asked from the doorway and she whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She had shut the door behind her, hadn’t she? She was sure she had...
‘Heard of knocking?’ she demanded, hands on her hips.
Noah crossed one ankle over the other as his shoulder pressed into the doorframe. ‘There’s broken glass and whisky all over the floor and it’s not in my job description to clean up because you lost your temper. Or are you too precious to use a dustpan and broom?’
‘Bite me.’
Noah smiled. ‘Can’t. I promised your brother I wouldn’t lay a hand—or lip—on you.’
Morgan felt the bubbles in her blood start to pop.
‘You don’t have to sound so pleased about it!’ Morgan stormed to the doorway and brushed past him, the red mist of temper clouding her vision. What was it about this man that made her long for more? They didn’t know each other really, but the fact that he could brush their heat off so easily made her want to throw more than a glass.
Maybe him. Off the twenty-first-floor balcony!
Noah reached out, snagged the waistband of her pants and pulled her to a stop. ‘Cool your jets, Morgan, and take a breath.’
‘Let. Me. Go,’ Morgan muttered through clenched teeth.
‘No,’ Noah’s said.
His fingers were warm against the bare skin of her lower back. She cursed the tremors of attraction that radiated up her spine.
Noah kept his fingers bunched in her pants and moved round so that he was standing, far too close, in front of her. ‘Talk.’
More orders? ‘Bite me,’ she said again
‘Stop being a duchess and talk to me. Why are you so annoyed that I am guarding you?’
Morgan folded her arms across her chest to form a barrier between their bodies and glared up at him. ‘You didn’t want to listen to me when I spoke earlier—why should I bother talking to you now?’
Noah winced. ‘Okay, maybe we were a bit heavy-handed.’
‘Maybe?’
‘Don’t push it,’ Noah snapped back. ‘I wanted to be the one to guard you and I was damned if you were going to talk James out of it.’
Morgan glared at him. ‘Because I’m a way to get in with James for you to get more MI business.’
Noah’s eyes darkened with fury. ‘Stuff the MI business. I did it because no one will protect you as well as I will. Being kidnapped is not a walk down Madison Avenue, Duchess!’
‘Uh...’
Noah shoved his hand into his hair and tugged. ‘God, you live in this protected little world, kidnapping threats or not. You have no idea what happens to rich people who are ’napped. You want me to go into details?’
Morgan, her temper rapidly subsiding, shook her head.
‘So sue me for wanting to keep you safe above wanting to have sex with you!’ Noah roared, twin flags of temper staining his cheeks.
He stepped back from her and she could see that he was trying to control his temper. So he had one? Why did that reassure her rather than scare her?
Morgan tipped her head. ‘You don’t like losing control, do you?’
He lifted a finger and pointed it at her. ‘You...you...nobody spikes my temper like you!’
‘Ditto,’ Morgan replied quietly as green eyes clashed with blue. After a tense, drawn-out silence, Morgan raised her shoulders and spoke again. ‘Are you finished yelling at me?’
Noah released a long breath and slapped his hands across his chest. ‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, then.’ Morgan pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘So, I’ll go and clean up the broken glass.’
Noah nodded. ‘I need to go downstairs for five minutes to pick up my bag and laptop.’
‘Well, at least I have a spare bedroom this time.’
Noah rubbed his forehead. ‘Does it have an inter-leading door that can stay open?’
Morgan shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Then we sleep with the doors open.’
‘That’s not necessary. We have two doormen, and this is one of the most secure buildings in the city.’
‘The doors stay open.’ Noah walked to the door and when he reached it turned to face her. ‘I can’t allow myself to be distracted by you, Morgan. Your safety depends on it. So help me out, okay? No propositions, no flirting, no walking around naked.’
There was that arrogance again, and she hated the fact that it turned her on. Determined to show him that he didn’t affect her, in any way, she lifted her nose in the air. ‘I’ll try and restrain myself.’
‘You do that, Duchess.’
* * *
Noah stood on the balcony in the bright sunshine and looked down into the leafy greenness of Central Park, idly noticing that the park was full of early-morning joggers, cyclists, walkers. Whoever would have thought that Noah Fraser, that angry boy from Glasgow, would be standing here looking at one of the best views in the city. Certainly not him. If he ignored the fact that Morgan was a kidnapping target and he couldn’t touch her now, it was one of those stunning spring days.
Spoilt, unfortunately, by his father’s voice whining in his ear...on and on and on.
Noah had been sixteen when he’d lost his mother and taken over the care of his paralysed and violently angry father and his two brothers, six and four years old. And if Michael had been a mean bastard on two legs then he’d become even worse on none.
Noah had cooked, cleaned and cared for his siblings while Michael had cursed God and cursed them. By keeping Michael’s attention directed on him, he’d managed to shield the kids from the worst of his verbal and—when he had the opportunity—physical abuse.
Noah had adored those little monsters, and it had nearly killed him when Social Services had moved them into the care of his aunt—his mother’s sister. It had been the right thing for them—Michael could have scarred a psychopath—but he’d felt as if his heart had been torn out of his ribcage. Aunt Mary had offered to take him in too, but someone had had to look after Michael; his mam would have turned in her grave if he’d been left on his own.
‘You might be poor, Noah, but poor men can act with honour too.’
‘What is honour exactly, Mam?’
‘It’s taking responsibility and keeping your word. Seeking the truth and acting with integrity. Doing the right thing whether people are looking or not. Being better than your circumstances.’
Those words, part of a discussion they’d had a couple of months before her death, had defined the rest of his life.
It was because of those words that he’d endured three years of being belittled, insulted, punched when he was within range, before he’d cracked. It had been the most terrifying moment of his life when he’d come back to himself and realised he was holding...
Don’t think about it. Don’t remember. Put it back into the cage you keep it in.
He seldom relived the full memory of that horrible day, but every day he recalled how close he’d come to the edge after losing control. The consequences of which would have been far-reaching and...dismal. Catastrophic.
The very next day he’d joined the army—the best decision of his life. Yeah, it had been tough at first, but he’d got three square meals every day and, while he’d been shouted at all the time, he’d realised that it wasn’t personal. He’d tolerated it at first and then he’d loved it; it had become, in a way, an inadequate substitution for the family he’d lost.
He’d moved around in the Forces, eventually ending up in the SAS.
Before leaving for Catterick, for his initial training, he’d arranged for a local care-giver to provide Michael with the help he needed: cooking, cleaning and, he’d hoped, occasional bathing. The cost of his care had come out of his meagre army salary, but it had been a small price to pay for his freedom.
He was still paying.
‘Your brothers haven’t called or visited for over six months.’ Michael moaned.
He didn’t blame them.
‘Useless, both of them. Living with those Robinsons has made them soft... Mike is working as a nancy photographer and Hamish is no better. A bloody chef... Jaysus...and you paid for their education. Waste of money, I tell you. They’ll never amount to anything.’
The fact that Mike was working on a respected national newspaper and Hamish was working in a Michelin-starred restaurant as a sous-chef had passed Michael by. With their crazy schedules the brothers didn’t spend nearly enough time together, Noah thought. While they emailed and called regularly, they didn’t meet often and he missed them.
He had to make more time for them...
‘I said I wouldn’t take your calls any more if you slag off Hamish and Mike, Michael. Don’t do it again,’ Noah warned.
He wished he could break the ties with this old man but he was his father. Family. Warped, possibly nuts...but you didn’t just walk away from your responsibilities. You took what was tossed at you and you dealt with it. But, hell, hadn’t he paid enough, done enough, sacrificed enough?
Michael did have one use, though: he was a reminder of how dangerous Noah could be if he lost control. Apart from Michael, the only person who’d managed to push his buttons, to get past the steel lid he kept on his emotions, was that blonde bombshell next door.
And that scared the bejesus out of him. Why her? He’d met a lot of women over the past fifteen years. He’d had successful girls, poor girls, crazy girls and, after he’d finished guarding them, a couple of famous girls.
None of them had made him think of what ifs or maybes, of moving below the surface stuff of good sex and a couple of laughs. No one except Morgan had ever tempted him to walk into the minefield that was a committed relationship. He’d grown up watching his mother trying to keep her head above water with his crazy, cruel father and he had no intention of being swept away by love and spending the rest of his life trying to get back to shore.
But the fact remained that nobody made him crazy like Morgan Moreau.
* * *
Morgan looked up as Noah entered the kitchen via the balcony door. He looked decisive, authoritative, commanding: a natural leader that others looked up to. Dark suit, a white shirt over that broad chest, sombre grey tie hanging loose down his shirt to be tied later.
He also looked freakin’ hot!
A shoulder holster held what looked like a very nasty gun...whoa!
‘When did you get a gun? And from whom?’ Morgan demanded, wide eyes on its black matte handle-butt-thingy poking out from the holster.
‘It was dropped off early this morning,’ Noah replied, heading for the coffee machine and reaching for a cup from the shelf above it. ‘Don’t worry, I’m licensed to carry a concealed weapon.’
Morgan gripped the back of one of the kitchen counter stools. ‘You didn’t have one in Cape Town.’
Noah flipped her a look over his shoulder as he tossed sugar into his black coffee. ‘Yeah, I did. You just never saw it. Ankle holster when I was wearing jeans. Tucked into the back of my shorts or in my rucksack when we were on the beach. You weren’t considered too much of a target so we took the decision not to scare you.’
‘Huh.’ Morgan wrapped her hands around her now cold coffee cup. Had she been that oblivious? Sure, she’d been nineteen, and blinded by the mammoth crush she’d had on Noah. He could have had a third leg and she would have ignored that too...
So, had anything changed? Morgan wondered. Actually, yes. There was a difference between crushing on him and crushing on his body. This thing between them was purely, utterly, comprehensively physical. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, she thought.
* * *
‘Have they heard anything else about the other kidnappers yet?’ she asked. If she knew anything about Noah then she knew that he would be on top of the situation, demanding updates as any came in.
‘It’s only been twelve hours, Morgan. And they’ve probably gone underground. New York is a city of eight million people; it’s easy to disappear. It’ll take time, hard looking and luck to flush them out.’
Morgan sighed and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘So, I’m stuck with you for the foreseeable future?’
‘Seems like it,’ Noah replied equably.
Morgan fiddled with the flat gold chain that rested against her emerald silk top. She’d teamed the shirt with white skinny jeans and black wedges. A black fitted jacket and a scarf would take the outfit from casual to smart. She tapped her finger against her coffee cup and eyed him over the rim. Should she ask this? Hmm, probably not...
What the hey? she thought. Let’s see what he says.
‘So, who’s Michael?’
Noah’s blue eyes hardened. ‘Where did you hear that name?’
‘My bedroom window was open; you can hear pretty much everything anyone says out there.’
‘I must remember that.’ Noah sipped his coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter as he did so. Morgan twisted her lips in annoyance; Noah was an expert in ducking questions he didn’t want to answer.
Except that her curiosity was revving in the red zone. There had been something in Noah’s voice earlier that she’d never heard before. It had been a combination of resignation, weariness and resentment. A little younger and a lot sad. For a couple of minutes he hadn’t been the hard-eyed, hard-assed man who radiated confidence and determination. He’d just sounded like a man with some baggage who desperately wanted to put it in storage.
‘And who are Hamish and Mike? Come on—you can tell me...’
‘So, what’s your schedule like for today?’ Noah asked, his expression warning her to back off. Way off.
She wanted to push, to dig a little deeper, a little harder, but it wasn’t his grim mouth or ferocious expression that had her hesitating.
It was the misery she saw under the tough-guy expression in his eyes. He didn’t intimidate her in the least, didn’t scare her one iota, but that flash of desolation had her stopping in her tracks.
‘Off-limits subject?’
‘Very.’
‘Okay.’
His jaw relaxed; his fingers loosened on his coffee cup. ‘What are your plans for the day, the week?’ he asked again. ‘I still have to meet with Cadigan about the security for the hotel, but if you promise to stay in the Moreau building then I won’t have to drag you to that.’
‘Like you could drag me anywhere,’ Morgan scoffed.
A smile touched Noah’s lips. ‘Want to test that theory?’
He didn’t wait for her answer, obviously super-confident that he could and would. Well, he might be stronger than her but he had no idea exactly how stubborn she could be. She’d match her stubbornness against his strength any time.
‘Where’s your schedule?’ he demanded again. ‘Diary? Calendar? Or do you have an assistant to keep track of your social life?’
‘None of the above. It’s all in my head.’ She had a diary which she never used, and she didn’t need an assistant.
‘Publicist? Stylist?’
‘Now you’re just mocking me.’ Morgan sighed and placed her forearms on the table. ‘Once a week I call Mum’s publicist and find out what functions are on for the next week that I absolutely have to attend.’
‘How do you know that you’ve been invited?’ Noah asked, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down. He reached for an apple and crunched into it.
‘It sounds ridiculous, I know, but we—the Moreaus—are invited to everything. It’s a big social coup to get us to a function...well, maybe not so much my mother; she’s a lot more socially active than my dad, James and me.’
Noah looked at his apple, took another bite, chewed and swallowed. ‘You guys seem really happy, close...together. A golden family.’
Morgan leaned back and crossed her legs. ‘Every family has its own problems, whether they are rich or poor. James spends far too much time alone because he’s one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. He can’t trust a thing that comes out of any girl’s mouth because he’s convinced that they look at him and see an unlimited credit card, entry into a high social circle and houses all over the world.’
‘What should they see?’
A smart, successful man who was lonelier than he needed to be? She wished he’d find someone. She wanted him to be happy. He’d been fabulous growing up...had spent hours—days—years!—helping her to read and write. Holding her when she cried, picking a fight when she needed to work off her frustration. Her older brother, her protector, the best person in her life.
Morgan swallowed and shrugged.
‘And you? What’s so wrong in your life? You’re rich, gorgeous, successful.’
Lonely, isolated, scared that someone will find out that I’m chronically dyslexic and will judge me for it. Terrified to step out of my comfort zone; scared to try and fail... So frightened of disappointing myself and others that I’d rather not try something than run the risk of failing...
Yeah, she was a poster child for a healthy and happy It Girl.
‘I have...issues... Don’t we all?’ See—she could duck the very personal questions too! She twisted the oversized Rolex on her arm and carried on. ‘As for my parents—my dad and my mum love each other to death but can’t live together long term...’
‘But they’re trying to revitalise their marriage,’ Noah protested. ‘She’s handing over control to James!’
‘James, for all intents and purposes, has been running MI for the past two years. They both pretend that Mum still has her hand in, but in reality James calls the shots and she likes it that way.’
Morgan let out a sound that was half a snort and half a laugh.
‘Scenes like yesterday’s happen every so often—normally when my mum wants something and doesn’t know how else to get it. She wants me involved in MI and she’s determined to get me into the fold. Organising the ball is the first step. I guarantee that if I’d refused to do it—as I had intended to—she would’ve been back in the city within a week, organising the ball, poking her nose into MI business and driving James crazy. She’d also have been telling me that my dad drove her nuts and there was a reason why they lived apart.’
Morgan scowled at her coffee cup. ‘I love my mother dearly, but she’s a force of nature and determined to get her own way. If she could find the kidnappers she’d probably say thank you to them for forcing her to leave the country, because now I have to organise this damn ball.’
‘Harsh,’ Noah said, but humour glinted in his eyes. ‘Paranoid too. So what’s the big deal about this ball? Suck it up and do it.’
Morgan glared at him. ‘Easy for you to say. Anyway, back to the original subject...’
‘Your social life...or lack of it.’
‘Which is about to change because I’m expected to go out and about, promote the ball and get a buzz going. Got a tux?’ Morgan demanded.
‘Not here.’
‘You’re going to need one if you intend to accompany me to these functions.’
‘And I do.’
‘The biggest danger I face there is being bored to death, closely followed by the effects of a rogue margarita or a cheeky cosmopolitan.’ Morgan pushed her cup away.
‘Listen—and don’t shoot the messenger—I need to go as your date,’ Noah stated. He lifted a shoulder at the annoyed look on her face. ‘Yes, I know what I said...we now have a completely professional relationship. But somehow, miraculously, the kidnapping attempt hasn’t hit the papers and the MI PR person and the police want to keep it that way. James has a bodyguard occasionally but you don’t. You having one now is going to raise questions that they’d prefer not to answer. So they want us to...pretend. James called me this morning and issued the directive.’
Morgan looked at him, caught completely off guard. ‘What? You’ve got to be joking.’
‘Trust me, I’d rather just be the bodyguard,’ Noah muttered.
Morgan held up her hand. ‘So, let me see if I’ve got this right. We were about to make love, because you weren’t—quite—working for MI and I wasn’t going to have anything to do with the ball. A one-night deal that worked for both of us which didn’t happen because you volunteered your close protection services and told me that I am categorically off-limits. And now we have to pretend that we are lovers? Is this a sick joke?’
‘Either that or someone has concocted a great way to torture us,’ Noah agreed.
Morgan held her head between her hands and closed her eyes. ‘This is going to drive me crazy.’
‘We can share the padded cell,’ Noah agreed.
‘Any chance of you resigning?’ Morgan lifted her head and looked at him, hope on her face.
‘Sorry, Duchess. Not a chance. I’d rather go mad with you than go out of my mind worrying about you if I were off the job. Burying you would also suck.’
Ah, nuts... That was a hard point to argue.
