Читать книгу Romance In Paradise - Sarah Mayberry, Avril Tremayne - Страница 15

SEVEN

After ordering pizza from their favourite pizzeria Morgan called James, checked that he was home and told him to come down and share their meal. He arrived with two bottles of her favourite wine: a Merlot from their winery in Stellenbosch.

‘One for you and one for Riley, my two favourite wine-o-holics,’ he said, depositing them on the kitchen counter. ‘Hey, Ri.’

‘James.’

James yanked open a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. ‘Started on the designs for my underwater window yet?’

‘Yeah, I’ve scheduled it in for...never. Does that work for you?’ Riley replied as she opened a cupboard door and took out four glasses.

‘You do remember that I sign your paycheque, don’t you?’ James retorted.

‘Then fire me; I’ll pick up a job with Saks or Bergdorfs with one phone call. And they’ll double my salary,’ Riley replied in the same genial tone. ‘Actually, why don’t you double my salary and I’ll consider staying?’

‘Okay, I’ll schedule that in for...never. Does that work for you?’ James dumped some wine into her glass and handed it over. ‘Cheers.’

‘Bite me.’ Riley took the glass and stomped over to the lounge, resuming her seat on the floor next to the coffee table.

Morgan rolled her eyes at Noah, who was sitting at the dining room table, his laptop in front of him, a glass of whisky at his elbow. He was dressed in battered faded jeans and a casual cotton shirt and his feet were bare. Sure, he was a sexy man, but he was also a man who didn’t hold a grudge. They’d had a rocky day or two following her outburst at the ball and now they were back to being friends.

But it would be so much more fun if he was hanging around because he wasn’t being paid to do so.

‘Is anyone doing anything about finding those kidnappers?’ she demanded, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at James.

‘Only the NYPD, our own security and another private investigation firm I hired to find them. That not enough for you, Your Majesty?’ James pushed a glass across the granite counter in her direction.

‘Your Majesty? That’s even better than Duchess!’ Noah smirked.

‘Call me that and you’re dead,’ Morgan warned him. ‘Riley and I need to talk about themes for the ball,’ she said, hastily changing the subject. ‘Would you like to be part of that conversation?’

James and Noah exchanged identical horrified looks. ‘Sports channel?’

‘Hell, yeah!’ Noah agreed, and followed James to the smaller second lounge. It held a large-screen TV and two comfortable couches.

He spoke over his shoulder to Morgan. ‘Call me when the pizza arrives. I’ll go down and get it. Do not leave the apartment.’

‘Blah-blah-blah,’ Morgan muttered in reply, and pulled her tongue at his back.

‘I saw that!’ Noah called, without turning around.

Morgan pulled her tongue again at his reply.

‘I saw that too.’

Grrr.

* * *

‘Treasure ship, masked ball, burlesque, the Russian Court, Vegas,’ Morgan listed through mouthfuls of pizza. They were surrounded by files of fabric samples and Riley’s rough sketches. Morgan was curled up into the corner of the couch, Riley was still in place on the floor, and James sat in the chair behind her, his long legs on either side of her slim frame. Noah sat in the other chair, a glass of gorgeous red wine on the table next to him.

It could be a group of friends in any other lounge in any other city in the world, just hanging out and eating excellent pizza. It was so normal, and he was still coming to terms with how normal the Moreau siblings could be. Yes, James ran a multi-billion-dollar corporation, and Morgan had an unlimited trust fund, but nobody, seeing them now, would guess that.

‘I like the burlesque theme. Bold, opulent, sexy.’ Morgan said dreamily. ‘We could have various stages scattered throughout the ballroom with different acts to the same singer. Burlesque routines, circus acts, acrobatics...’

‘Strippers?’ James asked hopefully, and Noah smiled.

Morgan sent him a cold look. ‘Would you like me to get disinherited? Or to be dead because our mother has killed me? Anyway, we could have models dressed in corsets and thigh-high stockings and masquerade masks, all wearing Moreau jewellery.’

Noah’s head whipped up as her words made sense in his head. ‘Not a chance,’ Noah told her. ‘No live models wearing any jewellery.’

‘Why not?’ Morgan demanded. ‘It would be brilliant...’

‘It would be stupid,’ Noah replied. ‘You’re adding a human element that can be exploited; nobody but me and your curator gets access to those jewels.’

‘But...’ Morgan started to protest.

Noah stared her down. ‘My reputation, my rules. Remember?’

‘Arrgh. We’ll discuss it another time,’ Morgan said.

She was like a dog with a bone, Noah thought. Stubborn and wilful. Why did that turn him on? Then again, everything about her turned him on.

Riley leaned her head on James’s knee and yawned. Noah noticed that James lifted his hand to touch her hair, thought about it and dropped it again. Oh, yeah, there was definitely something brewing with those two. Some day the lid on their self-control would pop and they’d find themselves in a heap of trouble.

Just like he would...

Living with Morgan was killing him. Not sleeping with Morgan made every day a torture. And he knew that she felt exactly the same way. He saw it in the way she looked at him; her eyes would deepen with passion and her breath would catch in her throat and he’d know...just know...that she had them naked and up against the wall. When...if...they finally got to do this, New York would experience a quake of significant proportions.

Unfortunately his problems with Morgan went a lot deeper than he’d ever thought possible. Right down to the core of who he was.

He’d never had such a physical reaction to anyone, ever. Why it had to be Morgan he had no idea. She could send him from nought to sixty in a heartbeat and have him laughing while she did it. And that was the reason why he had to keep his distance from her—physically, emotionally. He would never give anyone control over him.

She had the ability to make him lose it; definitely in bed, possibly emotionally and, most terrifying of all, in anger. She really knew how to push his buttons. What if they had a fight and he was pushed too far? What would he do? Who would he become? Would he revert to that angry feral boy who’d stood in that grotty kitchen and held a knife to his father’s throat? The kid who had watched as droplets of blood beaded on that stubbled neck, enjoyed the sour smell of fear that permeated the air? The Noah who had seriously considered ending it all...the insults, the abuse, the weight of responsibility that had landed on his shoulders?

That person scared him: the uncontrolled, wild, crazy person he could be when he allowed emotion to rule. He was currently locked in a cage and sensible; controlled Noah kept guard over him. And sensible Noah could only do that if he stayed away from emotional complications. Like Morgan.

He couldn’t afford to let Morgan in, to allow his guard down, to be the person he could be...

It wasn’t going to happen with her or with anyone else.

‘What do you think, Noah?’ James asked him.

Noah pulled himself back to the conversation. What had they been talking about? Were they still discussing the theme of the ball?

‘Burlesque sounds good,’ he said lamely.

Morgan laughed as she tossed the crust of her slice of pizza into the empty box. ‘Where did you go? We’re talking about going home for the wedding. We’re leaving in a fortnight.’

Noah sat up, ran a hand over his lower jaw and slapped his brain into gear. ‘Back up. Going home? Where? What wedding? Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

Morgan pouted. ‘I’d hoped this would be over by then.’

‘I asked you for a detailed schedule of everything you were committed to in the foreseeable future. Why wasn’t this wedding on it?’ Noah demanded. How was he supposed to protect her if she didn’t keep him informed? Honestly, it was like dealing with an octopus with twenty tentacles.

Riley looked at James. ‘I think this is our cue to leave so that they can fight without an audience.’

‘I do not fight,’ Noah growled. ‘I negotiate.’

‘No, he orders. He just tells me what to do and expects me to stand there and take it,’ Morgan agreed, unfurling her long legs. She stood up, kissed Riley and then James on their cheeks as she said goodnight.

James hugged her, stood back and brushed her hair from her forehead. ‘You’re my sister, and I know you can be a pain in the butt. Don’t make this harder for him than it has to be. Don’t forget to tell him about Johnno’s exhibition tomorrow night, and the Moreau Polo Cup Challenge on Saturday at Liberty Park. Then we go to the wedding in Stellenbosch in two weeks’ time.’

‘Got it.’ Morgan cut Noah a glance, and when she spoke again her attitude was pure factitiousness. ‘Noah, we have an art exhibition tomorrow night, a polo cup on Saturday and a wedding in Stellenbosch in two weeks’ time. Put them on the schedule.’

Noah’s face promised retaliation. Bring it on, soldier.

Noah bade Riley and James goodnight and waited until the door had closed behind them before turning back to Morgan. ‘Stellenbosch, South Africa?’

‘Yep,’ Morgan answered flippantly.

He didn’t respond—just waited for a further explanation for why she hadn’t thought it was important to fill him in.

Morgan tapped her foot in irritation. ‘The kidnappers are in New York. I’m going on the private jet to my home town, where I know everyone, to a wedding that has more security than the Pentagon.’

‘Why?’

‘Merri, my friend, is marrying into a very influential, very connected political family. Security will be tight.’

‘And where will you be staying?’

‘At Bon Chance—our house on the family farm. Vineyard.’ Morgan picked up the empty pizza boxes and the bottle of wine. ‘Grab the glasses, will you?’

‘Good plan, since you might throw something when I tell you that I’m coming too.’

Morgan’s shoulders stiffened at his sarcasm. ‘I told you—it’s not necessary. James and Riley will be staying in the house, as well as James’s protection people, and the wedding will be secure. The kidnappers are here in New York!’

Noah walked over to the dishwasher, yanked it open and dumped the glasses inside. ‘I’m going, Morgan. Until the threat to you is neutralised I’m sticking to you like a shadow. Now, I can either go as your date-cum-bodyguard or just as your bodyguard. I’m equally comfortable with either. Your choice.’

‘That might be a bit awkward.’

Awkward... He didn’t see why. Morgan turned away and Noah frowned. Strangely it took him a minute to make the connection. ‘You’ve asked someone else to be your date?’

Morgan nodded. ‘Yes. ‘

Noah managed to keep his face implacable but inside he fought the urge to punch his fist into that shiny, fancy fridge. ‘Who is he?’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘A friend. An old friend.’

‘That’s not all of it,’ Noah pushed.

Morgan whirled around. ‘Do you want the details? Okay, then! He’s an ex-boyfriend who I’m still fond of. He’s also a friend of Merri’s and we keep in touch. Satisfied?’

‘Not by a long shot,’ Noah snapped, forcing down the green tide of jealousy swelling up his throat. He made himself stop thinking about Morgan in someone else’s arms—dancing, laughing, flirting with another man. This was business... What would he do if it was only business?

He breathed deeply and forced himself to think the problem through. ‘If the security at the wedding is as good as you say it is, then I’ll deliver you to the wedding and pick you up when you’re done.’

Morgan’s eyes sparked with anger. ‘What if I want to sleep over?’

Was she trying to kill him? Seriously? ‘That’s not going to happen, Duchess, unless it’s with me.’

‘Big words from a man who won’t even let himself touch me unless he’s pretending to be my date!’ Morgan hissed.

Give me strength, Noah prayed. ‘I gave your brother my word.’ He pushed the words out through gritted teeth.

‘Well, there’s no law that says I have to wait for you, soldier. So if I want to sleep with someone then I will.’

‘You bloody well won’t!’ Noah gripped her arms with his hands. His eyes glittered and he could feel his temper licking the edges of his tongue. ‘What would be the point, anyway? You’d be imagining it was me the whole time.’

‘You arrogant—’ Morgan placed her hands on his chest and shoved.

Annoyed beyond reason, he gripped her shoulders with his big hands and fought the urge to shake her. Instead he slammed his mouth onto hers and yanked her up against his body. He placed one hand low on her back, fingers spread out over her backside, and his other hand held her head in place. Her made-for-sin mouth was hot below his.

Noah could feel her mentally fighting him, her mind cursing him, even though he knew that her body wanted this as much as he did. Pure orneryness kept her mouth clamped shut, and her slim body was rigid with shock. Dropping his hand from her head, he stroked her arm, urging her to relax, and eventually both their tempers ebbed away under the sensual heat they created.

He knew that Morgan was trying to fight the temptation to wind her arms around his neck and fall into his body. It seemed so long since he had touched her, and yet it was like yesterday. She was toned, yet fragile, hot and sexy.

Noah concentrated on applying exactly the right amount of pressure and kept his hands still. He kissed the corner of her mouth and slowly worked his way inwards, nibbling and caressing as he went along. His tongue flicked and retreated, coaxed hers out to play. He sighed in triumph as she groaned and opened her mouth to his. Instantly his tongue accepted her invitation and curled around hers while he pulled her close.

Unable to resist this a moment longer, Morgan threw her arms around his neck and moulded her body against his. Plunging her fingers in his hair, she wound a calf around his and pressed herself up against his hard frame.

Long, luscious, passion-soaked minutes later Noah knew that he’d reached the point of no return—that if he carried on for another minute he would be lost, doing exactly what he wouldn’t allow himself to do. It took every ounce of his legendary self-control to wrench his mouth from hers, to step back, to meet her eyes.

He moved his hand so that he held her jaw, brushed his thumb over her full bottom lip.

Morgan spoke, frustration in her passion-smoked voice. ‘You’re really stopping?’

He nodded and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans so that he didn’t reach for her again. ‘Really am.’

He watched as Morgan’s smoky eyes cleared and confusion replaced heat. ‘I don’t know why, or how, you can even start it. Especially knowing that you’re not going to take it further.’

All he knew for sure was that he was a masochist, a glutton for punishment. He could try to explain—temper, jealousy, they were all factors—but his biggest motivator was that at that moment he hadn’t been able not to kiss her.

Noah watched as the last spark of fight went out of Morgan. She took a step towards him, dropped her head and curled her fingers into his shirt.

‘I hate this,’ she said in a small voice.

And he hated the thought that he—this crazy situation between them—could make her sound so small, defeated.

He resisted the urge to pull her into his embrace, to soothe her. He didn’t do touchy-feely so he just stood there, trying to ignore the surge of protectiveness that threatened to knock his feet from under him.

‘Hate what?’ he asked quietly.

‘This...all of this. The bodyguarding. Being so attracted to you, not being able to touch you, to get it...you...out of my system.’ Morgan rested her forehead in the middle of his chest. ‘It’s horrible... I don’t like feeling this out of control.’

‘I know.’

He had to touch her, so Noah rubbed his hand up and down her spine. It was killing him too. His hand moved up between her shoulder blades onto her neck and under her head. He pulled the hair at the back of her neck and gently tipped her head back.

‘I gave my word...it’s important to me that I keep it,’ he said, looking down into her mesmerising eyes.

‘I know. Dammit...I respect that. I just don’t like it!’

Tell him something he didn’t know. He didn’t consider it a lazy day on the beach either.

Morgan stepped back, wrapped her arms around her waist and tipped her head to one side. ‘I wish I could yell at you—scream. I want to act like a diva and fire you and stomp away and throw things.’

‘You can if it makes you feel better,’ Noah offered on a small smile. He had to hand it to the lass: he never knew what she was going to say or do next—she was never predictable.

‘Consider yourself yelled at and fired,’ Morgan said on a long, tired sigh. She looked at him. ‘Any chance of you saving me from the loony bin and actually staying fired?’

Uh, no. That wasn’t happening. A cold shower would happen, but him leaving...? ‘Nope.’

‘Didn’t think so,’ Morgan grumbled as she left the kitchen.

* * *

‘This is it.’

Morgan looked out of the window of the cab and frowned when she didn’t see the swish art gallery she’d expected to see. She looked across the road but there was nothing in the immediate vicinity except a closed dry cleaners and a rather grubby-looking diner. The other side of the street held a pawn shop and a strip club.

Where were they?

‘Are you sure this is three-six-two?’ Morgan asked.

Dark eyes glared at her from the front seat of the cab. ‘You said six-three-two, lady. Three-six-two is uptown.’

Morgan closed her eyes at his harsh voice.

‘Take it easy, buddy,’ Noah said in a calm voice.

‘She said six-three-two,’ the cabbie insisted.

‘You’ll still get paid, so relax.’ Noah laid a hand on her knee. ‘Where’s the invite, Morgan? Let’s check the address.’

Morgan felt heat infuse her cheeks and rise up her neck and was grateful for the early evening shadows in the cab. She flipped open her clutch bag and pulled out the invitation. She glanced at the numbers and thrust the invitation towards the taxi driver.

‘Six-three-two,’ she muttered.

The driver glanced down at the invitation and shook his head in disgust. ‘Jeez, lady, whassa matter wi’ you? This says two-three-six!’

‘Back off, man, she made a mistake,’ Noah said in a hard, cold voice, and with a final huff the driver whirled around in his seat, slammed the car into gear and abruptly pulled off into the traffic.

Morgan licked her lips and waited for Noah’s probing questions as they retraced their route. How was she going to talk her way out of this?

‘Sorry.’

Noah shrugged and leaned back in his seat. ‘You’re tired...we both are. Mistakes are easy to make. Ignore him.’

Noah looked out of the window and Morgan glanced at his masculine profile. That was it? Where were the questions, the demands for an explanation, the mockery for making such a basic silly mistake? Why didn’t he follow up on the cab driver’s question, probe a little deeper?

Did he know and not care? Did he suspect and was distancing himself from the problem? Was he just simply not curious or, even scarier, didn’t he give a hoot?

At the gallery a little while later, Morgan was still thinking of his non-reaction in the taxi and how she’d managed to dodge the explanation bullet. She stepped away from the group of people who were talking around her, looking past Johnno Davie at Noah, who was standing in front of one of Johnno’s massive paintings. It was one of the few non-abstract paintings on display: a nude on a bed in a symphony of gold and cream, with hints of blush. It didn’t need the tag Sophie—Naked and Relaxed; anyone with half a brain could tell exactly what Sophie had been up to before Johnno had decided to capture her on canvas.

Morgan wondered if Sophie knew that her...ahem...satisfaction was part of Johnno’s latest collection.

Morgan lifted her glass of wine to her lips and watched Noah as he stared at the canvas. He was perfectly dressed for an art exhibition in NYC: dark jeans, a white button-down shirt and a black jacket.

Noah’s immense self-control scared her—she admitted it. He’d been as swept away by their kiss last night as she had and yet he’d managed to pull back, to step away. She thought that she could be naked and he could be inside her, a fraction off orgasm, and if he decided to jam on the brakes he would. Oh, Morgan knew that he was self-motivated and determined, and that he kept his own counsel—that his natural way of interacting with people was to be brief and succinct, focusing on practicality above emotion—but even so sometimes she thought that there was another Noah trying to escape. A Noah who was a little more relaxed, a little impulsive—someone who was desperate to have a good time—but every time that Noah stepped over the line he got slapped back into his cage.

It was almost as if Noah was scared to let himself feel...

What had happened to him that had made him wary of...of...himself, really?

Morgan stared at his broad back as she walked over to him. She playfully nudged his shoulder with hers. ‘I’m sorry about the confusion with the address earlier. I got the numbers mixed up.’

‘Mmm...as I said, it happens.’

Morgan folded her arms across her raspberry-coloured poncho dress. It was a favourite of hers, with a one-shoulder neckline with a batwing sleeve. The dress fell to mid-thigh and she wore it with nude spiked heels and long, dangly earrings made from garnets.

‘Listen, I need to say something. I’m sorry...about that kiss last night.’ Noah held his hands in the pockets of his jeans and straightened his arms. ‘I shouldn’t have...’

‘Here we go again... Noah, for goodness’ sake, we are adults! We shared a kiss, and if you didn’t have the control of a Tibetan monk we would’ve done much more.’

Noah glanced around as her voice lifted in frustration. ‘Inside voice, dammit!’

‘What is the problem? And don’t give me that garbage about not being professional and the promise you made to my brother.’

‘Why don’t you talk louder? I don’t think the people at the far end of the gallery heard you,’ Noah muttered as he gripped her arm and pulled her closer to the painting. ‘And I did make a promise to your brother...’

Morgan turned her back to the room and looked at the painting. ‘The old promise-to-my-brother excuse.’ Morgan lifted up her arms and then fisted her hands. ‘You know what...? Forget it! I’ve never chased after a man in my life and I am not starting with you!’

Noah muttered an expletive and raked his hand through his hair. ‘Morgan...no, don’t walk away.’ He waited a beat before talking again. ‘I’ve worked really hard to establish my business and, no matter how stupid you think it is, people will look to see how I conduct myself with you and they will judge that. I need to be seen to be professional and competent.’

Anyone would think she was asking him to do her in Central Park as Saturday afternoon entertainment. She saw him fiddle with his collar... He did that, she realised with a flash of insight, when he was feeling uncomfortable or when he was hedging. Or flat-out lying.

‘That might be part of it but it’s not the whole truth. The important truth.’ Morgan looked him in the eye. When his eyes slid right she knew she had him and he knew that she had him. So he did what all men did when they were caught out: he changed the subject.

‘Okay, say we have this hot fling. And afterwards, Duchess, what then?’

Morgan frowned and lowered the glass she’d raised to her lips. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We scratch this itch and then what happens? What are you expecting?’

Morgan took a sip of wine and considered his question. What did she expect? What could she expect?

What could she give?

After a moment’s thought she came to the only logical, practical conclusion she could. ‘I don’t expect anything, Noah. You don’t seem to be the type who needs or, frankly, wants a relationship, so if we did find ourselves in bed I’d expect nothing, because I know that you have nothing to give me.’

Besides, I’m too scared to take the chance of loving someone, being found unworthy, getting my teeth kicked in.

‘You make me sound like a robot,’ Noah muttered.

Morgan suspected that if he opened those cage doors he’d be anything but robotic—he’d be fearless and passionate and unstoppable. But right now he did have elements of the mechanical about him. Except when he was kissing her...

Morgan reached out and tapped his chest with one French manicured finger. ‘You need to have some fun, Fraser. Lighten up.’ Maybe they both did. ‘The world won’t fall on your head, you know.’

‘You sound just like Chris. And my brothers.’

Whoa...stop the presses! Noah Fraser had volunteered some personal information! ‘You have brothers?’

‘Well, despite what you think, I wasn’t cloned in a Petri dish,’ Noah said, his tone grumpy.

‘Younger? Older? Where are they? What do they do? Are they married?’

‘Jeez, mention one little thing and I get a million questions.’ Noah stopped a waiter, asked for a mineral water and rolled his eyes at her obviously curious face. ‘Two much younger brothers, twenty-three and twenty-one. A sous chef at a London Michelin-starred restaurant and a freelance photographer who sells to several national newspapers. Neither are married and they both live in London. Satisfied?’

‘Not nearly. Are they also buttoned-down, controlled and restrained?’

Noah took his mineral water from the tray presented to him. He looked past her shoulder to a place that was somewhere in the past. ‘No, I stood as a shield so that they didn’t turn out like me.’

And what on earth did he mean by that? Morgan opened her mouth to ask but he gestured to the painting and forced a small smile onto his face. ‘It looks like a multiple to me.’

It took Morgan a minute to catch up, and when she did she cocked her head. ‘Maybe it was a really good piece of chocolate.’

‘Dream on,’ Noah scoffed, before he fell serious. ‘I have to admit I love this painting. I’d buy it in a heartbeat if I had enough cash floating around.’

Morgan leaned forward and peered at the tiny, tiny price in the corner of the tag. Holy bats...that was a lot of money—even for her. Morgan stepped back and looked at the painting again...she agreed with Noah. It was a sensational piece of art: fluid, sexy, happy. She could see it on the wall above her bed...

Sophie had had a really fine time, Morgan thought on a smile. But maybe it was time to give her a bit of privacy and get her out of the gallery.

‘Let’s go home,’ Morgan said impulsively.

Noah looked at her, surprised. ‘It’s not even eight-thirty yet. And we were going to that cocktail party at the Hyatt.’

‘I just want to go home, have a long bath and an early night. I want to drop the cloak. I need to be me tonight.’

‘Sorry?’

Morgan waved his questions away. ‘Ignore me. So, what do you think?’

‘Hell, no, I want to stick around and make small talk with people I don’t know.’

Morgan laughed at his sarcasm, handed her glass over to a passing waiter and inclined her head towards Johnno. ‘I just need a quick word with the artist.’

‘I’ll be waiting at the door. Make it quick, Duchess.’