Romance In Paradise: Flirting with the Forbidden / Hot Island Nights / From Fling to Forever

‘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.’

‘Do you need someone from Moreau to attend that meeting?’ Morgan asked as they approached the gold and white façade of Moreau’s Gems.

‘No. We’re going to investigate entrances and exits, look at the surveillance system. I think I can manage without someone holding my hand.’

‘Good,’ Morgan said, and gestured to the building in front of them. ‘MI’s flagship store, established in 1925.’

Noah looked at the façade of the jewellery store and swallowed down his impressed whistle. The very wide floor-to-ceiling window was lavishly decorated in a 1920s theme, Noah guessed. There were feather boas, deckchairs with tipped-over champagne bottles, strings of pearls hanging from or wrapped around silver ice buckets. Brooches pinned to berets left in sand, discarded chiffon dresses under a spectacular emerald and diamond necklace. Rings scattered in beach sand.

He hadn’t passed the window when he’d arrived that morning, going directly to the separate doors that led up to the MI corporate offices. The window was fantastic and made him want to explore the store and see what other treasures were hidden within. And that, he supposed, was exactly the point.

‘Amazing.’

‘Riley’s work,’ Morgan replied proudly. ‘She’s utterly marvellous at what she does. She changes the display every month and she keeps it top secret. On the first of every month we all traipse down here, along with a horde of shoppers, to see what she’s done. It’s like Christmas every month.’

‘She’s very talented.’

‘All the big stores keep trying to steal her away but she’s loyal to us. Although she and James knock heads continuously. She demands carte blanche to do what she wants with the windows; James demands that she runs her designs past him first.’ Morgan waved at a store employee through the glass. ‘Having Riley and James in the same room is fabulous entertainment. They argue like mad. I can’t wait to hear her ideas on themes for the ball.’

Oh, God, here comes the girly stuff. ‘Themes? What’s wrong with putting on some fancy duds and showing up?’

‘Pffft! You sound just like my father. How would that be different from the other sixty balls happening in the city alone? We organise the Moreau Ball, not just a ball.’

Morgan turned away and headed to the MI entrance further down the street.

‘How long will you be in New York for?’ she asked, super-casually.

It was the first vaguely personal question she’d asked him and he wondered if he had imagined the flicker of attraction cross her face.

He was pretty sure his attraction had flashing neon bulbs and a loud hailer.

‘If I get all the information I need I’ll try and fly out tomorrow evening. I’ll draw up my report, with recommendations and time-frames, then email it to you, James and your mother,’ he said as they stepped up to the entrance of MI and the automatic doors swished open.

A guard gestured him to move away from Morgan; he stepped up to sign in at the security desk and to be patted down for the second time that day. Then he followed Morgan through the metal detectors and on to the bank of elevators.

‘I’ll arrange security clearance for you so you can swipe your way through,’ Morgan said as they waited for a lift. ‘Where are you staying tonight?’

The lift doors opened and they stepped inside. He could smell her scent, feel her heat, and their eyes collided in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors as he answered her question. ‘In the MI company flat in the Lisbon Building, on West and Fifty-Seventh Street.’

‘I know where it is. I live in the apartment above it. James, when he stays in town, is above me in the penthouse. My parents are in the family house in Englewood Cliffs.’

Noah shook his head. ‘Never heard of it. Where is that?’

‘Northern New Jersey, Long Island. About...hmm...ten miles from downtown Manhattan.’ The tip of her pink tongue peeked out from between her luscious lips. It made him wonder what that mouth would feel like, how that tongue would taste. Still the same? Better?

‘So, I’m single.’

Morgan looked confused. ‘Okay. Thanks for sharing that.’

‘You?’

Where was this going? ‘Um...me too.’

Noah placed his shoulder against the mirror and couldn’t believe what he was about to say next. His accent deepened as he spoke softly. ‘Do you know something?’

‘What?’

‘MI have not, officially, signed any contract, so I’m technically not affiliated or contracted to MI yet. I don’t think we’re going to be working together, because you don’t seem to have much inclination or willingness to organise this event...’

‘Try none—and can you tell my mother that?’ said Morgan, then frowned. ‘And your point is...?’

‘My point is that, technically, I can do this...’ Noah stepped closer to her, placed his hands on her hips and dropped his head so that his mouth lined up with hers. ‘I want to see if you taste the same.’

Morgan’s eyes widened as her hands came up to rest on the lapels of his suit jacket. ‘Uh...what are you doing?’

‘Kissing you. Because we’re both single, we’re not linked by business, and because I want to,’ Noah whispered against her lips.

They were as soft as they looked, as piquant as he remembered. They softened under his and he lifted his hand to push it under the weight of her hair, encircling her slender neck with his large, hard hand. Morgan whimpered and arched towards him, her hands snaking up his chest to link behind his neck. She stood up on her tiptoes and his tongue darted out to touch hers.

All sense of propriety and sensibility left him as he spun her around and pushed her up against the wall. His hand roamed the backs of her legs and under her butt cheeks as he lifted her hips into his erection, felt her breasts flatten against his chest. She was so hot, so feminine, and she was as into this kiss as he was.

All he could think was, where had he found the strength to walk away all those years ago? He wanted her—now—and considered pulling her to the floor...except that they were in a lift and the doors could open at any second...any freakin’ second.

Noah pulled his hands off her butt and yanked his mouth off hers. He backed away—two steps, big deal—and tried to control his heaving breath. Morgan looked no better: shell shocked, kiss-bruised lips, strips of colour across her cheekbones. Anybody who saw them now would know exactly what they had been up to.

Morgan kept her eyes on his face and when the lift opened onto the executive floor, where they’d been earlier, she watched him get out. When Noah realised she wasn’t following him he placed his hand on the door to keep it open and looked back at her.

‘You aren’t getting out here?’

‘I’m going up to my studio. Top floor. Bye. And, Noah?’

‘Yeah?’

‘That was one helluva kiss.’

FOUR

Morgan had deliberately not thought about his kiss all day. Well, she’d tried not to think of his kiss... Okay, truth: she hadn’t thought of much besides his kiss!

To put it another way, she’d done little more than stare out of the window for the whole afternoon.

She was glad to be home, glad to be in her apartment where she could drop all manner of pretence and admit that Noah’s lips on hers had rocked her to her core. She staggered over to her plump red and white striped couch, dropped her bag to the floor and sank down into its welcoming softness.

She’d kissed Noah Fraser.

Inside her body, every single cell she possessed was in revolt. A picture of the little molecules on a protest march flashed in her head...grumpy little cells each carrying placards with various sayings like: Do Him!, We Want Orgasm Reform!, or simply, Sex! Now!

She couldn’t argue.

Her body craved Noah, and she wished she could use the excuse that she’d had none for a while...but she had, surprisingly, not so long ago. It hadn’t been ‘rock my world’ sex, but it had been nice, pleasant, fulfilling and, best of all, very, very discreet.

With her high profile she valued discretion. She just hadn’t realised that in that case discreet had been a synonym for married. She’d been surprised and shocked when—at the last minute, admittedly—she’d decided to attend a cocktail party she’d said she wouldn’t be at. He’d been there with his very beautiful, very thin Venezuelan wife and they’d both known that her tipping a glass of red wine into his lap, accidentally on purpose, had been a poor substitute for her slapping him into next year.

Morgan placed her thumb on one eye and her index finger on the other and pushed.

She had kissed Noah Fraser. Again.

Actually, kissed was totally the wrong word... She’d inhaled him, Frenched him...devoured him. She could still feel his long fingers searing through her pants, the rasp of his two-day beard, the silkiness of his hair as she pulled it through her fingers.

He kissed liked a dream, like a man should kiss: with authority, skill, strength and tenderness. If he made love like he kissed... Morgan whimpered as she felt the pool of heat and lust drop to her womb. She was minutes off an orgasm and that was from just the memories of his kiss!

What if he touched her breasts, slid his fingers...? She didn’t know if she was strong enough to survive the experience.

It took her a moment to realise that someone was pounding on her door and she wrinkled her nose. James frequently came by when he was in town and hung out, mostly to avoid their mother nagging him into attending an event. James was as allergic to the social swirl as she was... Was she a bad sister if she pretended not to be here?

She didn’t want to talk to anybody. She just wanted to relive Noah’s lips on hers, his scent in her nose, the hard muscles she’d felt in his shoulders.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bats...

‘Who is it?’ she demanded in a croaky voice as she pushed herself to her feet.

‘Noah.’

The only person she wanted to see and the last person she’d expected. Morgan yanked the door open and there he stood, jacket and tieless, his fist about to connect with the door again.

Morgan put out one finger and pushed his clenched fist down. ‘You pounded?’

Noah placed his hands on her hips and without a word pushed her backwards and kicked the door shut behind him.

‘Oh, well, just come on in,’ Morgan said, trying for sarcastic and hitting breathless.

Noah dropped his hands from her hips and slapped them on his. ‘I’ve been thinking...’

‘Did you hurt yourself?’ Morgan asked sweetly.

He ignored her. ‘On a scale of one to ten, what are the chances of you being in charge of this ball?’

‘About...hmm...minus one thousand and fifty-two.’

‘Thank God.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t sleep with my clients. Or my colleagues. Ever.’

‘You nearly beat down my door to tell me that?’

‘Try and keep up, Moreau. I don’t sleep with clients.’

Morgan, starting to catch a clue, felt her heart-rate accelerate. ‘And since I’m not going to be organising the ball I won’t be your client,’ she said slowly as she wrapped her head around the implications of those words.

‘There you go.’ Noah nodded ‘I walked away years ago...’

‘I know. I was there.’

That was a conversation for another day, and right now she didn’t give a foo-foo. She wanted to know if he was here for the same reason she wanted him here. So that they could take that hot kiss they’d shared in the lift to its logical conclusion. And if he was toying with her again she’d have MI Security toss his gorgeous body off the roof.

Noah’s eyes glinted blue fire. ‘I don’t want to spend the next eight years wondering...’

Morgan forced the lust away in order to think. It was hard, but she had to do it. ‘You’re leaving tomorrow to go back to London?’

‘More than likely. There’s nothing more I need to do here workwise...at this time.’

‘So you are here for one night...one incredible, exceptional, crazy night.’ she said, enunciating each word. ‘Are we on the same page, here?’

Noah pushed a hand through his messy hair. She could tell it wasn’t the first time he’d done that this evening. ‘Yeah. Deal?’

Phew! She was going to get lucky! All her little cell protestors threw down their placards, lay down and assumed the ‘do me’ position. Morgan considered doing the same.

‘What do you say, Morgan?’

Yes! Stop talking and take me now, yes! ‘Okay, yes, that’s a deal.’ Morgan started to lift her shirt. She wanted to get naked—now.

‘Stop. Don’t,’ Noah said, his voice low and urgent.

Morgan looked at him, fear and fury flashing in her eyes.

Noah took two steps to reach her and clasped her face in his hands. ‘Relax, Morgan, I just want to undress you myself. Inch by gorgeous inch.’

‘Oh.’ Morgan’s hands fell to her sides. ‘Okay.’ She tipped her head back and up, so that she could look into his eyes. ‘You think I’m gorgeous?’

‘Very—and stop fishing for compliments, Duchess. Try kissing me instead.’

The warmth in his eyes was at odds with his teasing words and Morgan felt her lips tip up in response.

Noah dropped a kiss on her nose before swooping down and covering her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers, long and smooth. ‘You sure you want to do this, Morgan?’ he muttered as his hand palmed her butt.

‘Still sure.’ Morgan angled her head away so that he could taste her neck, that sensitive spot just under her ear. His broad hand covered her breast and shivers skittered over her skin. Her fingers went to his shirt buttons and soon her hands were on warm male flesh, hot muscle and sexy skin. Her fingers danced over a very impressive six-pack and over the V of hip muscle that descended into his pants.

Noah groaned in the back of his throat as he slowly pulled her T-shirt up her torso, his eyes darkening at the white scraps of lace that covered her full breasts. He pulled her shirt up and over her head and dropped it to the floor, before running a finger along the edge of the lace. ‘Pretty.’

Morgan sucked in her breath as his finger touched her hard nipple.

He hooked his hand under the lace and revealed her breast to his sizzling gaze. ‘Very pretty indeed.’

His hot mouth covered her as he flipped open her bra and pulled it down her arms. Groaning, he banded his arms around her and, kissing her mouth, walked her backwards to the plump couch, lowering her to the striped fabric when the seat hit the back of her knees. Noah knelt down in front of her and picked up her booted foot, glowering at the knee-high laced boots.

Noah cursed. ‘This is going to take far too long.’

‘Not so much.’ Morgan grinned, reached around to the back of her calf and pulled a zip down the boots. ‘Hidden zip.’

‘Brilliant.’ Noah pulled her boots off impatiently, yanked her pants down her legs, and Morgan giggled when he tossed them over his shoulder. He sat back on his haunches, still dressed only in his suit pants, and looked at her, naked but for a little scrap of lace at the juncture of her thighs. She’d thought she would feel self-conscious, shy, uncomfortable, but how could she feel anything other than sexy and powerful when such a hard-bodied, lusciously masculine man looked at her with pure approval on his rugged face?

Then Morgan saw momentary hesitation in his face, knew that his big brain was trying to crash their party. She was not going to be denied this again... If she had to tie him down—ooh, that sounded like fun—she was going to have this man on top of her, around her, inside her.

She leaned forward and placed her hands on his bare shoulders. ‘Stop thinking. I want this. So do you. Tomorrow is another day with another set of rules. Tonight there is just us...no work, no history, no flaws. Just two people who want each other. Okay?’

‘Yeah.’

Noah nodded and Morgan released her tension in a long sigh as one hand came up to cover her breast, his thumb idly brushing her peaked nipple.

‘I have a question,’ Noah said reverentially, his eyes on her panties.

Morgan wished he’d shut up and get on with what was important—i.e. giving her a mind-blowing orgasm—but she made herself speak. ‘Okay...what?’

‘Do you still have a Brazilian?’

‘Well, soldier, why don’t you take a peek?’

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Their heads flew up and turned in unison. Both looked at the door in utter disbelief.

Noah, his hand in her panties, lifted his eyebrows. ‘Expecting someone?’

‘Uh—no.’ And she wanted them to go away, while she and Noah got back to what they were doing...which was him doing her.

And doing her rather well.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

‘Morgs, you’ve got thirty seconds, then I’m using my key.’

‘James!’ Morgan looked horrified as she pushed Noah away. ‘Clothes—where are my clothes?’

‘Scattered,’ Noah said as he stood up. ‘Get dressed and I’ll delay him.’

‘Open the door, Morgan!’ James yelled. ‘And who is with you?’

‘We’re coming!’ Morgan yelled back.

‘Not in the way we’d hoped,’ Noah stated as he reached for his shirt.

‘Shut up!’ Morgan growled, wiggling into her pants. ‘Pass me my bra.’

Noah scooped up her bra, threw it towards her and tucked his shirt into his pants. When she was dressed, he gestured towards the kitchen.

‘Got anything alcoholic?’ he asked.

Morgan nodded towards an antique drinks cabinet in the corner and flipped open the bolt to her front door.

‘James,’ she drawled, ‘have you ever heard of the concept of calling before you arrive? It’s called etiquette. I’m sure Mum tried to teach us some.’

Morgan turned away and walked towards Noah who, being a good Scot, had found her expensive bottle of whisky and was pouring a healthy amount into three glasses.

‘Morgan.’