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

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.’

EIGHT

Back in Morgan’s apartment, Noah glanced to the other side of the couch and smiled when he saw that Morgan had shuffled down, her head on a cushion, eyes closed and her sock-covered feet touching his thigh. Noah placed his beer on the side table and glanced at his watch; it was just past nine-thirty.

Standing up, he walked over to her and gently removed the earphones she’d plugged into her ears earlier. Her hand still loosely clutched her iPad and he pulled that away too. She liked listening to music while she read, she’d told him earlier, and wasn’t that keen on TV, so he was welcome to watch what he liked.

Noah heard sound coming from the earphones and lifted one bud up to his ear. Instead of music, a low, melodious voice filled his ear. Frowning, he tapped the tablet and quickly realised that Morgan was listening to an audiobook, Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth—a book he’d read years ago and thoroughly loved.

Noah had barely any time to react as Morgan launched up and tried to whip the tablet from his grasp. Her fingers skimmed the tablet as he moved it out of her reach.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Give it back!’

‘Calm down, Duchess. Anyone would think you’re hiding something here.’ He grinned. ‘Erotica? How to be an It Girl manuals?’

Morgan just glared at him, reared up and tried to take the device again.

‘Oooh, temper. Now, I definitely know you’re hiding something!’

‘Stop being an ass! Give. It. Back!’ Morgan shouted.

‘Nah...I want to see what you’re hiding. Bad music? Sappy movies? Your addiction to Angry Birds? Badly written cowboy books?’

‘Noah!’

Noah tapped the menu and scrolled through her books. Frowning, he looked at the books on the device—there were many, and they covered a wide range of genres and subjects. But they were all audiobooks. He scrolled up, backwards, checked her files, and eventually realised that there wasn’t a single e-book anywhere on the device.

‘Only audiobooks, Morgs? Are you too lazy to read?’

He saw the colour seep from her face and her eyes fill with hurt. He frowned, knowing that he had misstepped badly, but he wasn’t sure why his comment had had such an effect on her.

‘Just give it back, Fraser,’ Morgan said in a small voice.

Pride and defiance now flashed in her eyes, but underneath he could still sense her embarrassment and her vulnerability.

‘My reading habits have nothing to do with you.’

‘Reports are a hassle to read.’

‘Can you give me a verbal report instead?’

He rubbed his jaw. Could it be...was it possible...that Morgan couldn’t read? No, come on...everyone could read in this day and age, right? And she was so smart. There had to be another explanation.

Morgan sat back down on the couch and stared at the floor. Instinctively he balanced himself on his haunches and pushed her hair behind her ears, gently stroking the tender skin behind her ear.

‘Do you have a problem with reading?’

She didn’t reply and wouldn’t meet his eyes. He hated to ask but he needed to know. ‘Can you read...at all?’

Morgan jolted up and looked at him, her eyes wide and horrified. ‘Of course I can read! Not well or fast, but I can read!’ She stumbled to her feet, walked across the carpet and turned to look at him, her expression belligerent. ‘Go on—say it. I dare you.’

‘What?’ Noah asked, genuinely confused.

Morgan placed a hand on her cocked hip and lifted her chin. ‘I’ve heard them all, Noah—all the wisecracks, all the jokes. She’s got the looks and she’s got money—what does she need a brain for? She’s so thick that she’d get trapped on an escalator if the power went out. Quickest way to drown her? Put a mirror on the bottom of the pool—’

‘That’s enough. Stop.’ Noah held up his hand and kept his voice even. Who had said such brutal things about her? Whoever it was deserved a kick up the ass. It would be his pleasure to do it. ‘Come and sit down, lass,’ he said eventually, his voice gentle.

Noah waited until Morgan had perched on the edge of the couch, her bottom lip between her teeth. He resumed his position on his haunches in front of her.

‘I’m not going to make fun of you, Morgan, but I do need to understand.’ Noah rested his hand on her knee. ‘Dyslexia?’

Morgan sighed. ‘Chronic.’ She glared at him again. ‘But know this: I am not stupid, Noah. I have an exceedingly high IQ. I am not a dumb blonde.’

‘Anyone with half a brain can see that.’ Of course she wasn’t stupid. She had the vocabulary of a Scrabble master and a brain that could tie him up in knots. ‘You’re probably one of the smartest women I know.’ He ran a finger down her chest, skimming over her T-shirt between her breasts. ‘This body is a work of art, but this—’ he lifted his hand and gently tapped her temple with his finger ‘—what’s in here scares the daylights out of me.’

Morgan’s eyes lightened in pleasure and a whole lot of relief. He smiled as a peachy blush spread over her cheekbones.

‘It’s just another part of you and you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. So, who was the loser?’

‘The loser?’

‘The guy who threw those comments at you. Name? Address? Name of the cemetery you want his dead body dumped at...’

Morgan’s small smile disappeared quickly. She stared at her hands. ‘First lover—a couple of months after you. I convinced myself that I loved him. He told me that I couldn’t take a joke. He was verbally abusive but I gave him the ammunition to hurt me. Since then I’ve kept the dyslexia to myself.’

Noah uttered an obscenity and rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Seriously, Morgs. Give me his name and I can cause him a world of pain.’

Morgan placed the tips of her fingers on his cheek. ‘I appreciate the offer, but he’s not worth the jail sentence.’

‘You’re no fun,’ he complained mildly. She thought he was joking yet he’d happily use some of his nastiest unarmed combat skills on any man who so much as looked at Morgan the wrong way.