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She sighed. Designing jewellery was probably the only aspect of her life that she felt completely confident about.
Noah walked over to the bench and squinted at her sketches. She saw his head pull back and presumed that he was reacting to the prices.
‘Can I ask you something jewellery-related?’
Morgan’s head shot up—not so much at the question but at the note of tension in his voice.
‘Sure.’ Oh, yeah, his body was coiled tight, and she narrowed her eyes as he pulled his wallet out from the back pocket of his black pants. He flipped it open, dug in a tight fold and pulled out a silver ring with a red stone. He tossed it to her and she snatched it out of the air.
‘What’s the stone?’
Before looking at the gem, Morgan looked at the setting. The band was old silver, a delicate swirl of filigree, feminine but with strong lines. Lovely, she thought. Really lovely. Whoever had made the ring was a superb craftsman, she decided as she picked up her loupe and walked over to the window. Holding the ring between two fingers, she lifted the loupe to her eye, angled the ring to the light and the breath caught in her throat. Red beryl, one of her favourite stones; very gorgeous and very rare.
‘Bixbite or red beryl. Very rare. Very valuable.’
Noah walked over to her, stared down at the ring and frowned. ‘Nah, can’t be.’
Morgan arched an eyebrow at him. ‘You a gemmologist now, soldier? Trust me on this: it’s red beryl, my favourite stone...probably set around nineteen-twenty. It would’ve been mined from the Wah Wah mountain range in Utah.’
‘Huh.’
Morgan frowned when Noah reached out, plucked the ring out of her grip with possessive fingers and put it back into his wallet. ‘Where did you get it? And why can’t it be valuable?’ she asked.
Noah just shrugged and Morgan put her hand on his arm to keep him from turning away. ‘Answering my question is my price for the valuation.’
‘It was my mother’s—passed down from my grandmother. I was given it shortly after she died and I’ve kept it with me ever since. It would be my lucky charm if I believed in lucky charms,’ Noah said, with the reluctance of a child facing a dentist’s appointment. ‘Her family wasn’t...wealthy, so I’m surprised that they possessed something this valuable.’
Forget reluctance. Now he sounded as if he was having root canal without pain relief. Noah did not like talking about himself or his family. She wanted to ask how his mother had died—and when—but his expression was forbidding. She wasn’t brave enough to go there.
‘It’s very lovely. And it either belongs on a finger or in a safe, soldier,’ Morgan said. His expression begged her to change the subject so she relented. ‘How did the meeting go with the Head of Security at the Forrester?’
Noah turned away and walked over to the window, looking down on the busy road beneath them. ‘I have some concerns that he needs to address. I’ll put them in a report and email it to you.’
Morgan wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t you tell me instead?’
‘What is it with you and your hatred of reading reports?’ Noah asked, resting his butt on the window sill. Sunlight picked up deep golden-brown streaks in his hair and created a bit of an aura around his head. He looked like a rough, tough, gun-toting bad-ass angel.
Morgan clenched her thighs together and ignored the pulsing down below. She really had to get her hormones under control. This was beyond ridiculous.
‘Uh...reports. They are just a hassle to read.’
Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. ‘You don’t like reading?’
‘Not particularly.’
Noah crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms. ‘So, what do you read? Tatler and Heat?’
And there he went, making assumptions. ‘If I don’t like going out in society why would I want to read about it? Actually, snob, my favourite authors are Jane Austen and Ernest Hemingway. Harper Lee, John Steinbeck—all the classics.’
‘But you just said that you don’t like to read.’
Yeah, but not that I don’t love books. She did love books—devoured them by the bucket load. Except that along with the paperback she bought the audio book, so that she could read along. Truthfully, she frequently just opted to listen and not read.
Morgan flipped Noah a look and saw that he was looking very confused. Right, time to change the subject before he probed a little deeper. She wasn’t ready—probably would never be—to tell him about her dyslexia. It wasn’t something she believed he needed to know— now or ever.
‘I have a list of this month’s events that I need to attend,’ Morgan said, picking up the piece of paper she’d printed earlier from the email she’d received from Helen. She walked over to Noah and watched as he speed-read the document. Lucky man.
‘Ballet? Uck. A ball? Save me... But I can handle the art exhibition; I really like Davie’s work.’
‘You know Johnno’s art?’ Morgan asked, surprised.
Noah folded his arms and tipped his head. ‘Now who’s being a snob? I went to his exhibition in London. Fantastic.’
‘Do you have any of his pieces?’
‘Duchess, I could only afford to look—not buy.’ Noah drawled. ‘Maybe one day. Anyway, my partner can’t find my tux in my flat. I think it’s at the cleaners and has been for the last six months.’
‘You left your tux at the cleaners for six months?’
‘I’ve been in and out of the country and I forgot, okay? My tux wasn’t high up on my list of priorities. So when do I need a tux by...?’ He looked at the piece of paper she’d handed him. ‘Crap! Tonight?’
‘Yep.’ Morgan laughed at his look of horror.
‘Jeez, give me some warning next time.’ Noah grumbled.
‘Hey, I’m the one who has to decide what to wear, do my hair, shoes, jewellery. Make-up. You just have to put on a tux. Big deal,’ Morgan shot back. It took work to look like the Moreau heiress people expected to see. A designer dress, stunning salon hair, perfect make-up. The right jewels for the right dress.
‘Yeah, but I have to get a tux and get into character...you know...work out how I’m going to pretend to have the hots for you. It’s a difficult job, but someone has to do it.’
She was so distracted by the humour dancing in his eyes that it took a while for his words to make sense. When they did she blushed from head to toe and her fist rocketed into his bicep. It made all the impact of a single drop of rain falling in the desert.
‘Jerk!’
‘Was that supposed to be a punch?’ Noah asked, and grinned as she shook her fingers out. ‘Wuss. So, are you going to stay here for the rest of the afternoon while I go and buy myself a tux? Can I trust you to do that?’
Morgan shoved out her lower lip. ‘Maybe.’
Noah’s face hardened and his mouth flattened. ‘You leave this building without me and there will be hell to pay, Duchess.’
Morgan pulled in a huge breath. She didn’t mind him calling her Duchess, but not in that cold, bossy voice. ‘I’m not an idiot, soldier. I won’t leave until you get back. And if you weren’t being such a jerk I’d tell you that if you went across the road to that very famous store over there—’ she looked past him and pointed her finger towards the renowned corner shop ‘—in the men’s department there is a salesperson named Norman. In his sixties, bald. Tell him I sent you and he’ll sort you out with what you need.’
Morgan was surprised when Noah leaned over and placed his cool lips, very briefly, on her temple. ‘Thanks.’
Morgan watched him walk away, and he was at the door before she realised that kissing her was out of bounds too. ‘Hey, no kissing!’
Noah tossed her a grin that had her blood pumping. ‘Just practising for later. Do some work, Duchess, you have a ball to organise.’
Morgan wrinkled her nose. Sad, but true.
* * *
Being a bodyguard pretending to be her latest conquest sucked, Noah thought a couple of hours later in the ballroom of the Park Hyatt, half listening to Morgan as she talked ‘ball’ to a society matron with a pigeon-egg-sized diamond in her wrinkly cleavage. Doing it with a twitching groin made the situation a thousand times worse.
It was her dress, Noah decided, taking the smallest sip of the glass of whisky he’d been nursing for hours. Moss-green and strapless, it fell from her breasts and skimmed her hips. At first glance it almost seemed demure, slightly bohemian, off-beat. Then she moved and the long slit to one side exposed most of a slim thigh and his blood belted south. That thigh was smooth and silky, and even sexier because nothing covered it except perfect, perfect skin.
Funny and interesting... She was a killer combination. Bright as anything too. She picked up sarcasm, nuances, innuendo and irony, and he could read humour, annoyance and interest as the emotions flickered into her eyes. She’d been fêted all evening and he now realised what she’d meant when she’d said that the Moreaus were welcome everywhere. Conversation stopped when she joined a group, male tongues fell to the floor, women smiled and tried not to look jealous, and she was constantly and persistently asked about the ball.
‘How do we get personally invited to the ball?’
‘How much do you think we have to bid to secure a ticket?’
‘Do you have a theme yet?’
‘Do remind your mother that we served together on the blah-blah-blah committee and worked together on the meh-meh-meh project.’
Didn’t these people have any pride?
But Morgan just smiled, changed the subject and moved on to another group if the person was too persistent.
‘Don’t you think so, Noah?’ Morgan asked, and Noah sent her a blank look.
Morgan’s lips lifted, and he knew by the gleam in her eye that she knew his thoughts were miles away.
‘That this year’s ball is going to be utterly amazing?’ she clarified.
‘Uh...yes...’
Wrinkly cleavage leaned across Morgan and showed him far more of what he didn’t need to see. ‘So, how long have you two been dating?’ she demanded.
Oh... Noah looked at Morgan and waited for her to answer.
‘We’ve known each other a long time, Vi,’ Morgan said softly, her eyes on his mouth.
The twitch turned to an ache.
‘Well, he’s a lot better that a lot of those other creatures you’ve dated, Morgan.’
Morgan’s lips lifted with amusement and she tipped her head. ‘You don’t think he looks too bodyguardish? All “don’t mess with me or I’ll wipe the floor with your face”?’
‘Sitting right here,’ Noah reminded them.
‘Is that a bad thing?’ Vi demanded. ‘He does have very nice shoulders.’
‘Mmm...and a nice butt.’
Noah glared at Morgan and lowered his voice. ‘Morgan...enough.’ As in Behave yourself or I’m going to retaliate.
He knew that she’d got the message because her eyes narrowed at his challenge. Noah looked up at the waiter who had placed the next course in front of her and saw the other plate he held—his plate!—wobble as his young knees buckled under the force of that smile. He couldn’t blame him, so he snatched at his plate before the mini-cheese platter ended up in his lap.
Morgan smiled at him before turning to another man on the table. Noah sneaked a look at his watch...it was after eleven already, and people were table-hopping or getting up to dance.
Maybe they could leave soon...
‘Morgan, my honey, it’s so nice to see you. We don’t see enough of your pretty face at these events.’
Noah lifted his eyebrows at the plummy tones and looked at Morgan. The man had his eyes fixed on Morgan’s chest and his manicured fingers rested on her shoulder. Noah, reacting instinctively, slid his arm around the back of Morgan’s chair, knocked his hand away and cupped her slim shoulder in his hand. Soft, silky...
Morgan turned slightly, leaned back towards him, and he caught a whiff of her hair: citrus and spice. Lust rocketed to his groin.
‘Morgan...’ It was another voice demanding her attention.
Give the girl a break, Noah thought, turning to look up into the face of an elderly gentlemen who looked as if he could do with more than a couple of sessions in the gym and a year on a low-carb diet. Manners pulled them both to their feet and Noah watched as Morgan’s knuckles were kissed in an old-fashioned gesture.
‘It’s so wonderful to have you here at the benefit, Morgan, and the room is abuzz with the news that you are taking over the reins of the charity ball from Hannah,’ he gushed.
‘Well, not quite, Alexander,’ Morgan hedged. ‘Mum is still in charge.’
‘As you know, this ball aims to raise money for scholarships for deprived students in the poorer areas of our great city.’
Noah did an inner eye-roll at his pompous words, but Alexander wasn’t quite done with the speechmaking.
‘Our foundation was a recipient of a portion of the money raised from your ball five years ago, so I thought that you could do a short speech about the ball. In a couple of minutes? Wonderful.’
Smooth, Noah thought, he hadn’t given her much chance to refuse.
‘And who is your escort, Morgan?’ Alexander held out a hand to Noah, which Noah shook. ‘Alexander Morton—of Morton’s International...banking, dear boy.’
Even when he’d been a boy he’d never been anyone’s ‘dear boy’, Noah thought as he shook the soft, fishy hand and resisted the urge to wipe his own on his pants leg.
Morgan made a couple of standard responses to Alexander’s queries after her family, but he could hear the tension in her voice, could see it in her suddenly tense jaw.
She was seriously and completely rattled. He wondered why.
* * *
Pretend they are naked, Morgan told herself as she gripped the podium and looked out over the expectant faces below. No, don’t think they are naked, you’re feeling traumatised enough. They are cabbages...they are dolls...
They were people waiting for her to fall flat on her face. She wasn’t going to disappoint them...
Dear God, she thought, sucking in air, this was her worst nightmare. The room whirled and swirled. She couldn’t find the words, didn’t know what to say...what was she doing up here? She didn’t—couldn’t—do speeches, especially unprepared ones.
Her knuckles whitened and she gnawed on her lip as the murmurs from the restless crowd drifted up towards her.
Help. She pulled her tongue down from the top of her mouth and managed to find a few words. ‘Um...good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’
Bats! What now? She couldn’t think, couldn’t find the words...frozen, there was the word. She was utterly iced up.
Then Morgan felt movement next to her and a large, familiar hand rested on hers and gently lifted her stiff fingers from the podium.
