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‘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.
SIX (#uf6c227df-31e3-5de5-a4f8-0bf30a950bc2)
In her studio Morgan squinted at her computer screen and groaned audibly. She was stuck on the first page of the computerised file that detailed all the steps for organising the Moreau Charity Ball and she was already frustrated. Irritated. And, worse, shaking with fear in her designer shoes.
Date of event determined?
Liaise with banqueting manager at F-G.
Determine specific target audience for personal invites.
Objectives set in accordance to mission statement and vision of MI Foundation.
Complete risk assessment; not only to security of gemstone collection but also to brand and customer perception.
Dear Lord, she thought fifteen minutes later, couldn’t they use plain English—and why was it so vague? Where was the ‘how to do’ part of the list? She hadn’t even been aware that the MI Foundation had a mission statement, and she’d thought the vision was simple: raise and donate money.
Dammit, this was why she shouldn’t be in charge of anything more complicated than See Jane Run.
Her mother had to be taking a new hormone pill to think that she could organise the ball—never mind her crazy idea of joining MI as Brand and Image Director.
Morgan swallowed the tears that had gathered in the back of her throat. ‘I am not stupid,’ she whispered under her breath, glaring at the screen. ‘I am not stupid. I am not stupid.’
Okay, then, why do I feel so stupid?
Morgan heard the rap on her door and looked up to see Noah through the glass window. She tapped the tip of one index finger with the other, indicating that he should use the finger scanner to enter. Two seconds later the door was opening and Noah, sans jacket and tie, entered her studio. She hastily slammed the lid of her laptop closed and inwardly cringed. What could be more mortifying than Noah finding out the scope of her learning problems? There wasn’t a lot, she decided as he held the door open and looked at the finger scanner.
‘Nifty. A retina scanner would be better, but the fingerprint scanner isn’t bad.’
Morgan leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. ‘If the scanner worked then I presume that Security gave you everything you needed to negotiate your way through this super-secure building?’
‘Yep.’ Noah looked around her studio and she winced at the mess.
On the wooden benches across one wall sat her presses and pliers, mandrels and blocks. Hammers, files, more presses. The wall above it was covered in sketches, some finished, of ring and necklace designs, all of which held the name of the client scribbled across it and the price quoted.
She bit her lip and wondered what he’d think of her studio, with its plants and cosy seating, battered bench and industrial lighting. Yeah, it was eclectic and messy, colourful, but it worked for her. She could sit down at the bench and fall into a creative space that exhilarated her and made time fly. Sometimes the designs changed from the original sketch she’d been working to, but she’d yet to have a client complain of the changes made since they were all, invariably, better for it.
