Книга - Flirting with the Forbidden

Flirting with the Forbidden
Joss Wood


He can look…Bodyguard Noah Fraser hasn’t seen diamond heiress Morgan Moreau for eight years—but the image of her naked body has been imprinted on his mind ever since! The sexy socialite was totally off-limits, and it took every ounce of Noah’s iron control for him to walk away……but he’s not supposed to touch!Now he’s been hired to protect her again, so picking up where they left off definitely isn’t an option. But Noah’s body doesn’t seem to have got the memo—keeping his hands off Morgan is a 24/7 battle! And how can he resist the forbidden when giving in is so irresistibly tempting…?









‘Noah,’ James said, placing a hand on Morgan’s stiff back and urging her towards him. ‘I don’t know if you remember my sister Morgan?’


Since the memory of her naked is forever printed on my retina, I should think so.

Noah’s mouth twitched, and when Morgan glared at him he thought that she’d worked out what he was thinking.

‘Of course. Nice to see you again, Morgan,’ he said, in his smoothest, blandest voice.

Wish you were naked, by the way.

‘Noah,’ Morgan said, and her eyes flicked over him, narrowed.

Noah just held her defiant stare. He’d perfected his implacable, don’t-mess-with-me stare in the forces, and it had had more than a couple of recruits and higher-ranking officers buckling under. When Morgan started to flush he knew he had won their silent battle of wills. This time …


Dear Reader

So many children, bright and bold, are failed by the current schooling system because they don’t fit into the ‘academic’ box society wants to shove them into. Over the years I’ve watched the struggles of a few dyslexic friends and the pain mothers of dyslexic children experience because school is a minefield for them. Because I believe that there are many different types of intelligence, and that one isn’t better than another, I wanted to explore the effects dyslexia can have on an adult—especially one who comes from a wealthy, important and prominent family. Morgan, my bright, brave and bold heroine, is a result of those musings.

And Noah … Oh, I’m so in love with Noah. He’s pulled himself out of a shocking family situation and is hard and tough, but he acts with integrity and honour. He’s a sexy, reticent ex-SAS Scot who thinks he doesn’t need anyone or anything. He probably doesn’t … except Morgan. And he doesn’t much like it.

Morgan and Noah are equally strong and equally vulnerable, and I so enjoyed getting to know them. I hope you will too!

With my best wishes

Joss

xxx

Come and say hi via

Facebook: Joss Wood Author,

Twitter: @josswoodbooks

or at www.josswoodbooks.com (http://www.josswoodbooks.com)


Flirting with

the Forbidden

Joss Wood






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Fuelled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mum Joss, with her background in business and marketing, works for a non-profit organisation to promote the local economic development and collective business interests of the area where she resides. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, family and friends, she lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.

Other Modern Tempted


titles by Joss Wood:

THE LAST GUY SHE SHOULD CALL

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT …

This and other titles by Joss Wood are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk




DEDICATION


Vaughan and I have been married for twenty yearsthis year and he’s my biggest fan,my best friend and my favourite travelling companion.He’s also pretty hot …

This book is dedicated to him to say thanksfor making me coffee every morning,for being a brilliant dad, for loving me so muchand for the fun that is our life.


Contents

Prologue (#ubf414bb8-3465-5eed-998a-4448ff9d0715)

Chapter One (#uf062138d-9321-5578-81a3-27b87f4ebaba)

Chapter Two (#ub8c1db44-13bf-5d5c-9aa1-d90ef397df60)

Chapter Three (#u93380c08-1a65-521e-8b9d-4fe293850786)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE

Eight years earlier...

Noah Fraser looked at the crown moulded ceilings above his head and tried not to think about the action in his pants—hmmm, at least he wasn’t wearing a kilt. Truthfully, he could understand what was happening in his pants far more easily than he understood the mess in his head. Lust was easy, and there was a straightforward and time-honoured process for getting shot of it. But since the obvious was out of the question—it required a great deal more privacy than he currently had—he knew he had to distract himself.

He’d spent a lot of the past five years feeling horny—thanks to several tours of duty in dusty countries with little to no female interaction—and he’d learned a couple of techniques to relieve the frustration. Running through the process of dismantling his favourite weapon, the MP5 sub-machine gun, in the field usually did the trick.

Safety check. Check.

Noah banged his head back against the arm of the couch and cursed softly. What he really wanted was to get naked with that annoyingly sexy bundle of energy beyond the bedroom door. He was head-over-heels in lust with her...and a whole bunch of like. He could handle the lust...sorta, kinda...but the like had him tied up in knots.

It was a time of firsts for both of them. He was her first bodyguard and hers was the first body—and what a body it was too!—he’d guarded. His mission was to keep her safe, and apparently hers was to crack the inscrutable façade he’d been told to present. It wasn’t easy keeping his demeanour deadpan, because she was funny and smart and had a dry sense of humour that he deeply appreciated. He’d soon realised that she was winding him up by practising her flirting skills on him and it had started a battle of wills between them: she tried to get a reaction out of him and he refused to give her one. He still wasn’t sure what the score was, but if they had to judge the competition by his frustration levels then she was streaks ahead.

Release bolt by vigorously slapping the cocking lever out of the indent. Check.

Okay, slight improvement...not much, but some. Noah, curled up on her too-small couch, glared at the closed door and cursed himself for being a fool...and for being unable to concentrate. Concentration, focus, control—control was his thing.

Pull out the locking pin...

His mind drifted again. She had the most amazing smile...and a ‘shoot-all-the-blood-to-his-groin’ body! Firm, toned, luscious, sweet...young.

Noah pulled the pillow over his head and silently screamed into the fabric. Nineteen, for crying out loud! He couldn’t believe he was losing his mind over a teenager. He was a flippin’ moron. Morgan Moreau was too young and she was his principal. His principal! Six months out of the unit, he was new to bodyguarding and the CFT Corporation, but he was pretty sure that sleeping with his principal was high up on the list of bodyguarding no-no’s.

Since he had no intention of getting his ass fired over a piece of ass, no matter how sexy and tempting it was, he pulled the pillow away from his face, heaved in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

‘Crap!’ he yelled, scuttling up into the corner of the couch.

‘Some bodyguard you are. I could’ve stabbed you in the heart,’ Morgan drawled.

‘You’re naked,’ Noah croaked, dimly aware that the saliva in his mouth had dried up. It had probably joined his blood as it sprinted south.

Naked, naked, naked, his body panted. Yeah, baby!

Noah was unable to stop his eyes from scanning her body. Perky breasts, a flat stomach, a Brazilian... Oh, he was a dead man...a Brazilian.

What was he thinking?

‘You have amazing powers of observation,’ Morgan said, her sexy mouth curving upwards. Her voice was perfect for the bedroom: gravelly, low, sexy.

‘Why...? What...? How...?’

Morgan perched on the edge of the couch and placed her elbow on her knee, immensely at ease in her nakedness—which ratcheted up his level of panic. ‘I thought you were brighter than that, Noah. I’m here, you’re here—let’s have some fun.’

Noah, his last two brain cells working overtime, narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Subtle.’

‘Straightforward,’ Morgan countered. ‘So, what do you say?’

They could... Who would know? They could have a couple of nights of uncomplicated sex, and when they’d hunted down the group of fanatics threatening her famous and wealthy family he’d return to the field and they could both move on with their lives. He’d move on to another job and she’d pull the same thing on another guy...

Noah frowned at the thought. While he believed in equality, the thought of Morgan getting naked with someone else left a sour taste in his mouth. It was on the tip of his tongue to warn her not to do this with anyone else, but he bit the words back.

Which was weird. He didn’t like being controlled, hated people telling him what to do, so why did he want to do that to her? This was all too confusing; he’d had his fair share of sexual encounters but this was out of his ken. Way, way out. Outer Hebrides out.

He dropped his eyes to her chest and realised that she had the most amazing nipples—pink and succulent. All he had to do was reach for her arm and tumble her onto his lap. One little tug...

Nineteen. His job. Nineteen.

She was entrancing. Look at those eyes...the colour of bold green glass...

Nineteen. Job. Principal! He’d get his ass fired. Noah craned his neck and, yes, her ass was more gorgeous than he’d imagined.

Noah, as hard as stone, rolled to his feet and yanked his shirt up and over his head, thinking he’d get her to cover up, but instead he just stared at what she offered. Who would know? Truly, who would ever know?

His brain was back-pedalling, but he was facing a gorgeous naked girl who was offering herself on a plate, and the fact that he actually liked her as well was a nice bonus. When had he last genuinely liked a girl?

Walk away, Fraser, just walk away...

Then he remembered that he’d never had a halo that needed polishing.

* * *

Morgan felt his hand encircle her wrist, and as he launched her up into his hard body she closed her eyes in sheer, pure relief. For one moment she’d thought that this strong, quiet, sexy Scotsman was about to say no, that he was genuinely thinking about walking away. But suddenly he was hard under her hands, and his mouth on hers was an absolute revelation.

He kissed her as if he owned her, as if she was—just for this moment in time—his and only his. His mouth was hot, silky, sexy. Morgan felt his fingers digging into the skin on her hips and she wished that he would do something with them... Instead he just kissed her: long, liquid slides that tasted like heaven-coated sin.

Then Noah placed his hands under her butt and lifted her up and—oh, oh, oh!—onto his jeans-clad erection. The muscles in his arms bunched and she slid her hand up and down that tanned skin, briefly tracing the Celtic cross tattoo on his shoulder. Dropping her head, she kissed that smooth skin while he carried her back to her bedroom with an ease that astounded her.

A strong, sexy Scotsman... She couldn’t believe that this was happening. Finally!

Noah lowered her down to the cool white sheets of her bed and loomed over her, his mouth going to her breast and pulling it into his mouth. Then he slid a hand between her legs and she arched off the bed as hot, sexual power pulsed through her. He slid a finger inside her and lifted his head to look into her face.

‘So hot, so wet,’ he muttered. ‘You are a soldier’s dream, lass.’

Morgan lifted her head and then smacked it against the bed as he built up a fire inside her that threatened to consume her.

‘Can’t believe I waited so long,’ she growled to herself. ‘Man, you’re good at this.’

His finger stopped, his mouth pulled away from her breast and cool air drifted over her wet flesh. It was hot and muggy outside, but she knew that she’d crashed into an emotional iceberg.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,’ she muttered as he withdrew from her and rolled himself away.

‘Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice?’

‘Kind of,’ Morgan admitted.

He was trying to control himself; she could see that. He opened his mouth to say something and snapped his words back, his eyes sparking dangerously.

‘So, how does this work? Did you decide that your virginity was something you no longer needed and I was handy?’

No! Yes! Kind of... How did she explain that she felt comfortable with him? Safe? From the moment she’d met him she’d known that he was authentic, solid. In her world, she didn’t encounter those characteristics that often. He made her feel grounded, real...special.

And it didn’t hurt that he had a hard, droolworthy body.

‘I just thought...you...me...it would be fun.’

‘Fun, huh?’ Noah ran his hand through his hair and shook his head in disgust. ‘Morgan, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Why are you so angry?’ Morgan demanded, pulling a sheet up and around her. Every inch of her skin was now blushing and she felt humiliated and confused. Why was this a problem? She was offering her body, not asking him to do her laundry.

‘You don’t just give it away—especially to someone like...’ Noah trailed off. ‘Damn it! Don’t you have a boyfriend? Surely you’ve had offers? I see how those guys you hang out with look at you!’

Her blood cooled at the thought. ‘None of them can keep their mouths shut and, trust me, my hooking up with someone would be huge news. And a very big feather in someone’s cap.’

Since she hadn’t slept with any of the society boys—sons of her mother’s friends, acquaintances and connections—she knew that she was a fish to be hooked, a prize to be won. She wouldn’t give any of those poncey, wishy-washy pseudo-men the satisfaction.

Noah looked ill—green—and Morgan’s heart dropped like a brick. Only she could make a guy nauseous with an offer of sex.

‘So you went trawling, huh?’

Trawling? Morgan frowned. Was he nuts? He was a far better choice on any weekday and twice on Sundays. ‘No, I— What’s your problem anyway?’

‘Just trying to figure out where I am in the pecking order. Above the pool boy but below the riding instructor? What comes next? Are you going to offer to pay me?’

Okay, now he was way off course. ‘Stop being a jerk, Noah! Look, I like you, and I thought that you might like me...just a little. I thought that we were almost friends, and I’d rather do it with an almost-friend than someone who sees me as a prize.’

But Noah wasn’t listening. He swore, his Scottish accent becoming rapidly more pronounced.. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. What is wrong with me? I cannot believe that I let my libido override my common sense, my professionalism. Acting with integrity, my ass. She’d knock me into next year if she knew.’

Who? What on earth was he talking about?’

Noah shook his head as if to clear it and glowered at her. ‘Put some clothes on. This isn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever.’

Noah took one last look at her, then swore softly again as he turned and walked out of the room, slamming her bedroom door behind him.

Morgan winced and cursed the tears that stung her eyes. ‘Guess that’s a big old Scottish no, then.’

Curling into a ball, she lay on her bed and stared out through the open sash window. Sleep refused to come, and when she did manage to drift off she woke up to a stranger in her flat.

Noah had left and in his place was a female bodyguard—just in case, Morgan thought grimly, she was so desperate to get laid that she seduced the next male bodyguard who was assigned to her.

If losing her virginity had been the goal, then half the population in the world could have sorted her out. But she didn’t want half the population...

Stupid man; she wanted him.


ONE

Noah Fraser dodged past a couple kissing and ran his hand across his prickly jaw. His eyes flicked over the waiting crowds, mentally processing faces against his internal data bank, and nobody blipped on his radar until he saw a tall, thin man with his hands in the pockets of his expensive trousers.

He frowned and wondered what was so important that Chris had to meet him here.

Twenty hours ago he’d boarded a plane at the Ministro Pistarini International Airport just south of Buenos Aires, after a week spent doing a full-spectrum security analysis for a museum. He’d identified threats and risks and then provided them with solutions to plug the holes. It was a part of the business they were trying to grow and it was lucrative.

Because he was a frugal Scot, he still felt guilty that he’d upgraded his seat to business class, but he just hadn’t been able to face the thought of wedging his six-foot-three frame into a minuscule economy class seat to spend thirteen hours in cramped misery. As Chris kept reminding him, business class also allowed him to review his files in privacy, to catch a couple of twenty-minute power naps, to drink good whisky. He’d worked hard for a long time, he told himself, and he—the business—could afford it.

Noah rolled his shoulders as he made his way through Customs, looking forward to a decent shower, a beer and to sleeping for a week.

Of course sleeping for a week was a pipedream; he was working all hours of the day to build his company, and sleep was a luxury he just couldn’t afford. Self-sufficiency and financial independence were a lot higher up on Noah’s list of priorities than sleep.

Who knew why he was being met by Chris, his oldest friend, partner and second-in-command at Auterlochie Consulting? Something must be up. He swallowed as dread settled over him. The last time Chris had met him at the airport it had been because Kade, one of their best employees, had committed suicide. God, he didn’t want to deal with something like that again...

‘No one has died,’ Chris said quickly and Noah wasn’t surprised that he’d read his mind.

They’d learnt to read each other’s faces—sometimes their thoughts—in dusty, unfriendly situations and it was a trait they’d never lost.

Noah did a minor eye-roll as Chris shook his hand and pulled him into that one-armed hug he did so well. Only Chris could get away with that kind of PDA; when you’d saved a guy’s life you had to overlook his occasional sappiness.

Noah adjusted the rucksack on his shoulder as they made their way across the terminal. ‘What’s up?’

Chris jammed his hands in his pockets and gestured towards the nearest coffee shop. ‘I’ll explain. You look like hell.’

Noah grinned wryly. ‘Nice to see you too.’

Ten minutes later Noah was slumped into a plastic seat at one of the many generic restaurants scattered throughout the hall. He sent his friend a sour look and took another sip of his strong black coffee. By his estimation he’d been awake for more than thirty hours and he was feeling punchy.

‘How did the assessment go?’ Chris asked.

‘Brilliant. They took all my suggestions on board and paid the account via bank transfer before I left the office. The money should be through already.’

‘It is. I checked. It’s easy money, Noah.’

‘And we can do it with our eyes closed. If we start getting a reputation for providing solid advice at a good price, I think we could double our turnover—and soon too.’

‘We’ve already exceeded our initial projections for the business. In fact, we’re doing really well.’

‘We can do better. I want to build us into being the premier provider of VIP protection and risk assessment in the UK.’

‘Not the world?’ Chris quipped, gently mocking his ambition as he always did.

Chris was less driven than he was, and had his feet firmly placed on the ground. It wasn’t a bad thing. Noah had enough ambition for both of them. They were great partners. Chris was better with people: he had an easy way about him that drew people in. Their clients and staff talked to Chris; he was their best friend, the elder brother, a mate. Chris was the touchy-feely half of their partnership.

Noah was tough, decisive and goal-orientated; the partner who kicked butt. He called it being disciplined, reasonable, responsible and dedicated in everything he did. Chris called it being a control freak perfectionist. And emotionally stunted. Yeah, yeah...

Well, that was what happened when you grew up far too fast... Noah ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away the memories of his childhood, of picking up the pieces when his mother died, the wrench of losing his brothers. He pulled in a breath and along with it control.

He was in control, he reminded himself. It was a long time ago that he was sixteen and had felt the earth shaking under his feet.

He saw Chris’s insightful look and summoned up a smile. ‘I’ve scheduled world domination for next year,’ he quipped. ‘What was the response when you told our employees that we wanted them to do a mandatory session with a psychologist every six months?’

‘They grumbled, but they understood. Kade’s death has rocked them all. You do know that we’ll have to do it too.’

Noah blanched. ‘Hell, no.’

‘Hell, yes. Kade was our responsibility and we didn’t pick up the signs. What if we’re working too hard, trying to keep too many balls in the air, and we miss the signs in someone else? We have to be as mentally healthy as—more mentally healthy than—any of our employees, Noah. That’s non-negotiable.’

Since Chris was the healthiest, most balanced person he knew, Noah didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that Chris was talking about him. Chris thought he was too stressed—working like a demon, juggling far too many balls. He knew that Chris was worried about him burning out, but he also knew that that he was nowhere near the edge...

Working hard never killed anyone—and besides, he’d been to the edge before and he knew what it looked like. He was still miles away.

Chris slapped the folder he’d been holding onto the table and pushed it towards him. Flipping open the cover, Noah looked down into the laughing face of a green-eyed blonde. She was standing between her famous mother and father, her brother behind them. The most successful family on planet earth, he thought. Rich, successful, close. A unit.

He felt a pang of jealousy and told himself that despite the fact that he had not been part of his brothers’ lives for most of their formative years he was now, and they weren’t doing so badly.

Noah concentrated on the photo below him. Morgan...she’d grown up. She was wearing a tight, slinky cream dress that stopped inches below her butt and revealed her giraffe-long legs. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail and her naturally made-up face was alight with joy. She looked fantastic. Happy, charismatic.

Hot.

Doing a stint as her bodyguard had nearly killed him. Apart from that one incident he’d never before or since needed the same amount of control and determination as he’d summoned the night he’d walked away from the gloriously naked Morgan Claire Morrisey Moreau.

Noah flipped through the papers in the file. ‘Floor plans of the Forrester-Grantham hotel in New York. Photos of the Moreau jewellery collection... I thought the Moreaus were Amanda’s clients—have always been CFT’s clients?’

Amanda. Their ex-boss and his ex-lover. As petite and as dangerous as a black widow spider, she looked like every other ball-breaker businesswoman in the city.

Except that Amanda actually broke balls. She’d certainly tried to go for his when she’d found out that he was leaving the CFT Corporation to start a company that was in direct competition with hers.

That hadn’t been a day full of fun and giggles.

‘Well, as you know, James Moreau and I went to school together,’ Chris said.

Noah shrugged off his tiredness to connect the dots. James Moreau: CEO of Moreau International, brother to Morgan and son to Hannah ‘Queen of Diamonds’ Moreau and Jedd Moreau, one of the world’s best known geologists.

Moreau International owned diamond and gemstone mines, dealt in the trading of said gems—especially diamonds—and had exclusive jewellery stores in all the major cities around the world. Hannah, as the face of the company, had always been a target, and CFT routinely provided her and Jedd with additional bodyguards when they needed more protection than their long-term driver/guards. That protection was only extended to James and Morgan and other high-ranking executives within MI when MI’s security division or CFT received a particular threat, or were monitoring a situation where extra protection was needed.

Eight years ago, just after he’d left the SAS, Noah had been unlucky enough to end up guarding the nineteen-year-old Morgan for a week because a well-funded but stupid militant environmental group had been protesting MI’s involvement with mines in a nature reserve in Uganda. Huge threats had been issued until it had been pointed out that it was an oil company mining for natural gas and not MI looking for gems.

Morgan had never been in any real danger, but no one had been prepared to take the chance. As the rookie, he’d got the so-called ‘creampuff’ assignment to guard the teenager. He’d never told anyone that it had probably been one of the best weeks of his life. Sure, he’d vacillated between wanting to wring her neck and fantasising about her, which had been off-the-scale inappropriate since she’d been his principal and he’d been six years older than her—and a million years in experience. But he’d laughed—internally—been relaxed in her company and had enjoyed her scalpel-sharp mind.

Noah felt heat creep up his neck and he stared at the fingers that gripped his coffee cup. He’d lost his mind that night...well, almost. He’d nearly risked everything he had—his sole source of income at that time—to make love to her. The consequences of his actions still made his blood run cold. If CFT had found out he would have been canned and would never have been able to get another job in security again. And security was what he did—what he’d trained for—the only skill he’d had at that time.

He’d left the army, his first and only love, to find a better-paying job so that he could put his two younger brothers through college. CFT had offered him a fantastic salary which he’d nearly thrown away to sleep with Morgan Moreau.

Who’d just wanted him to break her duck!

Chris’s voice pulled him back to the here and now. ‘I’ve been working on James to send some business our way, told him we’ve expanded into security analysis, and he’s thrown us a bone.’

‘Oh, yay,’ Noah deadpanned.

‘If we pull it off it gives us an in at Moreau and we want them as clients.’ Chris reminded him. ‘World domination, remember? Moreau’s is a good place to start.’

‘I know, I know... Okay, what is it?’ He tapped Morgan’s picture. ‘Does she need a bodyguard again? Who has her family upset this time?’

‘She doesn’t need protection.’

‘Good.’ Noah lifted an eyebrow at Chris. ‘What’s the job?’

‘Every five years the Moreaus host a grand ball for charity, and they combine the ball with an exhibition of the family collection of jewels—which is practically priceless. Some of the biggest and the best diamonds and jewels collected over generations of wealthy Moreaus,’ Chris explained. ‘There has been a massive increase in armed robberies at such jewellery exhibitions, and James wants a complete, intensive threat analysis. I know it’s a puffball assignment, but you just need to head to New York for a meeting, have a look at their current security arrangements, check out the hotel—do what you do best. With luck we’ll get the contract to oversee the security, based on your report. But for now, it’s just a couple of days in New York and we have an in with Moreau.’

‘When is this meeting?’

‘In the morning. I have you booked on a flight leaving in an hour.’

‘Why can’t you go? You’re James’s mate, not me.’ Noah groaned. ‘I’m beat.’

‘I’ve got a meeting scheduled with another client, and you are far better at security assessments than I am. You’re brilliant at planning operations, getting in and out of places and situations you shouldn’t be, and you can see stuff from a criminal perspective.’

‘Thanks,’ Noah said dryly.

Noah pushed his chair out and stretched his long legs. He linked his hands behind his head in his favourite thinking posture, his eyes on Morgan’s photograph which lay between them on the grubby table. Gorgeous eyes and slanting cheekbones, and she had a wide, mobile mouth with a smile that could power the national electrical grid.

Noah licked his lips and forced his thoughts away from that dangerously sexy mouth. Slowly he raised his eyes to Chris’s face. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. ‘Why don’t you just shoot me now?’

‘It’s an option, but then I’d be out of a partner. It’s a few days, Noah, in an exciting city that you love.’

‘Clothes?’

‘Bag in the car. I went to your flat and picked out some threads.’

Noah swore and flipped the cover of the folder closed. ‘Guess I’m going to New York.’

‘Atta boy.’

Noah narrowed his eyes at his partner. ‘You’re a manipulative git.’

Chris just grinned.

* * *

Sapphires, rubies, pearls. Diamonds. The usual suspects. And then there were the less common gems that sparked her imagination. Alexandrite that changed from green in daylight to red under incandescent light. Maw Sit-Sit, the same green as her eyes. Almandine Garnet, purplish red and the neon blue of Paraiba tourmaline.

Having access to the gemstone vaults of Moreau International was a very big perk as a jewellery designer, and it allowed Morgan the chance to offer her very high-end clients one-of-a-kind pieces containing gemstones of exceptional quality.

Morgan looked up at Derek, their Head of Inventory, and the security guard who’d accompanied the jewels to her airy, light-filled design studio on the top floor of the Moreau Building on Fifth Avenue from the super-secure fourth floor that housed the jewellery vaults. Morgan knew that there was another vault somewhere in the city, and others in other places of the world, which housed more gemstones. Her mother didn’t believe in keeping all their precious eggs in one basket.

‘I’ll take the Alexandrite, the tourmaline and both garnets.’ Morgan scanned the cloth holding the jewels again. ‘The fifteen-carat F marquise-cut yellow diamond and I’ll let you know about the emeralds. Thanks, Derek.’

Derek nodded and stepped forward to help Morgan replace the jewels in their separate bags. She signed an order form as Derek spoke.

‘I have some apparently amazing Clinohumite coming in from a new mine in Siberia. Interested?’

Interested in the rare burnt orange gems that she could never get enough of? Duh. ‘Of course! I’ll owe you if you can sneak a couple of the nicer ones to me before you offer them to Carl.’

Carl was Head Craftsman for MI’s flagship jewellery store which was on the ground floor of the building. A rival to Tiffany and Cartier, Moreau’s made up the third of the ‘big three’ jewellery stores in New York City. Carl had his clients and so did Morgan, and they shared one or two others. They happily waged a silent war, competing for the best of the Moreau gems that were on offer. And for the clients with the deepest pockets.

‘I’ll offer you two per cent above whatever Carl offers for the Clinohumites. Don’t let me down, Derek, I want those stones.’ She might be a Moreau, but her business was separate to the jewellery store and the gemstones. She had to buy her stones at the going rate and sell at a profit...and that was the way she liked it.

‘Of course. I owe you for designing Gail’s engagement ring. She still thinks I’m a god.’

Morgan laughed. ‘I’m glad she loves it.’

Even though he had a hugely responsible job at Moreau’s, he would never have been able to afford the usual prices Morgan commanded. Sometimes she thought that the money she charged for her designs was insane but, as her mother kept insisting, exclusivity had its price, and the Moreau price was stratospheric.

Morgan heard the door to her studio click closed behind Derek and his guard and sat down on a stool, next to her workbench. She twisted a tanzanite and diamond ring on her finger before resting her chin in the palm of her hand.

Morgan Moreau Designs. She couldn’t deny that being a Moreau had opened doors that would have been a lot harder to break down if she hadn’t possessed a charmed name associated with gemstones. But having a name wasn’t enough; no socialite worth her salt was going to drop squillions on a piece of jewellery that wasn’t out of the very top drawer. Morgan understood that they wanted statement pieces that would stand out from the exceptional, and she provided that time and time again.

It was the one thing—probably the only thing—she’d ever truly excelled at. She adored her job; it made her heart sing. So why, then, exactly, wasn’t she happy? Morgan twisted her lips, thinking that she wasn’t precisely unhappy either. She was just...feeling ‘blah’ about her life.

Which was utterly ridiculous and she wanted to slap herself at the thought. She was a Moreau—wealthy, reasonably attractive, popular. She ran her own business and had, if she said so herself, a great body which didn’t need high maintenance. Okay, she was still single, and had been for a while—her soul mate was taking a long time to make an appearance—but she dated. Had the occasional very discreet affair if she thought the man nice enough and attractive enough to bother with.

She had a life that millions of girls would sell their souls for and she was feeling sorry for herself? Yuck.

‘Earth to Morgan?’

Morgan looked up and saw her best friend standing in the doorway of her studio, her pixie face alight with laughter. Friends since they were children, they’d lived together, travelled together and now they worked together...sort of. Riley was contracted to design and maintain the window displays of the jewellery store downstairs. She was simply another member of the Moreau family.

‘Hey. I’m about to have coffee—want some?’

Riley shook her head. ‘No time. Your mother sent me up here to drag you out of your nest. She wants you to come down and join the charity ball planning meeting.’

‘Why? She’s never included me before.’

‘You know that’s not true. Every year she asks if you want to be involved, and every year you wrinkle your pretty nose and say no.’

‘You’d think she would’ve got the message by now,’ Morgan grumbled. Organising an event on such a scale was a mammoth undertaking and so not up her alley. She’d just make an idiot of herself and that wasn’t an option. Ever.

She’d felt enough of an idiot far too many times before.

‘Well, she said that I have to bring you down even if I have to drag you by your hair.’

‘Good grief.’

Morgan stood up and stretched. She took stock of her outfit: a white T-shirt with a slate jacket, skinny stone-coloured pants tucked into black, knee-high laceup boots. It wasn’t the Moreau corporate look, but she’d do.

Morgan walked towards the door and allowed it to close behind her; like all of the other rooms in the building, entrance was by finger-scan. Keys weren’t needed at Moreau’s.

‘Did you get your dress for Merri’s wedding?’ Riley asked as they headed for the stairs.

‘Mmm. I can’t wait. We’re hitching a lift with James on the company jet, by the way. He’s flying out on the Thursday evening.’

‘Perfect.’

And it was... Their friend Merri was getting married in her and Riley’s hometown of Stellenbosch, South Africa, and Morgan couldn’t wait to go home. She desperately missed her home country; she’d love to return to the vineyards and the mountains, the crisp Cape air and the friendly people. But if she wanted to cement her reputation for being one of the best jewellery designers in the world—like her grandfather before her—then she needed to be in fast-paced NYC. She needed clients with big money who weren’t afraid to spend it...

And talking of exceptional, she thought as they stepped out of the lift onto the fifth floor, where Hannah and the New York-based directors of MI had their offices, she had to start work on the piece Moreau International had commissioned her to design and manufacture that would be sold as part of the silent auction at the charity ball. Maybe that was why Hannah wanted her at the meeting...


TWO

Morgan watched as her glamorous, sophisticated mother stepped out of her office in a lemon suit, nude heels and with a perfectly straight platinum chin-length bob.

‘I need a decision about the jewellery for the auction,’ Morgan announced as Hannah approached them. ‘Do you have any gemstones in stock that you want me to use? What do you want me to design? Diamonds? Emeralds? Rubies? Classic or contemporary? Is that why you want me at this meeting?’

‘Hello to you too, darling,’ Hannah said in her driest tone. ‘How are you?’

Morgan waved an elegant hand in the air. ‘Mum, we had coffee together this morning; you didn’t say anything then about me having to come downstairs.’

‘It’s a conference room, not a torture chamber, Morgan,’ Hannah replied, her tone as dry as the martinis she loved to drink. ‘Nice photo of you in the Post, by the way.’

Since she hadn’t been out recently, Morgan wasn’t sure where she’d been photographed. ‘Uh...where was I?’

‘At the opening night of that new gallery in Soho.’

Her friend Kendall’s new gallery; she’d popped in for five minutes, literally, and it couldn’t go undocumented? Sheez! But she was, very reluctantly, a part of the NYC social scene, and because she was a Moreau whenever she made an appearance she was photographed extensively. Many of those photographs ended up in the social columns and online.

Hannah folded her arms and tapped her foot. Good grief, she recognised that look.

‘Morgan, it’s time we talked about you joining Moreau International in an official position.’

Morgan sighed. ‘Has six months passed so quickly?’

They had an agreement: Hannah was allowed to nag her about joining the company every six months. For the last twelve years they’d had the same conversation over and over again.

‘I’ve decided that I want you to be MI’s Public Relations and Brand Director.’

Run me over with a bus, Morgan thought. PR and Brand Director? That was a new title. ‘Mum, I’m happy doing what I’m doing—designing jewellery. You and James are doing a fabulous job with MI. You don’t need me.’

And she was damned if she was going to take a job away from a loyal MI employee who was way more qualified for the position than she’d ever be. And—funny, this—she actually wanted to get paid for what she did, not who she was.

But she had to give Hannah points for being persistent. She’d been trying to get her to work for MI since she was sixteen—shortly after they’d received the happy news that Morgan was just chronically dyslexic and not selectively stupid.

It had only taken her mother and a slew of medics, educational psychologists and shrinks to work that out. Everyone had been so pleased that they’d found the root cause of her failing marks at school, her frustration and her anger.

The years of sheer hell she’d lived through between the time she’d started school and her diagnosis had been conveniently forgotten by everybody except herself.

Water under the bridge, Morgan reminded herself. And she knew her mum felt guilty for the part she’d played in the disaster that had been her education.

Morgan knew that it hadn’t been easy for her either. She’d been thrust into running MI in her mid-thirties, when her adventure-seeking husband had decided that he didn’t like the corporate life and wanted to be MI’s chief geologist, discovering new mines. Hannah, with her MBA in business and economics, had taken over the role of MI’s CEO, juggling its huge responsibilities with two children, one of whom had made her life a great deal more difficult by her inability to meet her mother’s and teachers’ expectations.

How often had she heard variations on the theme of, ‘She’s such a bright child; if only she would try harder.’

Nobody had ever realised how hard she’d always been trying, how incredibly frustrating it had been not to meet her goals and everybody else’s. Had they honestly believed that she didn’t want to learn to read and write properly? That she’d enjoyed being the class freak?

Ages eight to sixteen had been a suck-fest of epic proportions. Finally being diagnosed as being chronically dyslexic had freed her, a little, from the shame and guilt she’d felt for years. She’d started to believe that her learning disabilities weren’t her fault and her relationship with her family—well, mostly with her mother—had rapidly improved. Her mum was still a controlling corporate queen, and she still marched to the beat of her own drum, but they’d found a way back to each other—even if they did have to have this conversation every six months.

Morgan knew that she wasn’t stupid, but she also knew that working for MI would require computers and reading and writing reports. While she could do all of that, she just took longer than most—okay, a lot longer—and the corporate world couldn’t and wouldn’t wait that long. And shouldn’t...

Until she was the best person for a job, she wouldn’t take it. Not to mention that her dyslexia would become an open secret; she wouldn’t be able to keep it under wraps. Wouldn’t that be fun? She could just see the headlines: The ultimate dumb blonde... Gorgeous but thick... With her looks and money, who needs brains anyway?

She’d heard them all before—even from someone she’d loved...

Morgan shuddered. No, thank you. Call her stubborn, call her proud, but she wasn’t going to expose herself to that much ridicule again.

Besides, designing jewellery was her solace and her joy—her dream job. If only Hannah would see that and get off her back about working for MI her relationship with her mum would be pretty much perfect.

Morgan took her mum’s hand and squeezed. ‘I love you for the fact that you believe I should play a bigger part in MI, but I am neither qualified nor suited for the corporate world, Mum. I don’t want to be part of that world. I’m happy being on the fringes of MI.’

‘I will wear you down someday.’ Hannah sighed loudly. ‘On another subject, I want you to haul out your designer dresses and start creating hype around the ball at social events.’

Morgan gagged. ‘Ugh. Don’t I do enough already?’

‘Hardly.’ Hannah sniffed. ‘One function every two weeks and cutting out early isn’t good enough to promote your business, and not nearly good enough to promote the ball. You need to charm more people than you’re currently doing. Darling, you are a social disgrace. How many invitations did you turn down this week alone?’

Morgan shrugged. ‘Ten...twelve?’

‘Helen, my personal publicist, said that you were invited to at least twenty-five, maybe more. Soirées, charity dinners, afternoon teas, breakfasts...’

Morgan tipped her head and counted to ten, then thirty, before attempting to speak rationally. ‘Mum, I have a business to run, designs to get out the door. I work, just like you do. Okay, I don’t oversee a multinational company but I work. Hard.’

‘You’re a Moreau; you should be out more. Can you start going to some more formal parties? The benefits, the political fundraisers, the balls? That is where the money is, darling—the people who can actually afford the price of the ball tickets. We need to target the people who have the real money, and they are at the more sedate functions.’

Sedate meaning deadly dull. ‘Don’t nag me, Mother. You know I hate those stuffy functions where the conversation is so...intense. The situation in Syria, the economy, the plight of the rainforests.’

‘Because, you know, those issues aren’t important...’ Riley said, her tongue in her cheek.

Morgan glared at her. ‘I feel...’ She wanted to say stupid but instead said, ‘I feel out of place there.’

Like all the other issues related to her dyslexia, it had taken her many years to conquer her social awkwardness and to decode social cues. She still battled with new situations, and she knew that many people took her occasional lapses of concentration and her social shyness as self-absorption and disinterest. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She generally loved people, but she could never tell if they loved her back.

When she added that to her ‘I wonder if he sees me or just the family money’ concerns, dating was a bit of a nightmare...

And, really, she would rather have a beer in a pub in jeans and a T-shirt than be in a ballroom in shoes that hurt her feet.

Riley smiled at her and Morgan recognised the mischievous glint in her eyes.

‘You poor child...being forced to dress up, drink the best champagne in the world and eat the finest food at functions that are by invitation only. It’s almost abuse—really, it is.’

Morgan’s searing look promised retribution for Riley’s teasing and her encouragement of her mother’s campaign to get her to be the reigning young socialite of New York City.

Morgan wrinkled her nose at her mother. ‘You and James just do it so much better than me. You’re suave and sophisticated and far more charming than I’ll ever be—with or without the big D. Look, we’ve discussed my contribution to the ball so can I go now?’ Morgan asked hopefully.

‘No, I’d still like you to attend this first planning meeting with Riley, Jack—our PR director—and the new consultant James has appointed to assess security,’ Hannah said as they walked down the carpeted passage to the boardroom.

On the walls either side were framed photographs of the Moreau collection of jewels.

‘Why can’t Moreau’s own Chief of Security handle it? He always has,’ Morgan said, because she felt she should show some interest.

‘Since the last Moreau ball there have been a number of armed robberies on jewellery exhibitions.’ Hannah rapped her fist against the frame that held a picture of the Moreau Diamond—a gem Morgan’s three times great-grandfather Moreau had bought from a broke Russian aristocrat and which had once been owned by Elizabeth of Russia. ‘Fifty-three carats, D-colour, flawless. Worth more than five million dollars. You want to risk it getting stolen?’

When she put it like that...

‘Our jewellery collection is priceless, Morgan, so James has contracted Auterlochie Consulting to look at every security hole we have and to plug it. Their best operative will be in charge...’

Auterlochie...Auterlochie... Why did she know that name?

‘In you go, darling, and smile!’

Hannah placed a hand on her back and she bared her teeth at her mother as she stepped into the conference centre. Her hand still on the doorknob, she looked around—and her head jerked back as dazzling blue eyes connected with hers.

Deep brown hair... Auterlochie... A deep Sean Connery voice explaining that it was a town in the Scottish Highlands, situated on a loch, and he’d once visited it with a friend. Two young boys had fished and explored the icy banks there, and he’d told her when he opened his business it would be called Auterlochie something.

It was the one of the longest sentences he’d strung together, and Morgan had been enthralled by his Scottish accent and the light of determination in those fantastic cobalt eyes... Noah Fraser.

Morgan’s heart splattered as it hit the floor. Bats on a broomstick.

She stepped back behind the door and squeezed her eyes shut. Eight years and she still wished she could acid-wash the memory out of her brain.

‘Excuse me. I really need to go to the bathroom.’

‘Oh, Morgan? Right now? The meeting...’

Hannah’s voice followed her down the hall.

In the upscale visitors’ bathroom where she’d fled after Hannah had dropped her verbal meteor strike, Morgan sat on the lid of a toilet and stared at her hands. She knew she had to get moving, get to the meeting, or her mum would hunt her down like a rabid fox but she didn’t know if she could face Noah Fraser again.

She’d rather flush herself down the toilet bowl.

‘Morgs?’ A fist rapped on the door. ‘You in there? Your mum is not a happy camper.’

Morgan leaned forward and flipped the lock to open. Riley pulled the door open and frowned. She sent her a pointed look. ‘Why are you hiding out in the bathroom?’

Morgan bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Did you meet Noah Fraser?’

‘The security guy? Yes. Very intense, very hot.’

Morgan swore and dropped her face to her hands.

‘And the problem is...?’

Morgan briefly explained her history with Noah and Riley lifted her hands in confusion. ‘So you made a move on the guy and he said no? It was a long time ago, Morgan.’

Morgan knew that if there was anyone who would understand what she was about to say Riley was it. They’d been friends forever and she had witnessed Morgan’s constant struggles with the system. Shortly after the incident with Noah she’d moved in as Morgan’s flatmate. Riley had watched her struggle through college to get her diploma in Gemology and Jewellery Design—it had taken her double the time to get as anyone else, even with a scribe—and she knew the challenges she faced on a daily basis and had supported her through the hard times.

‘Okay, I need more details. So tell me about Mr Melt-My-Panties. And hurry up—your mother is going to have both our hides soon.’

‘When I was nineteen the parents had some kidnapping threats made against them by some weird group and Noah was assigned as my bodyguard.’

‘Uh-huh...’

‘After a week of hanging with him I threw myself at him—actually, I threw my naked self at him.’ Morgan nodded at Riley’s wince. ‘He kissed me, discovered I was a virgin, and then he declined the offer. I was so humiliated. I liked him—felt so at ease with him despite the fact that he hardly spoke—and his rejection felt like—’

‘Like what, hon?’

‘I can’t explain it, and I don’t know why, but his rejection made me feel swamped with shame. Every emotion I’d ever experienced with my dyslexia—the lack of self-belief, the fear of judgement—dropped on me like a ton of bricks. It was horrible. He made me feel worthless again. And now is not the time to tell me that nobody can make me feel worthless!’

‘Okay. No lectures. Did he know that you were dyslexic?’

‘No, I was very careful to keep it from him. For that summer I was Morgan without the big D. That’s what made it even harder, I think... He rejected me anyway. Around him I was the most normal I had ever been and it still wasn’t enough. I still can’t think of that night without feeling cold and clammy.’

‘Oh, honey... Well, you know you’re not worthless. You’ve worked hard to climb out of that pit of feeling less than and not valued. Why are you letting those feelings, and that man, chase you into a bathroom stall? You’re better than that.’

She was, dammit. ‘I know that...’ she muttered.

‘Then get your butt out of there and pick up your chin. You’ll be fine. Me, I’m not so sure.’ Riley wiggled her butt.

Morgan lifted her hands in query. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘I think my panties are starting to melt...can I hit on him?’

‘Sheez, Ri!’ Morgan snapped. ‘No, you can’t hit on him! I mean, yes, you can... Aarrgh!’

Riley’s chuckles followed her out of the bathroom.

* * *

This time he’d sent her running.

Judging from her hasty retreat and her oh, crap! look, nobody had told her he would be at the meeting. While he hadn’t expected Morgan to attend this meeting, at least he’d been prepared to run into her. And he’d had a six hour flight to practise his oh-it’s-you face.

He understood her belting out of the room; he’d fought the same impulse himself. That and the inclination to grab her and pick up where they’d left off years ago. She’d be naked, of course...

Noah looked down at the table he was sitting at and concentrated hard. Thirty-three years old and he was grateful that his crotch was hidden from view by a sleek boardroom table.

Get a grip, Fraser. Distraction... Years ago he’d used firearm drills; now he just flipped open his iPad and checked his emails. Ten minutes later he glanced at his watch and stifled a frustrated sigh. The meeting still hadn’t started.

He’d made Morgan run off screaming into the... Well, not the night, but he still couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t his finest memory and he hadn’t been naked...with a Brazilian... Do not go there, Fraser.

He glanced over to the corner, where Hannah Moreau and her son James, who’d just entered the conference room, were standing. He’d met James once before, and despite the fact that he was one of the richest men in the world he rather liked the guy. He was smart, decisive, and didn’t give off an air of being precious.

He also knew, from Chris, that he played a cracking game of touch rugby, didn’t play polo, and could talk to miners and millionaires with equal ease. He couldn’t help hoping that Morgan had turned out equally well.

Not that he cared—much—one way or the other.

Noah saw the conference door open and didn’t realise that he’d sucked in his breath. The arty-looking redhead stepped through the door first, and exchanged a look with James that was part defiance, part attraction—something cooking there—and then Noah focused his attention on the figure in the doorway.

‘Sorry I kept you waiting, everybody. Hi, James.’

James Moreau whirled around and immediately crossed the room, pulling Morgan into his embrace. Morgan’s butterscotch-coloured head rested on his chest and she closed her eyes as she returned the hug. When she opened them again she looked straight at him—now utterly composed—with those clear, deep green eyes, and it was his turn to feel something akin to exposed and vulnerable...as if she’d cracked him open and his every thought, emotion, fear was there for her to read.

In another reality—the one where he wasn’t losing his mind—Noah remembered his manners and forced himself to his feet, taking a moment to pull his thoughts together and to display his usual expression. He called it inscrutable; Chris called it bored indifference. He pulled in a shallow breath and made himself relax while Morgan shook hands with the others in the room. He watched her interact and knew that her smile wasn’t as wide as it could be, that the muscles in her slim shoulders were taut with tension, that she was trying to delay the moment of having to acknowledge his presence.

Well, he wasn’t entranced with the idea either. Entranced with her, yes. With the reality of being entranced by her...no.

He didn’t do entranced.

‘Noah,’ James said, placing a hand on Morgan’s stiff back and urging her towards him, ‘I don’t know if you remember my sister Morgan?’

Since the memory of her naked is forever printed on my retina, I should think so.

Noah’s mouth twitched, and when Morgan glared at him he thought that she’d worked out what he was thinking. ‘Of course. Nice to see you again, Morgan,’ he said, in his smoothest, blandest voice.

Wish you were naked, by the way.

‘Noah,’ Morgan said. Her eyes flicked over him, narrowed, and then she gave him a ‘you’re a bug and I’m desperate to squash you’ look.

What was her problem? He hadn’t asked her to proposition him... Was she still annoyed because he’d said no? Come on, it was eight years ago—get over it, already.

Noah held her defiant stare. He’d perfected his own implacable, don’t-mess-with-me stare in the forces, and it had had more than a couple of recruits and higher-ranking officers buckling under. When Morgan started to flush he knew had he won their silent battle of wills. This time.

‘Take a seat everyone.’

Noah turned back to the table and pulled out the chair next to him for Morgan, gestured her into it. She narrowed her eyes at him, yanked it back another couple of inches in a flouncy display of defiance and dropped into it. Noah could smell her scent, something light and fresh, and felt a rush of blood heading south, making him feel almost light-headed. She still wore the same perfume and it transported him back to that night so long ago, when he’d tangled with temptation and by the skin of his teeth escaped.

‘Right, the first item of business...’ Hannah said, in a crisp, no-nonsense voice when they were all seated and looking at her expectantly. ‘I’m handing over the responsibility of the ball to you, Morgan, and it’s not under discussion. Make me proud.’


THREE

When she was very tired, stressed or emotional Morgan saw dots in front of her eyes and the letters on a page danced and shuffled about. However, this was the first time the room had ever moved, that faces had bopped and objects jiggled.

Morgan closed her eyes and wondered if she had imagined the last thirty seconds. She’d thought she’d heard her mother say that she wanted her to take over the organising the Moreau Charity Ball—the most anticipated ball on the international social scene, held once every five years, displaying the full collection of gemstones and jewellery the Moreau family had acquired over many generations.

There were only three thousand guests attending, five hundred of whom were invited by Hannah herself from among their loyal customers, long-time business associates and preferred suppliers. For the rest, whether they were royalty or the average Joe, they had to place a bid for a double ticket and the highest bids won the highly sought after tickets.

It was outrageous how much people were prepared to pay for a double ticket. Simply inconceivable... And that was why, along with the auction, the Moreau Charity Ball raised tens of millions for the various causes they supported around the world.

But for their money their guests expected the best entertainers, visually stunning dress sets, Michelin star quality food—the whole gilt-plated bang-shoot.

It was rich, it was exclusive, it was the social highlight of the half-decade. And if you wanted to be part of the experience then you paid, stratospherically, for the privilege of being there.

And Hannah wanted her to run it? Morgan felt her throat constrict. She lifted her left hand and didn’t realise that she was groping for Noah’s hand until his strong fingers encircled her palm and squeezed.

‘Breathe,’ he told her, his voice authoritative even though it was pitched at a volume only she could hear. ‘Again; in and out. There you go.’

Morgan felt the room settle as oxygen reached her brain and lungs. When she thought she could speak she licked her lips and considered removing her hand from Noah’s strong grasp. But since it seemed to be her only tenuous link to reality, she left it exactly where it was.

Morgan made herself look at her mother, who had the slightest smile on her face. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘Not at all,’ Hannah replied. ‘I’d like you to plan, organise and execute the ball.’

‘But—’

‘Riley will help you with the creative side—help you pick the theme, do the design. You both have an amazing streak of creativity and I know that it will look visually spectacular.’

Morgan shook her head, wishing she could speak freely and say exactly what was on her mind. I don’t do well with reading reports, writing reports, analysing spreadsheets. You know this! I’ve worked really hard to conquer my dyslexia, but it’s still there and it becomes a lot worse when I’m stressed. This ball will stress me out to the max! I don’t want to mess this up; it’s too important for me to be in charge of.

Hannah’s eyes softened but determination radiated from her face. ‘Honey, I know that you will be fine. I know that you also have your own commissions, your own business to run, so the full resources that are available to me are available to you too. We’ll hire you a PA for this project; she’ll type your reports and be your general gopher. James will keep an eye on the finances and you’ll liaise with Jack regarding the promotion and advertising of the ball. Noah will draw up plans to keep the jewels safe, and I’ll be on the other end of a mobile. You just have to co-ordinate, make decisions, boss people about.’

‘You’re good at that,’ James inserted with an easy grin.

And in a couple of sentences her mother, without announcing to the room that she had a problem reading and writing, waved away her biggest concerns.

Morgan reluctantly pulled her hand out from Noah’s and flushed, because she could sense those deep blue eyes on her face. What must he think of her? she wondered. That she was a candidate for an upmarket loony bin?

‘Why are you bowing out, Hannah?’ Riley asked, as forthright as ever.

Hannah picked up her pen and tapped the point on the stack of papers in front of her. Morgan saw a quick, secret smile on her face and frowned. It was a good question, and one she was sure she knew the answer to... Three, two, one...

‘I need a break—to step away from the business for a while.’

There it is and here we go again...Morgan thought. Now they were getting to the bottom of things. Every ten years or so her parents decided that they should try and live together again. They loved each other, but they loved each other more when they had continents between them. They refused to accept that while they adored each other they just couldn’t live together. How many times had her father moved in and out of the Stellenbosch farmhouse and, later, the Englewood mansion?

Morgan sent James a quick eye-roll and he responded with a faint smile.

‘Jedd and I have realised that we’ve been married nearly forty years and we want to spend more time with each other. He’s going to try to be a little less of a mad geologist and I’m going to accompany him on his travels. So I need you, Morgan, to organise the ball for me.’

Morgan expelled her pent-up tension in a long stream of air. If this was about her parents’ marriage then she gave her mum a week and she’d be on the company jet back home. Hannah couldn’t go five minutes without checking her email or applying her lipstick. Her father spent weeks in jungles without making contact, sleeping in tents and hammocks and, she suspected, not washing much.

A week, maybe two, and Hannah would be back and yanking the ball’s organisation into her beautifully manicured hands. Fine by her. She just had to ride it out.

What a morning, Morgan thought. Noah, the ball, her parents; she felt as if she was in sensory and information overload.

‘Right, down to business,’ Hannah said sharply.

Morgan frowned and held up her hand. ‘Whoa! Hold on, there, Mum.’ Morgan narrowed her eyes at her beautiful, wilful mother. If she gave her mother an inch, she’d gobble her up. ‘I will sit in on this first planning meeting and then I will decide how involved I want to become—because I know that you will whirl back in here in two weeks’ time and take over again.’

Blue eyes held green and Hannah’s mouth eventually twitched with a smile. She nodded, looked around the table and pulled on her cloak of business. ‘Okay. Now, we’ve wasted enough time on our family drama. Back to work, everyone.’

* * *

By the end of the two-hour meeting Morgan felt as if her head was buzzing. She desperately needed a cup of coffee and some quiet. Just some time to think, to process, to deal with the events of the morning.

She wanted to run up to her studio, lie down on her plush raspberry love seat and just breathe. But instead, because Hannah had asked her super-nicely, she was accompanying Noah to the Forrester-Grantham Hotel—the oldest, biggest and most beautiful of Manhattan’s hotels. It had the only ballroom in New York City big enough to accommodate the ball’s many guests, and the fact that it was lush, opulent and a six-star venue made it their instinctive hotel of choice.

Morgan had been delegated, by her mother, to introduce Noah to the hotel’s Head of Security and discuss the current security arrangements for the ball.

Yippee.

Riley, the last to leave, closed the door behind her and Morgan was left alone with Noah. She watched as he unfurled his long body and headed for the refreshment table in the corner. He placed a small cup beneath the spout of the coffee machine and hit the button marked ‘espresso’. He was different, Morgan thought. His body, under that nice grey suit, still seemed to be as hard as it had been eight years ago, but his hair was longer, his face thinner. Okay, he was older, but what felt so different? Maybe it was because now he radiated determination, a sense of power...leaving no one in doubt that he was a smart, ambitious man in his prime.

Noah snagged two bottles of sparkling water from the ice bucket, held them loosely in one hand as he picked up the small cup and brought it back to the table. To her surprise, he slid the cup and a bottle towards her.

‘You look like you need both,’ Noah said, pushing away the chair next to her with his foot and resting his bottom on the conference table so that he faced her. He picked up a bottle of water, twisted the cap off and took a long sip.

Morgan lifted the cup to her lips, swallowed and tipped her head so that it rested against the high back of the leather chair. Her mind skittered over all the questions she wanted to ask him: where did he live? He wasn’t wearing a ring but was he married? Involved? Why had he said no to her all those years ago?

She opened her mouth to say...what?...and abruptly closed it again.

The right corner of Noah’s mouth lifted and Morgan felt her irritation levels climb. ‘What are you smirking at?’ she demanded.

‘You, of course.’

Of course.

‘Well, stop it! Why?’

Noah lifted one shoulder and looked at her as he put the water bottle to his lips. Lucky water bottle... Really, Morgan! Do try to be less pathetic, please.

‘You’re sitting there thinking that politeness demands that you have to talk to me and the only thing you want to talk about is why I walked away so long ago.’

The ego of the man! The arrogant, condescending, annoying son-of-a... He was so right, damn him.

‘I haven’t thought of you once since you left,’ she said, with a credible amount of ice in her voice.

‘Liar,’ Noah said softly, his eyes sparking with heat. ‘You’ve also wondered what it would’ve been like...’

Also wondered? Did that mean that he had too? And why was she even having this conversation with him? In fact, why was he talking at all? The Noah she knew needed pliers and novocaine to pull words out of him.

‘Well, I see that you’ve grown some social skills. Have you found that talking is, actually, quite helpful to get your point across?’

See—she could do sarcastic. And quite well. Hah!

‘My partner nagged me to improve.’

His partner? Who was she? How long had they been together? Did they have children?

Noah laughed softly. ‘You have the most expressive face in the world. Why don’t you just ask?’

‘Ask you what?’ Morgan feigned supreme indifference. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Again...liar. When I say partner I mean Chris—my business partner.’

Single! Yay! Her girl-parts did a stupid happy dance and she mentally slapped them into submission because he hadn’t really answered the question.

‘And you?’

Morgan lifted her perfectly arched dark brown eyebrows at him. She knew that they were the perfect contrast to her blonde hair. And they made her eyes look greener than they actually were. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’

Noah grinned and disturbed the million bats squatting in her stomach.

‘You are such a duchess.’

Morgan bared her teeth at him. ‘And don’t you forget it. And, just to make it clear, I do not—ever!—want to discuss Cape Town.’

‘It’s a nice city.’

Morgan growled. ‘What we did in Cape Town.’ She pushed out the clarification between clenched teeth.

‘We did? All I did was kiss you—you were the one who was naked and hoping to get lucky.’

She was going to kill him...slowly, with much pleasure.

Morgan ground her teeth together. How was this not discussing the issue? Did he not understand the concept of letting sleeping dogs lie? Obviously not.

Noah pushed his hair away from his face and rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘As much fun as it is, exchanging barbs with you, I do need to say something about Cape Town.’

Please don’t. I’ve been humiliated enough.

Noah looked at her with serious eyes. ‘I should’ve handled it—you—the situation—better, Morgan.’ He held up a hand as her mouth opened and she abruptly shut it again. ‘It took guts to do what you did and I was cruel. I’m sorry.’

Morgan realised that she was wearing her fish-face and snapped her teeth together. He was apologising? Seriously?

‘So, that’s all I have to say.’

Ah... It was more than enough and, quite frankly, she’d still prefer to pretend it had never happened. But she had to respect him for apologising, although she had played her own part in the train wreck that had been that night.

She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her thighs. ‘Okay, then. Wow. Um...thanks. I suppose I should apologise for hitting on you naked. I was rather...in your face.’

‘A woman who looks like you should never apologise for being naked,’ Noah said, humour sparking in his eyes.

It made her want to smile at him and she wasn’t quite ready to do that. Nearly, but not quite yet.

‘Can we...ahem...put it to bed?’ he asked.

Morgan rolled her eyes at the very unsubtle pun.

Way past time to change the subject, Morgan thought. ‘Mum said something about you being on your own? That you’re not with CFT any more?’

Noah nodded. ‘I have my own company doing pretty much the same thing CFT are doing. Except that we’re branching out into security analysis; this is our first job for MI. I’m here to make recommendations about what systems should be put in place to secure the collection. That’s the first step. Hopefully it’ll lead to us installing those systems.’

‘Are you good at it?’

‘Very.’

‘Okay, then.’ Morgan twisted her ring around her finger and half shrugged. ‘Today aside, I don’t have much to do with the ball, but I would hate to see anything happen to the collection. It’s fabulous; the gems are magnificent and the craftsmanship is superb.’

‘Nothing to do with the ball? I think your mum has other ideas.’ Noah finished his bottle of water, carefully replaced the cap and placed it on the table. ‘If we get the job to install the systems then I will make damn sure that nothing happens to the collection. My business would be ruined if a diamond chip went missing, and that’s not a risk I’m prepared to take.’

Morgan went cold at the thought of losing the collection. The value of the pieces meant nothing to her, but the fact that her family was the custodian of Elizabeth of Russia’s diamond ring, a pearl won by an eighteenth-century Maharani wife, and the first diamond to come out of the first Moreau mine, meant a great deal. They were valuable, sure, but they were also historically important.

But if Noah was in charge of securing them then she knew that they would be fine. He exuded an air of capability and competence and, like all those years ago, when she’d felt secure enough to hand herself over to him, she felt confident about the collection’s safety.

Noah was reliable and proficient.

Everything she wasn’t—outside of her design studio. He was a living, breathing reminder of why she could never organise the ball. She would be stepping so far out of her comfort zone... A million things could go wrong and probably would and she’d be left holding the can. Nope, this was her mum’s baby and would remain so.

Besides, she so didn’t need the stress, the responsibility or the hassle of dealing with the sexy and not-so-silent-any-more Noah Fraser, with his sexy Scottish burr and sarcastic smile.

‘Come on—time to go,’ Noah said, standing up.

He watched as she uncrossed her legs and stood up. He looked her up and down and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

‘Looking good, Duchess. Of course not as good as you looked back then—’

‘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.’





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