by Joss Wood
‘Noah! Listen to me. I don’t want this...you!’ Morgan hissed.
Noah gently pulled her fingers off him and held her hand in his. ‘Shh, I’m trying to listen.’
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Morgan threatened.
‘Later...’
James was speaking. ‘I don’t need to know why he left, or what you think Auterlochie are doing wrong in the market place, Amanda; this has nothing to do with the rest of your guards or my personal security detail. It’s one guy, looking after my sister. I just need to know whether he’s good or not.’
When James’s frown lifted from a trench to a furrow Noah knew that she had been her customary honest self.
‘The best agent you ever had? Well, then...’ James disconnected and slapped his mobile into the palm of his hand. He glared at Noah. ‘Fifteen per cent discount on both jobs because you started off by annoying me.’
Ouch.
‘Deal,’ Noah agreed.
‘And keep your hands off my sister,’ James growled.
‘Basic bodyguarding,’ Noah agreed, and he knew that James wasn’t sure whether he was messing with him or not. James still looked like a thundercloud so he looked him in the eye. ‘I will be completely professional when it comes to Morgan, James. You have my word.’
Besides, her safety depended on it... He couldn’t look out for danger if he was eyeing her rack. Or her butt. Or imagining those legs around his hips...
And, although it was a lot less easy to admit, he was grateful for the order to keep his hands off Morgan. She was the type of woman he normally avoided. One of the few women who had caught his interest on more than a physical level. She intrigued him—mentally, emotionally. There was more to her than being the Moreau heiress, the reluctant NYC socialite. And that scared the hell out of him. Besides, he was consumed by his business. He didn’t have the time or the energy to give to a woman.
James’s shoulders dropped as the tension seeped out of him. Noah knew that James considered his and Morgan’s relationship now to be defined, bound by the two contracts he would sign with MI. But to Noah it was written in blood—because he’d given James his word. No agreement written on paper trumped that.
Noah held out his hand and James reluctantly took it. ‘Anything happens to Morgan you’re a dead man,’ James told him.
‘Anything happens to Morgan I will be a dead man—because that’s the only way they’ll get to her.’
James’s face lightened with appreciation and Noah thought that he might, maybe, be back on relatively solid ground with the brother and boss.
‘Do either of you care what I want or think?’ Morgan demanded, her hands on her hips.
Noah shook his head and looked at James. ‘Uh...no.’
Noah ducked the glass that she sent flying towards his head and winced when the crystal shattered on the expensive tiles. Maybe he should curb the off-the-cuff honest answers. Good thing she had the aim of a one-eyed toddler or that might have hurt.
And, more importantly, it was a waste of a very fine dram.
FIVE
Wasn’t there a song about yesterday and troubles seeming so far away? Morgan wondered as she stomped back into her bedroom, kicking her door closed behind her. Yesterday’s biggest problems had been how to re-set Mrs Killain’s fabulous teardrop diamond earrings into a more contemporary, cleaner setting, whether or not to attend the opening night of the Ballet Belle’s new production, and who to take to Merri’s wedding.
In one day she’d been slapped with an additional job, an old almost-lover, the attempted kidnapping of her mother, and a new bodyguard whom she wanted to jump.
Bats! On a freaking broomstick!
Right. First things first. Think it through... Her mum’s almost-kidnapping. No, don’t think of the ‘what ifs’. Push the emotion away...
Her mum was only superficially hurt, and by now both her parents were in the family jet on their way to a safe place. The house in the Cayman Islands was a well-kept secret and James would have arranged for additional guards for them. Her parents were out of harm’s way. That was good news.
Right: problem two. With her mum out of town, someone had to get cracking on organising the Moreau Charity Ball, and it looked as if she was now that someone. How was she going to manage to do that and keep her dyslexia under wraps? The last thing she wanted was to see pitying looks on the faces of Moreau staff...or from anyone else. Unfortunately a lot of people still equated dyslexia with stupidity, and she couldn’t just go around announcing, I’m dyslexic, but my IQ is one hundred and forty-eight.
No, her dyslexia was her issue to deal with, and she didn’t require sympathy, pity, or for anyone to make allowances for her. She’d just insist on short reports and plough through them at night...she’d make lists and check and double-check them.
Yay! What joy.
As for her almost-lover and new bodyguard...
She was intensely irritated with Noah on so many different levels that she wasn’t sure which one she ranked highest. How dared he and James talk over her head and make arrangements for her safety as if she was a child? Okay, there was a crazy Colombian gang who wanted to use her as a bargaining chip, but Noah could have asked how she felt about him guarding her. She wasn’t sure what her answer would have been if he had asked her... No, I’d rather shag you instead?
James would have had a coronary on the spot.
Noah irritation number two. How could he switch gears so easily and smoothly? Oh, she was royally ticked that one moment his hand had been tipping her into orgasm and the next he’d been all work—Mr I’ll-Protect-Her-and-Give-You-a-Discount!
And on top of that there wasn’t any chance of her getting lucky now; she knew that Noah took his duties seriously, and if he wouldn’t sleep with her while she’d simply been organising the ball then there was an ice chip’s chance in a fat-fryer that—having taken on the role as her bodyguard—he’d even consider picking up where they’d left off earlier.
And, really, did she want to get it on with a man who could flip it on and off with such ease? He had too much control and she too little...where he was concerned.
Well, no more. She was going to stop acting like a tart around him; she’d be cool and calm and collected.
Cool. Calm. Collected. Yep, she could do the three Cs!
‘Sulking?’ Noah asked from the doorway and she whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She had shut the door behind her, hadn’t she? She was sure she had...
‘Heard of knocking?’ she demanded, hands on her hips.
Noah crossed one ankle over the other as his shoulder pressed into the doorframe. ‘There’s broken glass and whisky all over the floor and it’s not in my job description to clean up because you lost your temper. Or are you too precious to use a dustpan and broom?’
‘Bite me.’
Noah smiled. ‘Can’t. I promised your brother I wouldn’t lay a hand—or lip—on you.’
Morgan felt the bubbles in her blood start to pop.
‘You don’t have to sound so pleased about it!’ Morgan stormed to the doorway and brushed past him, the red mist of temper clouding her vision. What was it about this man that made her long for more? They didn’t know each other really, but the fact that he could brush their heat off so easily made her want to throw more than a glass.
Maybe him. Off the twenty-first-floor balcony!
Noah reached out, snagged the waistband of her pants and pulled her to a stop. ‘Cool your jets, Morgan, and take a breath.’
‘Let. Me. Go,’ Morgan muttered through clenched teeth.
‘No,’ Noah’s said.
His fingers were warm against the bare skin of her lower back. She cursed the tremors of attraction that radiated up her spine.
Noah kept his fingers bunched in her
pants and moved round so that he was standing, far too close, in front of her. ‘Talk.’
More orders? ‘Bite me,’ she said again
‘Stop being a duchess and talk to me. Why are you so annoyed that I am guarding you?’
Morgan folded her arms across her chest to form a barrier between their bodies and glared up at him. ‘You didn’t want to listen to me when I spoke earlier—why should I bother talking to you now?’
Noah winced. ‘Okay, maybe we were a bit heavy-handed.’
‘Maybe?’
‘Don’t push it,’ Noah snapped back. ‘I wanted to be the one to guard you and I was damned if you were going to talk James out of it.’
Morgan glared at him. ‘Because I’m a way to get in with James for you to get more MI business.’
Noah’s eyes darkened with fury. ‘Stuff the MI business. I did it because no one will protect you as well as I will. Being kidnapped is not a walk down Madison Avenue, Duchess!’
‘Uh...’
Noah shoved his hand into his hair and tugged. ‘God, you live in this protected little world, kidnapping threats or not. You have no idea what happens to rich people who are ’napped. You want me to go into details?’
Morgan, her temper rapidly subsiding, shook her head.
‘So sue me for wanting to keep you safe above wanting to have sex with you!’ Noah roared, twin flags of temper staining his cheeks.
He stepped back from her and she could see that he was trying to control his temper. So he had one? Why did that reassure her rather than scare her?
Morgan tipped her head. ‘You don’t like losing control, do you?’
He lifted a finger and pointed it at her. ‘You...you...nobody spikes my temper like you!’
‘Ditto,’ Morgan replied quietly as green eyes clashed with blue. After a tense, drawn-out silence, Morgan raised her shoulders and spoke again. ‘Are you finished yelling at me?’
Noah released a long breath and slapped his hands across his chest. ‘Maybe.’
‘Okay, then.’ Morgan pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘So, I’ll go and clean up the broken glass.’
Noah nodded. ‘I need to go downstairs for five minutes to pick up my bag and laptop.’
‘Well, at least I have a spare bedroom this time.’
Noah rubbed his forehead. ‘Does it have an inter-leading door that can stay open?’
Morgan shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Then we sleep with the doors open.’
‘That’s not necessary. We have two doormen, and this is one of the most secure buildings in the city.’
‘The doors stay open.’ Noah walked to the door and when he reached it turned to face her. ‘I can’t allow myself to be distracted by you, Morgan. Your safety depends on it. So help me out, okay? No propositions, no flirting, no walking around naked.’
There was that arrogance again, and she hated the fact that it turned her on. Determined to show him that he didn’t affect her, in any way, she lifted her nose in the air. ‘I’ll try and restrain myself.’
‘You do that, Duchess.’
* * *
Noah stood on the balcony in the bright sunshine and looked down into the leafy greenness of Central Park, idly noticing that the park was full of early-morning joggers, cyclists, walkers. Whoever would have thought that Noah Fraser, that angry boy from Glasgow, would be standing here looking at one of the best views in the city. Certainly not him. If he ignored the fact that Morgan was a kidnapping target and he couldn’t touch her now, it was one of those stunning spring days.
Spoilt, unfortunately, by his father’s voice whining in his ear...on and on and on.
Noah had been sixteen when he’d lost his mother and taken over the care of his paralysed and violently angry father and his two brothers, six and four years old. And if Michael had been a mean bastard on two legs then he’d become even worse on none.
Noah had cooked, cleaned and cared for his siblings while Michael had cursed God and cursed them. By keeping Michael’s attention directed on him, he’d managed to shield the kids from the worst of his verbal and—when he had the opportunity—physical abuse.
Noah had adored those little monsters, and it had nearly killed him when Social Services had moved them into the care of his aunt—his mother’s sister. It had been the right thing for them—Michael could have scarred a psychopath—but he’d felt as if his heart had been torn out of his ribcage. Aunt Mary had offered to take him in too, but someone had had to look after Michael; his mam would have turned in her grave if he’d been left on his own.
‘You might be poor, Noah, but poor men can act with honour too.’
‘What is honour exactly, Mam?’
‘It’s taking responsibility and keeping your word. Seeking the truth and acting with integrity. Doing the right thing whether people are looking or not. Being better than your circumstances.’
Those words, part of a discussion they’d had a couple of months before her death, had defined the rest of his life.
It was because of those words that he’d endured three years of being belittled, insulted, punched when he was within range, before he’d cracked. It had been the most terrifying moment of his life when he’d come back to himself and realised he was holding...
Don’t think about it. Don’t remember. Put it back into the cage you keep it in.
He seldom relived the full memory of that horrible day, but every day he recalled how close he’d come to the edge after losing control. The consequences of which would have been far-reaching and...dismal. Catastrophic.
The very next day he’d joined the army—the best decision of his life. Yeah, it had been tough at first, but he’d got three square meals every day and, while he’d been shouted at all the time, he’d realised that it wasn’t personal. He’d tolerated it at first and then he’d loved it; it had become, in a way, an inadequate substitution for the family he’d lost.
He’d moved around in the Forces, eventually ending up in the SAS.
Before leaving for Catterick, for his initial training, he’d arranged for a local care-giver to provide Michael with the help he needed: cooking, cleaning and, he’d hoped, occasional bathing. The cost of his care had come out of his meagre army salary, but it had been a small price to pay for his freedom.
He was still paying.
‘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...