by Joss Wood
‘Do you have any of his pieces?’
‘Duchess, I could only afford to look—not buy.’ Noah drawled. ‘Maybe one day. Anyway, my partner can’t find my tux in my flat. I think it’s at the cleaners and has been for the last six months.’
‘You left your tux at the cleaners for six months?’
‘I’ve been in and out of the country and I forgot, okay? My tux wasn’t high up on my list of priorities. So when do I need a tux by...?’ He looked at the piece of paper she’d handed him. ‘Crap! Tonight?’
‘Yep.’ Morgan laughed at his look of horror.
‘Jeez, give me some warning next time.’ Noah grumbled.
‘Hey, I’m the one who has to decide what to wear, do my hair, shoes, jewellery. Make-up. You just have to put on a tux. Big deal,’ Morgan shot back. It took work to look like the Moreau heiress people expected to see. A designer dress, stunning salon hair, perfect make-up. The right jewels for the right dress.
‘Yeah, but I have to get a tux and get into character...you know...work out how I’m going to pretend to have the hots for you. It’s a difficult job, but someone has to do it.’
She was so distracted by the humour dancing in his eyes that it took a while for his words to make sense. When they did she blushed from head to toe and her fist rocketed into his bicep. It made all the impact of a single drop of rain falling in the desert.
‘Jerk!’
‘Was that supposed to be a punch?’ Noah asked, and grinned as she shook her fingers out. ‘Wuss. So, are you going to stay here for the rest of the afternoon while I go and buy myself a tux? Can I trust you to do that?’
Morgan shoved out her lower lip. ‘Maybe.’
Noah’s face hardened and his mouth flattened. ‘You leave this building without me and there will be hell to pay, Duchess.’
Morgan pulled in a huge breath. She didn’t mind him calling her Duchess, but not in that cold, bossy voice. ‘I’m not an idiot, soldier. I won’t leave until you get back. And if you weren’t being such a jerk I’d tell you that if you went across the road to that very famous store over there—’ she looked past him and pointed her finger towards the renowned corner shop ‘—in the men’s department there is a salesperson named Norman. In his sixties, bald. Tell him I sent you and he’ll sort you out with what you need.’
Morgan was surprised when Noah leaned over and placed his cool lips, very briefly, on her temple. ‘Thanks.’
Morgan watched him walk away, and he was at the door before she realised that kissing her was out of bounds too. ‘Hey, no kissing!’
Noah tossed her a grin that had her blood pumping. ‘Just practising for later. Do some work, Duchess, you have a ball to organise.’
Morgan wrinkled her nose. Sad, but true.
* * *
Being a bodyguard pretending to be her latest conquest sucked, Noah thought a couple of hours later in the ballroom of the Park Hyatt, half listening to Morgan as she talked ‘ball’ to a society matron with a pigeon-egg-sized diamond in her wrinkly cleavage. Doing it with a twitching groin made the situation a thousand times worse.
It was her dress, Noah decided, taking the smallest sip of the glass of whisky he’d been nursing for hours. Moss-green and strapless, it fell from her breasts and skimmed her hips. At first glance it almost seemed demure, slightly bohemian, off-beat. Then she moved and the long slit to one side exposed most of a slim thigh and his blood belted south. That thigh was smooth and silky, and even sexier because nothing covered it except perfect, perfect skin.
Funny and interesting... She was a killer combination. Bright as anything too. She picked up sarcasm, nuances, innuendo and irony, and he could read humour, annoyance and interest as the emotions flickered into her eyes. She’d been fêted all evening and he now realised what she’d meant when she’d said that the Moreaus were welcome everywhere. Conversation stopped when she joined a group, male tongues fell to the floor, women smiled and tried not to look jealous, and she was constantly and persistently asked about the ball.
‘How do we get personally invited to the ball?’
‘How much do you think we have to bid to secure a ticket?’
‘Do you have a theme yet?’
‘Do remind your mother that we served together on the blah-blah-blah committee and worked together on the meh-meh-meh project.’
Didn’t these people have any pride?
But Morgan just smiled, changed the subject and moved on to another group if the person was too persistent.
‘Don’t you think so, Noah?’ Morgan asked, and Noah sent her a blank look.
Morgan’s lips lifted, and he knew by the gleam in her eye that she knew his thoughts were miles away.
‘That this year’s ball is going to be utterly amazing?’ she clarified.
‘Uh...yes...’
Wrinkly cleavage leaned across Morgan and showed him far more of what he didn’t need to see. ‘So, how long have you two been dating?’ she demanded.
Oh... Noah looked at Morgan and waited for her to answer.
‘We’ve known each other a long time, Vi,’ Morgan said softly, her eyes on his mouth.
The twitch turned to an ache.
‘Well, he’s a lot better that a lot of those other creatures you’ve dated, Morgan.’
Morgan’s lips lifted with amusement and she tipped her head. ‘You don’t think he looks too bodyguardish? All “don’t mess with me or I’ll wipe the floor with your face”?’
‘Sitting right here,’ Noah reminded them.
‘Is that a bad thing?’ Vi demanded. ‘He does have very nice shoulders.’
‘Mmm...and a nice butt.’
Noah glared at Morgan and lowered his voice. ‘Morgan...enough.’ As in Behave yourself or I’m going to retaliate.
He knew that she’d got the message because her eyes narrowed at his challenge. Noah looked up at the waiter who had placed the next course in front of her and saw the other plate he held—his plate!—wobble as his young knees buckled under the force of that smile. He couldn’t blame him, so he snatched at his plate before the mini-cheese platter ended up in his lap.
Morgan smiled at him before turning to another man on the table. Noah sneaked a look at his watch...it was after eleven already, and people were table-hopping or getting up to dance.
Maybe they could leave soon...
‘Morgan, my honey, it’s so nice to see you. We don’t see enough of your pretty face at these events.’
Noah lifted his eyebrows at the plummy tones and looked at Morgan. The man had his eyes fixed on Morgan’s chest and his manicured fingers rested on her shoulder. Noah, reacting instinctively, slid his arm around the back of Morgan’s chair, knocked his hand away and cupped her slim shoulder in his hand. Soft, silky...
Morgan turned slightly, leaned back towards him, and he caught a whiff of her hair: citrus and spice. Lust rocketed to his groin.
‘Morgan...’ It was another voice demanding her attention.
Give the girl a break, Noah thought, turning to look up into the face of an elderly gentlemen who looked as if he could do with more than a couple of sessions in the gym and a year on a low-carb diet. Manners pulled them both to their feet and Noah watched as Morgan’s knuckles were kissed in an old-fashioned gesture.
‘It’s so wonderful to have you here at the benefit, Morgan, and the room is abuzz with the news that you are taking over the reins of the charity ball from Hannah,’ he gushed.
‘Well, not quite, Alexander,’ Morgan hedged. ‘Mum is still in charge.’
‘As you know, this ball aims to raise money for scholarships for deprived students in the poorer areas of our great city.’
Noah did an inner eye-roll at his pompous words, but Alexander wasn’t quite done with the speechmaking.
‘Our f
oundation was a recipient of a portion of the money raised from your ball five years ago, so I thought that you could do a short speech about the ball. In a couple of minutes? Wonderful.’
Smooth, Noah thought, he hadn’t given her much chance to refuse.
‘And who is your escort, Morgan?’ Alexander held out a hand to Noah, which Noah shook. ‘Alexander Morton—of Morton’s International...banking, dear boy.’
Even when he’d been a boy he’d never been anyone’s ‘dear boy’, Noah thought as he shook the soft, fishy hand and resisted the urge to wipe his own on his pants leg.
Morgan made a couple of standard responses to Alexander’s queries after her family, but he could hear the tension in her voice, could see it in her suddenly tense jaw.
She was seriously and completely rattled. He wondered why.
* * *
Pretend they are naked, Morgan told herself as she gripped the podium and looked out over the expectant faces below. No, don’t think they are naked, you’re feeling traumatised enough. They are cabbages...they are dolls...
They were people waiting for her to fall flat on her face. She wasn’t going to disappoint them...
Dear God, she thought, sucking in air, this was her worst nightmare. The room whirled and swirled. She couldn’t find the words, didn’t know what to say...what was she doing up here? She didn’t—couldn’t—do speeches, especially unprepared ones.
Her knuckles whitened and she gnawed on her lip as the murmurs from the restless crowd drifted up towards her.
Help. She pulled her tongue down from the top of her mouth and managed to find a few words. ‘Um...good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’
Bats! What now? She couldn’t think, couldn’t find the words...frozen, there was the word. She was utterly iced up.
Then Morgan felt movement next to her and a large, familiar hand rested on hers and gently lifted her stiff fingers from the podium.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, my name is James Moreau. Thank you for allowing Morgan and I a few minutes to tell you about the Moreau Charity Ball.’
James... She hadn’t even known that he was at the ball tonight. Rescued again. Morgan briefly closed her eyes and felt the panic recede. Thank you, my darling big brother.
Morgan squeezed James’s hand in gratitude and linked her fingers in his as she listened to his fluid off-the-cuff speech. He soon had his audience laughing and eating out of his hand...the smooth-talking devil.
‘I owe you,’ she said under cover of the applause. ‘I was bulldozed up here.’
‘Then bulldoze back, Morgs,’ James retorted. ‘What would you have done if I wasn’t here?’
‘I don’t have a clue,’ Morgan admitted as he led her back into the clapping fray. She tugged her hand out of James’s and wiped her glistening forehead with the tips of her fingers. ‘I need to visit the ladies’ room.’
James gave her a critical look. ‘You’re as white as a sheet. You need lipstick and a shot of brandy.’
Morgan placed her hand on her sternum as her stomach churned. ‘At the very, very least,’ she agreed.
* * *
On the edge of the dance floor Morgan took the hand that Noah held out and stepped into his arms. He felt solid and strong...and best of all real. Just for a moment she wished she could place her head on his shoulder and rest awhile. This was why she hated the social swirl so much; the party-girl cloak she pulled on to get her through evenings like this weighed her down. She felt exhausted and such a fraud.
‘So, what was that about?’ Noah asked, his voice somewhere above her temple.
‘What?’ It was a stupid question because she immediately knew what he was referring to.
‘James rushing to your rescue? I never imagined that you would be at a loss for words. You looked like your knees were knocking together.’
Why did he have to be so perceptive? James had assured her that they’d pulled it off, that most people had thought she was just waiting for him to join her at the podium, but if that was so then why had Noah noticed her nerves? And if he had noticed how scared she was, who else had? Oh, bats, did that mean that everyone was laughing behind her back? Sniggering?
She stepped back, lifted her hands and tossed her head. ‘I want to go home now,’ she told him, pleased that her voice sounded reasonably steady.
‘Why?’ Noah demanded.
Because I feel like a fool... ‘I have a headache.’
‘Not buying it, Duchess.’
Noah placed his hand on her hip, picked up her hand again and pushed her back into the dance. She followed his lead automatically and wished that the floor could swallow her whole. She felt hot with humiliation and cold when she thought about what was being said behind her back.
Morgan made herself meet his far too discerning eyes and didn’t realise that her pulse was beating a hard rhythm in the base of her throat.
‘Noah, I simply don’t care whether you think I am talking rubbish or not. I’m done with this evening, I’m done talking and, frankly, I’m done with you too. I need some space and some time alone.’ She shoved a hand into her hair. ‘Can you, for once, just act like a bodyguard? Can you stop talking, keep your opinions to yourself and just leave me the hell alone?’
Noah’s head jerked back and his implacable remote mask dropped into place. ‘Certainly.’
He gestured to the edge of the floor and kept a respectful distance as they walked back to the table. His voice was devoid of emotion when he spoke again. ‘If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll just organise the car.’
Morgan felt a wave of shame as she watched his broad back move away. She’d taken a hunk of his hide because she was feeling vulnerable and mortified. But mostly because she knew that he was strong enough, secure enough, to take it.
It was the perfect end to a long and terrible evening.
* * *
‘Where’s Noah?’ Riley asked, dumping her files on the coffee table in Morgan’s lounge. Sinking to the silk carpet, Riley took a grateful sip from the glass of white wine Morgan handed her.
After nearly a week of living together, in the non-biblical sense, Noah had finally realised that she was safe alone in the apartment by herself, and every day after work he left her to make use of the state-of-the-art gym and indoor swimming pool within the apartment block, Morgan explained.
‘So, how does it feel to be living with a man?’ Riley asked, kicking off her heels and crossing her legs.
Morgan sat down on the edge of the couch opposite her and half shrugged. ‘Weird, actually.’
‘And are you still in separate beds?’
Morgan glared at her. ‘What do you think?’
‘Judging by that killer look, I’d say your hormones are on a constant low simmer.’
‘You should know,’ Morgan replied.
As Riley was the only person outside of her family who knew about her dyslexia, Morgan was the only person who knew that Riley had fallen in love with James at first sight and had never quite managed to tumble out of it. She covered her feelings towards him by acting like a diva artist whenever he was around.
‘He wants me to do an underwater theme for the windows next month,’ Riley grumbled, reading her thoughts.
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s just been scuba diving in Belize and was “blown away” by the coral reefs. I told him that I needed personal experience to do a theme like that.’
Knowing that would never have been the end of their conversation, Morgan tipped her head. ‘And he said what in reply?’
‘He used that super-sarcastic tone of his and said...’ Riley tossed her bright red hair and lowered her voice. ‘“Then why don’t I just take you with me next time?”’
‘Jeez, I just wish you and James would get your stuff together, find a room,
get it on and then get on with living happily ever after.’
‘Like he’s ever going to see me as anything other than your best friend.’ Riley tapped her nail against her glass. ‘Oh, wait—are you talking about us or about you and Noah?’
‘Both of us. Although that won’t happen to Noah and I.’
‘Why not?’
‘This thing between us is purely physical, Ri. We don’t discuss anything personal.’
‘Why not?’ Riley repeated.
Morgan shrugged.
‘Don’t want to venture further down the rabbit hole?’ Riley asked.
Morgan looked up at the ceiling.
‘I think he might be the one guy who’d understand the dyslexia, Morgs.’
‘I doubt it,’ Morgan replied, leaning back and putting her feet up on the coffee table. ‘He’s a perfectionist: highly driven and ambitious. Besides, Noah and I...it would be just about sex—about this crazy chemical reaction we have to each other.’
‘You like each other.’
‘We don’t know each other.’ Morgan took a huge sip of wine and rested the glass against her cheek. ‘Anyway, I’m not looking for a relationship with Noah. Sex—yes...have you seen that body?’
‘Shallow as a puddle.’ Riley grinned before leaning back on her hands. ‘To be honest, I think you don’t tell the guys you date about the dyslexia because you hope they’ll bail.’
‘Oh, come on!’
‘Oh, you so do. How many times have you met a nice guy? You date and then you sleep together. Things go really well until he starts picking up that things are a bit off. That you don’t write down a message properly or you get the directions to a restaurant wrong. You don’t explain and you retreat.’
‘I don’t do that,’ she protested, even though she knew she did.
Riley gave her a hard look. ‘Noah isn’t like that, Morgan. He wouldn’t hold the dyslexia against you.’
‘Back away, Ri,’ Morgan warned. ‘Nobody understands until they have to live with me. You know what I’m like. Sometimes the reading is easy; other days I can barely read my own name. I would drive him crazy in six months. I’m inconsistent, and that’s annoying and confusing. Some days I can take on the world; sometimes I can’t even read simple instructions. I hate those black holes, and if I find them difficult to deal with how would my lover feel?’