Flirting With the Forbidden

by Joss Wood

  ‘My mum wanted to move out; she could get a job in her brother’s inn in Kelso. He didn’t want to move but she finally persuaded him to visit with her. They borrowed a car and my brothers and I stayed behind—I can’t remember why. My father wasn’t an experienced driver and it was wet and they spun off the road. Mum was killed instantly. Michael was paralysed from the waist down.’

  Michael, he called his father Michael. Not Dad—just Michael.

  ‘Long story short: he became our worst nightmare. Anger turned to rage, rage to violence, and if you think a man can’t be physically violent confined to a wheelchair then you should’ve seen him. I watched my brothers become walking robots, scared to move—to breathe—and I called Social Services, They arranged for them to go and live with my aunt—my mum’s sister.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Somebody had to stay and look after him. I lasted three years,’ Noah said. ‘I was nineteen when I joined up.’

  ‘What happened that made you leave?’ Morgan asked, because she knew that something major had happened. Noah, being Noah, with his unquestionable loyalty, would have had to have an excellent reason to walk away.

  Still looking out of the window, he said, ‘I said he was abusive and he was. Verbally, physically... But that day had been a quiet day—no drama from him. He’d actually been behaving himself. I walked past him and saw this cold look in his eye, and then his fist flew out and he punched me in my...you know...’

  Morgan’s eyes widened but she kept her voice even. ‘Groin?’

  ‘Yeah. I just reacted. We were in the kitchen and...I don’t know what happened but I lost time. When I came back I was holding a knife to his throat and he was begging me not to kill him. I wanted to; it would’ve been so easy.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘No, I walked away, made arrangements for his care and joined the army. I left him alone.’

  Morgan turned to face him, lifted up her hand and touched his chin, forcing him to look at her. ‘You spent three years in a horrid situation with an abusive father. You earned the right to walk away, Noah. Knowing you, you’ve probably supported him financially all this time.’

  ‘Yes, I have—but you don’t understand!’ Noah sounded agitated. ‘I nearly killed him, Morgan!’

  Morgan raised her eyebrows. ‘But you didn’t, Noah! He was an abusive father who inflicted violence on you. He sucker-punched you—in a man’s most vulnerable place!—and it was the straw that broke your back. I’m surprised that you didn’t kill him, Noah.’

  ‘You don’t understand! I lost control! Like I nearly did the other day.’

  ‘Oh, Noah, millions of men would think that you showed immense control by not killing him! And you were nowhere near losing control last week.’

  Noah looked at her with wide shocked eyes and she could see him trying to process her words. ‘Have you ever spoken to anyone about this? Chris? Your brothers? A psychologist?’

  Noah shook his head.

  She was the only person that knew his secret? How could that be? ‘Maybe you should. Maybe they can convince you that you were just a boy, trying to survive and doing the best you could in a dreadful situation.’

  Noah closed his eyes and rested his head on hers. ‘I’m so tired, Morgs.’

  Morgan pushed his hair off his forehead. ‘Then why don’t you rest awhile? Push the seat back and try and sleep, okay?’ Morgan pulled the lever on his seat and watched as he stretched out. She passed him a pillow, pulled another blanket over him, before flipping her seat back and lying so that she faced him. Holding his hand, she watched as he drifted off to sleep.

  ‘Morgs?’

  ‘Yes?’

  He yawned and his voice was thick with sleep when he spoke again. ‘Stay with me, okay? I’d like you there...at the funeral and when I tell my brothers.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Morgan whispered, and watched him while he slept.

  * * *

  Noah was as jittery as a crack addict desperate for a fix. He stood in front of one of the many houses in the grimy brick block and placed his hand on the incongruous red railing—and quickly lifted it when he felt the sticky gunge on his skin. Wiping his palm on his jeans, he played with the keys in his hand.

  He hadn’t been back to the house he’d been raised in in nearly fifteen years and he didn’t want to go inside now. He just wanted to put this entire nightmare behind him. But before he could he had to bury his father tomorrow and clean out his house today. Postponing wasn’t an option, because his brothers were flying in later and would insist on helping him. Their aunt’s house was their real home, and he didn’t want them to see the reality of how their parents had lived.

  He didn’t want Morgan seeing it either, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded from accompanying him. He’d pleaded for her to stay in the hotel room, had offered another bodyguard for the day so that she could spend the day sightseeing, but she’d refused.

  She was coming with him and he’d have to deal with it, she’d stated, calmly and resolutely. Nobody should have to clear out their parents’ house alone.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or to strangle her. He looked over to her, dressed as he was in old jeans and a casual sweater. But she still looked out of place in this place of dank and dark buildings covered in grime and graffiti.

  Over the past day or so Morgan’s presence had kept him centred, grounded, able to go through the steps of organising the funeral, notifying the few relatives they had left, and that hard conversation with his brothers, who’d taken the news rather prosaically. He couldn’t judge them for their lack of grief; they’d had minimal contact with Michael for most of their lives and didn’t have a personal relationship with him. He also knew that their offer to come to the funeral was more to support him than to say goodbye to their father.

  Yesterday, after a long, cold, tough day, he’d lost himself in Morgan’s body, stepping away from the memories of the past and the reality of his father’s passing and losing himself in her smooth skin, her frantic gasps, her warm, wet heat. And when guilt had welled up and threatened to consume him whole, when he’d felt like punching a fist through a wall, her words, spoken quietly but with such truth, drifted through his head.

  ‘Millions of men would think that you showed immense control by not killing him. You were just a boy, trying to survive and doing the best you could in a dreadful situation.’

  Morgan. She was becoming as necessary to him as breathing and he either wanted to beg her never to leave him or he wanted to run as far and as fast away from her as possible.

  Noah saw movement across the road and caught the eye of the obvious leader of a gang of teens across the road. He gave them a don’t-mess-with-me stare. They ducked their heads and moved off and Noah sighed. There but for the grace of God go I, he’d thought, on more than one occasion.

  ‘Let’s go in, Noah, it’s cold out here,’ Morgan suggested, her hand on his back.

  Noah shook himself out of his trance and walked up the cracked steps into the mouldy building. He shuddered as he breathed in the smell of decaying food and despair.

  He automatically turned to the door on the left and his hand shook as he tried to place the key in the lock. He didn’t know why they bothered with locking up; he knew that one solid kick would have the door flying open. When he couldn’t make the connection between key and lock he considered it a viable option.

  Morgan took the key from his hand, jabbed it in the lock and pushed open the door. She stepped inside and Noah wanted to warn her not to...that his father was unstable, volatile, capricious.

  No, his father was dead. Noah bit his bottom lip, looked around and swore. Nothing had changed; the old blue couch was just paler and grubbier, the furniture that much more battered. And, man, it was messy. His father had always been a slob but Noah had paid for a clea
ner, for someone to look after him.

  ‘How did he live like this?’ Noah whispered. ‘If the carer didn’t clean, then did she feed him, look after him?’

  Guilt threatened to buckle his knees, sink him to the floor.

  Morgan tossed him a glance and immediately went to the old fridge, yanked it open. She pulled back at the smell but pointed out the milk, the cheese. Slamming the door shut, she pulled open the freezer section and nodded.

  ‘There are quite a few homemade meals in here, Noah, and lots of dirty dishes in the sink. He was eating. And, look, there’s a note on the fridge, saying that the carer was going on holiday. She got back the day he died. I think.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Noah looked down as he kicked a half-empty bottle of whisky at his feet. So the drinking hadn’t stopped.

  He couldn’t do this with her here... Couldn’t handle seeing his classy NYC girl in a smelly flat filled with dirty dishes and soiled clothes and windows covered with soot and grime. Couldn’t handle the pity he thought he saw in her eyes. He wanted to cry but he couldn’t do that with her—couldn’t let her see him at his weakest.

  ‘Morgan, please leave.’

  Morgan looked at him with huge eyes. ‘I don’t want to. I don’t want you to do this on your own. Let me stay, please.’

  Noah dropped his head and felt the walls of the room closing in on him. He desperately wanted to be alone, wanted some time to himself, to sort through the emotion to find the truth of what he was feeling. He knew it was time to pull away from her now, to find some distance. He wanted to take back his life, his mind, his control. He wanted to stand alone, as he always had. He needed to know that he could, that he didn’t need that gorgeous blonde in his life, standing in his corner.

  Why had he even explained his past to Morgan? Where had that crazy impulse come from? Being side-winded after hearing that Michael was dead? Now he felt as if he was standing in front of her, his chest cracked open, and inviting her to wreak havoc. By allowing her inside he’d handed her his pistol and invited her to shoot him in the heart.

  He was the closest he’d ever come to falling over that long cliff into love, and he couldn’t help thinking whether he would be feeling the same way if his father hadn’t died—if his feelings for her didn’t seem deeper because there was so much emotion swirling around him.

  He just wanted to step away from this freakin’ soul-searching and get on an even keel again. He wanted to feel normal.

  Morgan folded her arms across her chest. ‘Talk to me, Noah. Please.’

  ‘You’re not going to like what I say,’ he warned her.

  ‘Talk to me anyway,’ Morgan said, perching her butt on the side of the rickety dining room table. She stood in nearly the same place as he had when he’d taken a knife to his father’s throat...

  He stared at the old television screen. ‘My parents are both dead and I should feel free. Except that I don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’re here.’

  ‘Do you want to explain that?’

  Noah shoved his hand into his hair and tugged. ‘I don’t want you to think that just because you’re here we have something serious happening. I don’t want you thinking that we’re in some sort of relationship...’

  ‘We are. If nothing else, we are friends.’

  ‘Friends?’

  Noah snorted, thinking that by allowing her to come with him he’d tied himself to Morgan, bound himself into some sort of relationship. He was furious that she’d pricked through his self-sufficiency and made him rely on her.

  He looked around the room and felt anger whirl and swirl. ‘I left this place fifteen years ago and I swore that I would never feel vulnerable again. I vowed, after walking away from him, that I’d never feel weak again.’

  Yet here he was, shortly before burying the person who’d taught him that lesson, putting himself in the same position. With her.

  He was such a fool. He couldn’t, wouldn’t ever rely on someone else again...and this touchy-feely crap he had going on with Morgan stopped now.

  ‘I don’t want you here. I want you gone.’

  Had he actually voiced those words? He must have because her head jerked back in shock and all colour drained from her face.

  ‘Noah...’

  ‘This—you and I—it stops. Right now.’

  ‘You’re tired and upset and not thinking straight,’ Morgan said after a moment, and he could see that she was trying to keep calm, desperately looking to keep the conversation, the situation, rational.

  In normal circumstances her words might have jerked him back to sanity, but nothing about standing in his father’s filthy house, being bombarded with ugly memories and emotions, was normal. If he wasn’t in such a turbulent mood he’d readily admit that when it came to him she generally knew exactly what to say. How to make him laugh, think, want her with every breath he took.

  He didn’t want to want her like this; didn’t want to deal with the tender emotions only she could pull to the surface. Didn’t want to deal with anything right now...

  ‘Why don’t I give you some space?’ Morgan sucked in her cheeks. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

  Morgan turned to walk to the door but his harsh voice had her stopping just before she reached it. ‘No. I don’t want you to wait. I don’t want this—you—any more.’

  He saw, maybe felt the shudder that rocketed through her, saw her head fall. He fought the urge to go to her, to soothe, to protect. The child in him protested that he’d never been soothed, protected.

  ‘I never promised you anything and I always said that I would leave.’

  Morgan finally turned around, lifted her head and gave him a withering look. ‘Stop acting like an ass, Noah. I understand that this has been a rough time for you, but don’t take your anger out on the people who love you.’

  Noah leaned backed and stretched out his feet. ‘So now you love me?’

  Morgan’s eyes froze. ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply. You’re angry and hurt and acting like a jerk. You’re just going through the stages of grief—albeit quicker than most. First shock, you skipped denial. and now you’re feeling angry.’

  ‘No, you’re looking for an excuse because you don’t want to hear what I’m saying.’

  ‘Which is exactly what, Noah? Put your cards on the table, Fraser.’

  Well, okay, then. ‘I don’t want you in my life any more.’

  ‘That’s not how you felt this morning, last night, twenty minutes ago.’

  That was the truth.

  ‘It’s how I feel now. I don’t like feeling this connected to someone—feeling like my heart wants to explode with joy just because you’re in the room. I want to feel normal again—me again... Not a twisted-with-emotion sap.’ Noah ground the words out, forcing them around his reluctant tongue. ‘I don’t want to love you! And I certainly don’t need you. I was perfectly fine on my own.’

  He hadn’t been, his heart shouted, but he shut out its screams.

  Morgan shook her head, blinked away the emotion in her eyes and bit her bottom lip. He felt lower than an amoeba infected with anthrax. What was wrong with him? He was tossing away the best thing in his life...ever.

  ‘Well, that was very clear.’

  Morgan lifted her chin and he had to admire her courage.

  ‘Well, screw you and your lousy, spiteful, wimpy attitude.’ She grabbed her bag off the table and yanked it over her shoulder. ‘I’m going back to the hotel.’

  Noah watched her take a couple of steps before remembering that she was still a target, Glasgow or not. ‘You can’t leave by yourself!’ he shouted.

  Morgan bared her teeth at him and he was quite sure that her eyes were glowing red. He couldn’t blame her.

  ‘Watch me. I�
��d rather be kidnapped by rabid Colombians than spend one more minute with you!’

  Noah stood up, pulled out his mobile and nodded, his face grim. ‘That’s easy to make happen.’ Pushing buttons, he held it up to his ear, and his voice was rough when he spoke. ‘Amanda?’ He waited a minute before speaking again. ‘Listen, I know that we’ve had our problems but do you have any agents in Glasgow who can take over Morgan Moreau’s protection detail?’ He waited a beat and spoke again. ‘No, I need him now. Like within the next half-hour...hour. You have? Great.’

  Noah rattled off the address and bit his lip. ‘Thanks. Amanda. I think the threat level to her has mostly been neutralised. but tell him that if anything happens to her—if she breaks even a fingernail—he’s dead.’

  Noah disconnected the call and slapped his mobile against the palm of his hand. He looked at Morgan, whose eyes were wide with shock, humiliation and hurt. He wanted to take her in his arms, apologise, but he knew that the smarter course of action would be to walk away from her while he still could. While his heart was still his and not walking around in her hands.

  ‘Your wish is my command, Duchess,’ he said with a mocking bow.

  Now he just had to keep himself from hitting redial, cancelling the new bodyguard, gathering Morgan up and keeping her for ever.

  It was the longest, quietest, hardest, most excruciating wait of his life, and when she walked out to the car with a kid who looked as if he should still be in school he stood in his old house, sank to the couch and, for the first time in fifteen years, cried.

  TWELVE

  A week later Riley walked into Morgan’s studio, two cups in her hand, and Morgan sighed at the green logo of the twin-tailed mermaid on the cup. It was a mega hazelnut-flavoured latte, her favourite, and she needed it—along with Prozac and probably a padded cell.

  ‘Hey, I was just about to buzz you,’ Morgan said. ‘I need help.’

  ‘Okay.’ Riley took a seat on the stool next to her at the workbench. ‘You look like hell. Still crying?’

  Morgan took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Yeah. You?’