Flirting with the Forbidden. Joss Wood
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.