Romance In Paradise. Sarah Mayberry
* *
‘This is it.’
Morgan looked out of the window of the cab and frowned when she didn’t see the swish art gallery she’d expected to see. She looked across the road but there was nothing in the immediate vicinity except a closed dry cleaners and a rather grubby-looking diner. The other side of the street held a pawn shop and a strip club.
Where were they?
‘Are you sure this is three-six-two?’ Morgan asked.
Dark eyes glared at her from the front seat of the cab. ‘You said six-three-two, lady. Three-six-two is uptown.’
Morgan closed her eyes at his harsh voice.
‘Take it easy, buddy,’ Noah said in a calm voice.
‘She said six-three-two,’ the cabbie insisted.
‘You’ll still get paid, so relax.’ Noah laid a hand on her knee. ‘Where’s the invite, Morgan? Let’s check the address.’
Morgan felt heat infuse her cheeks and rise up her neck and was grateful for the early evening shadows in the cab. She flipped open her clutch bag and pulled out the invitation. She glanced at the numbers and thrust the invitation towards the taxi driver.
‘Six-three-two,’ she muttered.
The driver glanced down at the invitation and shook his head in disgust. ‘Jeez, lady, whassa matter wi’ you? This says two-three-six!’
‘Back off, man, she made a mistake,’ Noah said in a hard, cold voice, and with a final huff the driver whirled around in his seat, slammed the car into gear and abruptly pulled off into the traffic.
Morgan licked her lips and waited for Noah’s probing questions as they retraced their route. How was she going to talk her way out of this?
‘Sorry.’
Noah shrugged and leaned back in his seat. ‘You’re tired...we both are. Mistakes are easy to make. Ignore him.’
Noah looked out of the window and Morgan glanced at his masculine profile. That was it? Where were the questions, the demands for an explanation, the mockery for making such a basic silly mistake? Why didn’t he follow up on the cab driver’s question, probe a little deeper?
Did he know and not care? Did he suspect and was distancing himself from the problem? Was he just simply not curious or, even scarier, didn’t he give a hoot?
At the gallery a little while later, Morgan was still thinking of his non-reaction in the taxi and how she’d managed to dodge the explanation bullet. She stepped away from the group of people who were talking around her, looking past Johnno Davie at Noah, who was standing in front of one of Johnno’s massive paintings. It was one of the few non-abstract paintings on display: a nude on a bed in a symphony of gold and cream, with hints of blush. It didn’t need the tag Sophie—Naked and Relaxed; anyone with half a brain could tell exactly what Sophie had been up to before Johnno had decided to capture her on canvas.
Morgan wondered if Sophie knew that her...ahem...satisfaction was part of Johnno’s latest collection.
Morgan lifted her glass of wine to her lips and watched Noah as he stared at the canvas. He was perfectly dressed for an art exhibition in NYC: dark jeans, a white button-down shirt and a black jacket.
Noah’s immense self-control scared her—she admitted it. He’d been as swept away by their kiss last night as she had and yet he’d managed to pull back, to step away. She thought that she could be naked and he could be inside her, a fraction off orgasm, and if he decided to jam on the brakes he would. Oh, Morgan knew that he was self-motivated and determined, and that he kept his own counsel—that his natural way of interacting with people was to be brief and succinct, focusing on practicality above emotion—but even so sometimes she thought that there was another Noah trying to escape. A Noah who was a little more relaxed, a little impulsive—someone who was desperate to have a good time—but every time that Noah stepped over the line he got slapped back into his cage.
It was almost as if Noah was scared to let himself feel...
What had happened to him that had made him wary of...of...himself, really?
Morgan stared at his broad back as she walked over to him. She playfully nudged his shoulder with hers. ‘I’m sorry about the confusion with the address earlier. I got the numbers mixed up.’
‘Mmm...as I said, it happens.’
Morgan folded her arms across her raspberry-coloured poncho dress. It was a favourite of hers, with a one-shoulder neckline with a batwing sleeve. The dress fell to mid-thigh and she wore it with nude spiked heels and long, dangly earrings made from garnets.
‘Listen, I need to say something. I’m sorry...about that kiss last night.’ Noah held his hands in the pockets of his jeans and straightened his arms. ‘I shouldn’t have...’
‘Here we go again... Noah, for goodness’ sake, we are adults! We shared a kiss, and if you didn’t have the control of a Tibetan monk we would’ve done much more.’
Noah glanced around as her voice lifted in frustration. ‘Inside voice, dammit!’
‘What is the problem? And don’t give me that garbage about not being professional and the promise you made to my brother.’
‘Why don’t you talk louder? I don’t think the people at the far end of the gallery heard you,’ Noah muttered as he gripped her arm and pulled her closer to the painting. ‘And I did make a promise to your brother...’
Morgan turned her back to the room and looked at the painting. ‘The old promise-to-my-brother excuse.’ Morgan lifted up her arms and then fisted her hands. ‘You know what...? Forget it! I’ve never chased after a man in my life and I am not starting with you!’
Noah muttered an expletive and raked his hand through his hair. ‘Morgan...no, don’t walk away.’ He waited a beat before talking again. ‘I’ve worked really hard to establish my business and, no matter how stupid you think it is, people will look to see how I conduct myself with you and they will judge that. I need to be seen to be professional and competent.’
Anyone would think she was asking him to do her in Central Park as Saturday afternoon entertainment. She saw him fiddle with his collar... He did that, she realised with a flash of insight, when he was feeling uncomfortable or when he was hedging. Or flat-out lying.
‘That might be part of it but it’s not the whole truth. The important truth.’ Morgan looked him in the eye. When his eyes slid right she knew she had him and he knew that she had him. So he did what all men did when they were caught out: he changed the subject.
‘Okay, say we have this hot fling. And afterwards, Duchess, what then?’
Morgan frowned and lowered the glass she’d raised to her lips. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We scratch this itch and then what happens? What are you expecting?’
Morgan took a sip of wine and considered his question. What did she expect? What could she expect?
What could she give?
After a moment’s thought she came to the only logical, practical conclusion she could. ‘I don’t expect anything, Noah. You don’t seem to be the type who needs or, frankly, wants a relationship, so if we did find ourselves in bed I’d expect nothing, because I know that you have nothing to give me.’
Besides, I’m too scared to take the chance of loving someone, being found unworthy, getting my teeth kicked in.
‘You make me sound like a robot,’ Noah muttered.
Morgan suspected that if he opened those cage doors he’d be anything but robotic—he’d be fearless and passionate and unstoppable. But right now he did have elements of the mechanical about him. Except when he was kissing her...
Morgan reached out and tapped his chest with one French