lifted her hands in query. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘I think my panties are starting to melt...can I hit on him?’
‘Sheez, Ri!’ Morgan snapped. ‘No, you can’t hit on him! I mean, yes, you can... Aarrgh!’
Riley’s chuckles followed her out of the bathroom.
* * *
This time he’d sent her running.
Judging from her hasty retreat and her oh, crap! look, nobody had told her he would be at the meeting. While he hadn’t expected Morgan to attend this meeting, at least he’d been prepared to run into her. And he’d had a six hour flight to practise his oh-it’s-you face.
He understood her belting out of the room; he’d fought the same impulse himself. That and the inclination to grab her and pick up where they’d left off years ago. She’d be naked, of course...
Noah looked down at the table he was sitting at and concentrated hard. Thirty-three years old and he was grateful that his crotch was hidden from view by a sleek boardroom table.
Get a grip, Fraser. Distraction... Years ago he’d used firearm drills; now he just flipped open his iPad and checked his emails. Ten minutes later he glanced at his watch and stifled a frustrated sigh. The meeting still hadn’t started.
He’d made Morgan run off screaming into the... Well, not the night, but he still couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t his finest memory and he hadn’t been naked...with a Brazilian... Do not go there, Fraser.
He glanced over to the corner, where Hannah Moreau and her son James, who’d just entered the conference room, 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.’
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
