Romance In Paradise: Flirting with the Forbidden / Hot Island Nights / From Fling to Forever

She sighed. Designing jewellery was probably the only aspect of her life that she felt completely confident about.

Noah walked over to the bench and squinted at her sketches. She saw his head pull back and presumed that he was reacting to the prices.

‘Can I ask you something jewellery-related?’

Morgan’s head shot up—not so much at the question but at the note of tension in his voice.

‘Sure.’ Oh, yeah, his body was coiled tight, and she narrowed her eyes as he pulled his wallet out from the back pocket of his black pants. He flipped it open, dug in a tight fold and pulled out a silver ring with a red stone. He tossed it to her and she snatched it out of the air.

‘What’s the stone?’

Before looking at the gem, Morgan looked at the setting. The band was old silver, a delicate swirl of filigree, feminine but with strong lines. Lovely, she thought. Really lovely. Whoever had made the ring was a superb craftsman, she decided as she picked up her loupe and walked over to the window. Holding the ring between two fingers, she lifted the loupe to her eye, angled the ring to the light and the breath caught in her throat. Red beryl, one of her favourite stones; very gorgeous and very rare.

‘Bixbite or red beryl. Very rare. Very valuable.’

Noah walked over to her, stared down at the ring and frowned. ‘Nah, can’t be.’

Morgan arched an eyebrow at him. ‘You a gemmologist now, soldier? Trust me on this: it’s red beryl, my favourite stone...probably set around nineteen-twenty. It would’ve been mined from the Wah Wah mountain range in Utah.’

‘Huh.’

Morgan frowned when Noah reached out, plucked the ring out of her grip with possessive fingers and put it back into his wallet. ‘Where did you get it? And why can’t it be valuable?’ she asked.

Noah just shrugged and Morgan put her hand on his arm to keep him from turning away. ‘Answering my question is my price for the valuation.’

‘It was my mother’s—passed down from my grandmother. I was given it shortly after she died and I’ve kept it with me ever since. It would be my lucky charm if I believed in lucky charms,’ Noah said, with the reluctance of a child facing a dentist’s appointment. ‘Her family wasn’t...wealthy, so I’m surprised that they possessed something this valuable.’

Forget reluctance. Now he sounded as if he was having root canal without pain relief. Noah did not like talking about himself or his family. She wanted to ask how his mother had died—and when—but his expression was forbidding. She wasn’t brave enough to go there.

‘It’s very lovely. And it either belongs on a finger or in a safe, soldier,’ Morgan said. His expression begged her to change the subject so she relented. ‘How did the meeting go with the Head of Security at the Forrester?’

Noah turned away and walked over to the window, looking down on the busy road beneath them. ‘I have some concerns that he needs to address. I’ll put them in a report and email it to you.’

Morgan wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t you tell me instead?’

‘What is it with you and your hatred of reading reports?’ Noah asked, resting his butt on the window sill. Sunlight picked up deep golden-brown streaks in his hair and created a bit of an aura around his head. He looked like a rough, tough, gun-toting bad-ass angel.

Morgan clenched her thighs together and ignored the pulsing down below. She really had to get her hormones under control. This was beyond ridiculous.

‘Uh...reports. They are just a hassle to read.’

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. ‘You don’t like reading?’

‘Not particularly.’

Noah crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms. ‘So, what do you read? Tatler and Heat?’

And there he went, making assumptions. ‘If I don’t like going out in society why would I want to read about it? Actually, snob, my favourite authors are Jane Austen and Ernest Hemingway. Harper Lee, John Steinbeck—all the classics.’

‘But you just said that you don’t like to read.’

Yeah, but not that I don’t love books. She did love books—devoured them by the bucket load. Except that along with the paperback she bought the audio book, so that she could read along. Truthfully, she frequently just opted to listen and not read.

Morgan flipped Noah a look and saw that he was looking very confused. Right, time to change the subject before he probed a little deeper. She wasn’t ready—probably would never be—to tell him about her dyslexia. It wasn’t something she believed he needed to know— now or ever.

‘I have a list of this month’s events that I need to attend,’ Morgan said, picking up the piece of paper she’d printed earlier from the email she’d received from Helen. She walked over to Noah and watched as he speed-read the document. Lucky man.

‘Ballet? Uck. A ball? Save me... But I can handle the art exhibition; I really like Davie’s work.’

‘You know Johnno’s art?’ Morgan asked, surprised.

Noah folded his arms and tipped his head. ‘Now who’s being a snob? I went to his exhibition in London. Fantastic.’

‘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.