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

‘You arrogant—’ Morgan placed her hands on his chest and shoved.

Annoyed beyond reason, he gripped her shoulders with his big hands and fought the urge to shake her. Instead he slammed his mouth onto hers and yanked her up against his body. He placed one hand low on her back, fingers spread out over her backside, and his other hand held her head in place. Her made-for-sin mouth was hot below his.

Noah could feel her mentally fighting him, her mind cursing him, even though he knew that her body wanted this as much as he did. Pure orneryness kept her mouth clamped shut, and her slim body was rigid with shock. Dropping his hand from her head, he stroked her arm, urging her to relax, and eventually both their tempers ebbed away under the sensual heat they created.

He knew that Morgan was trying to fight the temptation to wind her arms around his neck and fall into his body. It seemed so long since he had touched her, and yet it was like yesterday. She was toned, yet fragile, hot and sexy.

Noah concentrated on applying exactly the right amount of pressure and kept his hands still. He kissed the corner of her mouth and slowly worked his way inwards, nibbling and caressing as he went along. His tongue flicked and retreated, coaxed hers out to play. He sighed in triumph as she groaned and opened her mouth to his. Instantly his tongue accepted her invitation and curled around hers while he pulled her close.

Unable to resist this a moment longer, Morgan threw her arms around his neck and moulded her body against his. Plunging her fingers in his hair, she wound a calf around his and pressed herself up against his hard frame.

Long, luscious, passion-soaked minutes later Noah knew that he’d reached the point of no return—that if he carried on for another minute he would be lost, doing exactly what he wouldn’t allow himself to do. It took every ounce of his legendary self-control to wrench his mouth from hers, to step back, to meet her eyes.

He moved his hand so that he held her jaw, brushed his thumb over her full bottom lip.

Morgan spoke, frustration in her passion-smoked voice. ‘You’re really stopping?’

He nodded and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans so that he didn’t reach for her again. ‘Really am.’

He watched as Morgan’s smoky eyes cleared and confusion replaced heat. ‘I don’t know why, or how, you can even start it. Especially knowing that you’re not going to take it further.’

All he knew for sure was that he was a masochist, a glutton for punishment. He could try to explain—temper, jealousy, they were all factors—but his biggest motivator was that at that moment he hadn’t been able not to kiss her.

Noah watched as the last spark of fight went out of Morgan. She took a step towards him, dropped her head and curled her fingers into his shirt.

‘I hate this,’ she said in a small voice.

And he hated the thought that he—this crazy situation between them—could make her sound so small, defeated.

He resisted the urge to pull her into his embrace, to soothe her. He didn’t do touchy-feely so he just stood there, trying to ignore the surge of protectiveness that threatened to knock his feet from under him.

‘Hate what?’ he asked quietly.

‘This...all of this. The bodyguarding. Being so attracted to you, not being able to touch you, to get it...you...out of my system.’ Morgan rested her forehead in the middle of his chest. ‘It’s horrible... I don’t like feeling this out of control.’

‘I know.’

He had to touch her, so Noah rubbed his hand up and down her spine. It was killing him too. His hand moved up between her shoulder blades onto her neck and under her head. He pulled the hair at the back of her neck and gently tipped her head back.

‘I gave my word...it’s important to me that I keep it,’ he said, looking down into her mesmerising eyes.

‘I know. Dammit...I respect that. I just don’t like it!’

Tell him something he didn’t know. He didn’t consider it a lazy day on the beach either.

Morgan stepped back, wrapped her arms around her waist and tipped her head to one side. ‘I wish I could yell at you—scream. I want to act like a diva and fire you and stomp away and throw things.’

‘You can if it makes you feel better,’ Noah offered on a small smile. He had to hand it to the lass: he never knew what she was going to say or do next—she was never predictable.

‘Consider yourself yelled at and fired,’ Morgan said on a long, tired sigh. She looked at him. ‘Any chance of you saving me from the loony bin and actually staying fired?’

Uh, no. That wasn’t happening. A cold shower would happen, but him leaving...? ‘Nope.’

‘Didn’t think so,’ Morgan grumbled as she left the kitchen.

* * *

‘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.