Romance In Paradise: Flirting with the Forbidden / Hot Island Nights / From Fling to Forever. Sarah Mayberry
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I have. I used to try and read along, but the narrators read too fast so the words swim and dance and I get a cracking headache by page five.’
Noah unfurled his long length and sat down on the couch next to her. ‘You don’t need to keep it a secret, Morgan.’
Morgan dipped her head so her forehead touched his collarbone. ‘Yeah, I kind of do.’ She snuggled closer to him and his arm went around her slim back as he leant back against the couch. ‘I’m not just a little dyslexic, Noah, I’m really bad. And some days I’m terrible.’
‘Is that why you were so reluctant to organise the ball?’
‘Yeah. It’s too important for me to fail at it...and I don’t want to disappoint my mum. It’s hard, trying to live up to the Moreau name. The family are all terribly well educated—they all have two degrees; my dad has three—and I scraped through college by the skin of my teeth, taking twice the amount of time anyone else did.’
‘You just told me that you are not stupid,’ Noah pointed out. ‘Surely they know that too? And as educated people don’t you think that they admire you for trying something outside of your comfort zone? I know I do, and I only have one degree.’
‘They keep telling me that. Maybe I’m just scared of disappointing myself.’ Morgan tipped her head back to look at him. ‘What do you have a degree in?’
‘Business and history,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘Love history. It’s still my favourite subject.’
Morgan sighed happily. ‘Then I must show you some of the old diaries from the first Moreau prospectors—the brothers who discovered the mines. They were wacky and colourful and quite unethical.’
‘I’d love to read them.’ Noah gently pulled her ponytail. ‘You look exhausted, Duchess. Why don’t you go to bed?’
‘I’m tired, but I probably won’t sleep,’ Morgan admitted. ‘My brain is whirling.’
‘You need something to de-stress you.’
He stood up, scanned the bookshelves and found what he was looking for. Yanking the book from the shelf, he sat down again, stretched out his legs and tucked Morgan back into his side.
‘If I remember correctly, you were just about to start chapter six.’
Morgan’s eyes were as big as saucers. ‘You’re going to read to me?’
Her eyes filled with emotion and Noah winced. Oh, jeez, maybe he’d insulted her by offering to read to her. Maybe she hadn’t heard a thing he’d said earlier about how smart he thought she was...
‘I’m sorry. Look, it’s not because I don’t think you’re... Bad idea, huh?’
Morgan’s fingers on his lips dried up his words. ‘No, it’s probably the sweetest thing any man has ever done for me.’
Noah grimaced. ‘Sweet, huh?’
‘Yeah—very, very sweet.’
Noah pulled another face. ‘Yuck, that’s not how any ex-Special Forces soldier would like to hear himself described. Now, will you please shut up? I’m trying to read here...’
* * *
Noah handed Morgan a glass of champagne and, from behind his dark sunglasses, cast a look down her long, long legs. Every other woman at the Moreau Polo Cup Challenge was dressed to the nines, but Morgan, in tailored white shorts that ended at mid-thigh, and a white and green gypsy top revealing her shoulders and messy hair, looked every cent of the millions of dollars she was supposed to be worth.
Earlier, just because he was curious, he’d timed her to see how long she took to get ready. Ten minutes. He’d known women who took ten minutes to put on mascara. He really, really liked the fact that she didn’t fuss.
And that she still managed to look super-hot.
‘Do you ride?’ Morgan nodded to the field and the charging, sweaty thoroughbred horses.
Noah snorted. ‘Not many stables where I grew up.’
‘Where did you grow up, Noah?’ Morgan asked.
Well, he’d cracked the door open... Noah sighed, thought about ducking her question, remembered that she’d shared her biggest secret with him and told himself not to be a jerk. ‘I grew up in Glasgow, in a bad part of town.’
Morgan kept her eyes on the field. ‘Did you have a tough childhood?’
‘Yeah.’
And that was all he was prepared to say. Besides, it was all such a long time ago. He was with a gorgeous girl at a fancy event and he didn’t want those memories to corrode his enjoyment of this stunning spring day.
‘So, tell me about your date for the wedding,’ he said casually.
Noah frowned as a tall, slim Spaniard in a white polo shirt and jodhpurs streaked with dirt leaned over the fence, placed his hands on Morgan’s shoulders, kissed her on both cheeks and then lightly on the mouth. Morgan laughed, patted his cheek, and conversed with him in passable Spanish. Their conversation ended with another flurry of cheek-kisses and, dammit, another brush of her mouth.
Noah resisted the urge to reach for his gun.
‘Friend of yours?’ Noah asked, unaware of the bite in his voice.
‘Juan Carlos. Playboy. Polo player. He taught me to tango,’ Morgan said in a dreamy voice.
‘That had better be all he taught you,’ Noah said in a low mutter.
Morgan’s mouth twitched. ‘A duchess never tells. Andrew—how are you?’
Kiss, kiss...flirt, flirt...
Noah looked at his water and wished he could ask for a whisky as she dived into conversation with yet another polo player who’d ambled up to greet her. She would drive any sane man to drink, Noah decided as a bead of sweat ran down his spine.
He wanted to remove his navy linen jacket but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to raise questions about why he was wearing a sidearm to one of the most elite social events in the city. He was on constant alert at functions like these; there was no security, people came and went, and anything could happen.
Unfortunately no one was close to finding the kidnappers and the tensions at the mine remained unresolved; in fact they had just got worse, and they’d all been warned to be on high alert.
James had flown out to Colombia to try and resolve the dispute, and a posse of CFT personnel were guarding his back. That was why James wasn’t at the Polo Challenge and why Morgan would be handing out the prizes to the polo players—and no doubt kissing eight or more fit, rich, polo-playing numbskulls.
Oh, joy of joys.
Polo Boy number two walked away and Morgan pushed her glasses up into her hair and fanned her programme close to her face. ‘What were we talking about?’
‘Your date for the wedding.’
He caught the tiny wince. ‘Oh...him.’
‘Yeah, him. Want to come clean, Morgs?’ Noah asked, a smile hiking up the corner of his lips.
Morgan placed her champagne glass on a tall table and sighed. ‘I lied. I was trying to wind you up—’
‘You succeeded,’ Noah mumbled, thinking that it was the thought of her sleeping with someone else that had ignited his temper and led to the urge to kiss her, brand her, possess her. ‘So, he’s fictional?’
Morgan scuffed the grass with the tip of one of her apple-green wedges. ‘Mmm.’
Noah slowly pushed his shades up into his hair and looked down into her face, idly thinking that he loved the handful of freckles on her nose that make-up never quite seemed to cover. ‘Do you lie often?’
‘No. Only when I’m