Romance In Paradise: Flirting with the Forbidden / Hot Island Nights / From Fling to Forever. Sarah Mayberry
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attack!’
Morgan grinned. ‘They are all paste, and it’s fantastic that we have them to play with.’
Noah held up his hand. ‘I think I need wine for this...hold on.’ He went back to the kitchen, brought another glass and the bottle back and perched on the arm of the chair. ‘Now, what are you doing, exactly?’
Morgan crossed her legs Indian-style and with her wet hair and make-up-free face she looked a teenager. Like she had when she was nineteen, when she’d stolen his breath from his lungs. Nothing much had changed there, Noah thought.
‘Okay, so you said that we can’t have live models showing off the collection...’
‘Categorically not,’ Noah said.
‘So, Riley and I want to place mannequins on round plinths throughout the ballroom, each of them in a gold burlesque birdcage à la Moulin Rouge. We’ll put them in provocative poses—on swings, bending over, et cetera. The mannequins will all be dressed in burlesque costumes—sexy corsets and stockings, high heels and masks.’ Morgan picked up a handful of lace and stockings. ‘The great thing is that we have paste copies of all the jewellery collection and Riley has the mannequins, so we can experiment before we make a final decision.’
‘Why?’ Noah asked.
Morgan, who was examining a pearl necklace, frowned up at him. ‘Why what?’
‘Why do you have paste copies of the jewellery collection?’ Noah asked patiently.
‘Oh...a Great-Something Moreau needed to raise some cash to buy another mine and he handed over the collection as collateral. He didn’t want it known that he was cash-strapped, so before he did that he had paste copies made of the jewellery. He got the jewels back but ever since, whenever the family acquired a new piece, a copy was made. Riley and I played with these as kids.’
‘Huh. So they are exact replicas?’
‘Absolutely.’ Riley draped a long string of pearls around her neck. ‘So what do you think of our birdcage idea, Noah? Can the real jewels be secured?’
Noah thought for a minute. ‘I want an area between the guests and the cages, about a foot and a half, where we can put a pressure plate so that if anyone steps up to a mannequin it’ll trigger a silent alarm.’
Morgan looked at Riley. ‘We can do that.’
‘I want in on the design of the birdcages. I want to put laser beams between the rods, so that if anyone breaks the beam it’ll trigger an alarm.’
Morgan lifted a bustier of white silk embossed with silver beads and waved his security issues away in order to play with the colourful garments and the fake bling.
‘Okay... Look at this one, Ri! Such a gorgeous red, with black inserts, and the feathers make a teeny-tiny skirt. If we teamed it with those striped thigh-highs...dynamite! Let’s dress a mannequin in an outfit, choose the corresponding jewellery and mask, photograph it and do the next one. And where on earth did you find all these outfits?’
‘A burlesque show that lasted six weeks on Broadway. Apparently the costumes were fabby, the performers not so good.’
Noah put his wine down, stood up and picked up a mannequin, looking it over.
‘What on earth are you doing, Noah?’ Morgan asked.
‘Seeing where we can place a motion sensor so if the jewels are moved once they’ve been put in place it will trigger—’
‘A silent alarm.’ Morgan and Riley chorused.
‘Smartasses.’ Noah dropped the mannequin and thought that he badly needed some testosterone before he started to grow breasts. ‘I’m going to watch some manly sports on ESPN. Have fun playing with your grown-up Barbies, girls.’
Noah’s hand drifted over Morgan’s hair as he passed her. He wasn’t sure if she noticed because she was frantically scrabbling through the piles of multi-coloured, beaded and luscious garments to look for...who knew what?
Concentrating on sport was a nightmare when he couldn’t stop imagining Morgan in a tiny black and red corset sparkling with diamond-like beads, black striped thigh-high stockings, red ‘screw me’ heels and an elaborate Mardi Gras mask...straddling his hips, his hands on the smooth, warm, bare flesh above those heart attack-inducing stockings...
He dropped his head back against the arm of the couch and adjusted his jeans. Could a man die from lack of sex and frustration? He was convinced that it was a distinct possibility.
Morgan knocked once on the conference door and popped her head in. Noah, on a video conference, flicked a glance at her, smiled, and looked back at his screen.
‘I sent off the quote for that corporate security analysis in Hungary, Chris. I think we might—’
Morgan leaned her shoulder into the doorframe and waited for him to finish his conversation. Look at him—so sexy with his tousled hair and wire-rimmed reading glasses. Morgan felt the usual rush of lust, quickly followed by the warm and fuzzies. She suspected if they ever got to have sex he’d be an amazing lover: sweet and tender, hot and fast, slow but hot... She suspected that, like the many facets of his personality, the variations to his lovemaking would be endless. But right now she loved talking to him over the first cup of coffee in the morning, over a glass of wine at night, arguing about the fact that she was the untidiest person he’d ever met. She couldn’t imagine him not being in her life and knew, with or without sex, that she could, if she wasn’t very, very careful, fall chaotically, crazily in love with him.
She couldn’t, shouldn’t...wouldn’t. Some day soon the situation with the Colombian mine would be sorted out and he’d go back to London, to his life and business there.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ Noah asked, pulling his glasses off his face and resting his forearms on the table. A cup of cold coffee, his mobile and his wallet were placed in a neat row on the other side of his laptop and his sidearm was snug against his shoulder.
Morgan placed her hands behind her back. ‘It must be really difficult, trying to run your business from here, Noah.’
Noah looked around. ‘It’s not so bad. I’m plugged into the server at work—it’s practically the same as if I was working in my office and Chris in his. The only difference is arguing face to face instead of over Skype.’
‘Well, I’m still sorry if guarding me is an inconvenience.’
‘Better than the alternative of you being kidnapped. Or dead.’ Noah placed his arms behind his head. ‘How was your day? Still battling with the Barnado piece? Has she settled on a design yet?’
She was currently dealing with an ultra-picky client with the concentration span of a cricket. ‘Nope. I’ve been wading through cost projections for the ball and my eyes are crossing.’
‘Need some help?’ Noah asked.
He asked it in the same voice he used when he wanted to know whether she wanted coffee. As if she was so very normal...and to Noah she was. Her dyslexia was just another part of her—like her untidiness or her freckles.
‘Morgs, do you need help?’
Noah repeating his question pulled her back.
‘I’ll make time if you need me to.’
‘No, I’m good. I heard from James; we’ll be flying out at five tomorrow afternoon and we’ll be in Cape Town mid Friday morning. I told Merri about you. She said that it’s a garden wedding and one more person won’t make a difference, so she’s insisting that you attend with me.’
Noah raked his hand through his hair. ‘If the security seems okay then I’m quite happy to leave you there, Morgan. I really don’t feel like attending