Romance In Paradise. Sarah Mayberry

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       SEVEN

      After ordering pizza from their favourite pizzeria Morgan called James, checked that he was home and told him to come down and share their meal. He arrived with two bottles of her favourite wine: a Merlot from their winery in Stellenbosch.

      ‘One for you and one for Riley, my two favourite wine-o-holics,’ he said, depositing them on the kitchen counter. ‘Hey, Ri.’

      ‘James.’

      James yanked open a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. ‘Started on the designs for my underwater window yet?’

      ‘Yeah, I’ve scheduled it in for...never. Does that work for you?’ Riley replied as she opened a cupboard door and took out four glasses.

      ‘You do remember that I sign your paycheque, don’t you?’ James retorted.

      ‘Then fire me; I’ll pick up a job with Saks or Bergdorfs with one phone call. And they’ll double my salary,’ Riley replied in the same genial tone. ‘Actually, why don’t you double my salary and I’ll consider staying?’

      ‘Okay, I’ll schedule that in for...never. Does that work for you?’ James dumped some wine into her glass and handed it over. ‘Cheers.’

      ‘Bite me.’ Riley took the glass and stomped over to the lounge, resuming her seat on the floor next to the coffee table.

      Morgan rolled her eyes at Noah, who was sitting at the dining room table, his laptop in front of him, a glass of whisky at his elbow. He was dressed in battered faded jeans and a casual cotton shirt and his feet were bare. Sure, he was a sexy man, but he was also a man who didn’t hold a grudge. They’d had a rocky day or two following her outburst at the ball and now they were back to being friends.

      But it would be so much more fun if he was hanging around because he wasn’t being paid to do so.

      ‘Is anyone doing anything about finding those kidnappers?’ she demanded, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at James.

      ‘Only the NYPD, our own security and another private investigation firm I hired to find them. That not enough for you, Your Majesty?’ James pushed a glass across the granite counter in her direction.

      ‘Your Majesty? That’s even better than Duchess!’ Noah smirked.

      ‘Call me that and you’re dead,’ Morgan warned him. ‘Riley and I need to talk about themes for the ball,’ she said, hastily changing the subject. ‘Would you like to be part of that conversation?’

      James and Noah exchanged identical horrified looks. ‘Sports channel?’

      ‘Hell, yeah!’ Noah agreed, and followed James to the smaller second lounge. It held a large-screen TV and two comfortable couches.

      He spoke over his shoulder to Morgan. ‘Call me when the pizza arrives. I’ll go down and get it. Do not leave the apartment.’

      ‘Blah-blah-blah,’ Morgan muttered in reply, and pulled her tongue at his back.

      ‘I saw that!’ Noah called, without turning around.

      Morgan pulled her tongue again at his reply.

      ‘I saw that too.’

      Grrr.

      * * *

      ‘Treasure ship, masked ball, burlesque, the Russian Court, Vegas,’ Morgan listed through mouthfuls of pizza. They were surrounded by files of fabric samples and Riley’s rough sketches. Morgan was curled up into the corner of the couch, Riley was still in place on the floor, and James sat in the chair behind her, his long legs on either side of her slim frame. Noah sat in the other chair, a glass of gorgeous red wine on the table next to him.

      It could be a group of friends in any other lounge in any other city in the world, just hanging out and eating excellent pizza. It was so normal, and he was still coming to terms with how normal the Moreau siblings could be. Yes, James ran a multi-billion-dollar corporation, and Morgan had an unlimited trust fund, but nobody, seeing them now, would guess that.

      ‘I like the burlesque theme. Bold, opulent, sexy.’ Morgan said dreamily. ‘We could have various stages scattered throughout the ballroom with different acts to the same singer. Burlesque routines, circus acts, acrobatics...’

      ‘Strippers?’ James asked hopefully, and Noah smiled.

      Morgan sent him a cold look. ‘Would you like me to get disinherited? Or to be dead because our mother has killed me? Anyway, we could have models dressed in corsets and thigh-high stockings and masquerade masks, all wearing Moreau jewellery.’

      Noah’s head whipped up as her words made sense in his head. ‘Not a chance,’ Noah told her. ‘No live models wearing any jewellery.’

      ‘Why not?’ Morgan demanded. ‘It would be brilliant...’

      ‘It would be stupid,’ Noah replied. ‘You’re adding a human element that СКАЧАТЬ