by Maya Blake
She placed a hand on his sleeve. Damion Fortier’s exquisitely sculpted features tightened as he followed the action.
‘My business with Reiko is private. You’re interrupting.’
The two men squared off, hostility bristling between them.
With a sigh, she took her guardian’s arm. ‘It’s okay, Trevor. I’ll be up shortly.’
Desperate that he didn’t reveal anything to Damion, she walked him out of the room and into the hallway. As she mounted the first of the worn carpeted stairs, she saw Damion snatch his phone from his pocket.
She tried to keep her panic down. ‘Is it worth me asking who you’re calling? Your dungeon-keeper, perhaps? Are you sending for your personal guillotine to finish us off?’
‘I was about to arrange to have a list of my guests sent to you, but my guillotine can be arranged if that is how you prefer to conclude our business?’ Dark brows winged in a mocking query.
Damion saw relief race over Reiko’s face before she concealed it.
The swiftness with which she regained her composure surprised him. The Reiko he’d known had worn her feelings on her sleeve. She’d been open, carefree and sexy as hell with it—
Correction … the Reiko he’d thought he’d known …
His jaw tightened as his gaze swung between the pair in front of him. He noted the familiarity between them, the ease with which they spoke, and the whole tableau filled him with distaste. It was obvious Ashton was her latest lover.
An annoying twinge surfaced inside Damion, tightening even further when Reiko murmured a response to Ashton as he leaned his body even closer to hers.
Damion had never craved attention, never sought it for the purpose of spotlighting himself—even though his life seemed to fascinate the tabloid press and the endlessly vacuous social media. But in that moment Damion admitted he didn’t like being ignored. In fact he hated it. He wanted to growl, to shout and draw Reiko Kagawa’s attention from the older man. Instead he gritted his teeth and watched as they mounted the stairs and disappeared into the upper hallway, not once looking back.
Swallowing the distinct taste of displeasure that coated his mouth, Damion shoved his hand through his hair. He was seriously considering storming up the stairs when Reiko reappeared alone. The upper-hallway light cast her silhouette in soft relief. Through the material of her dress, Damion traced her shapely legs to where they met at that triangular gap that had once so fascinated him.
Heat slammed into his chest as he recalled how he’d been able to slip his fingers inside her without the smallest need to part her thighs.
Lost momentarily in the past, he let his gaze drift upward, over her curvy hips to the small indentation of her waist where she’d planted her hands. His hands could encompass that small waist. Easily. She’d always melted into his arms when he’d done just that.
‘So what now?’ she asked.
‘Come down here,’ he instructed hoarsely.
Catching and killing his wayward thoughts, he shoved his hands into his pockets. She was midway down the steps when he noticed she wasn’t wearing shoes. Dainty feet with nails painted a soft peach clashed with the heavy make-up and scarlet lips.
He frowned. ‘Are you and Ashton lovers?’ he asked, before the question was fully formed in his mind.
Surprise flared in her eyes. A charge of heated energy arced between them. That familiar twinge struck deep, and for the life of him he couldn’t dismiss it.
‘I fail to see what business that is of yours.’
‘I wouldn’t want him causing problems with your pursuit of the paintings.’
‘He won’t be a problem.’
‘Bien. Give me your phone number.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can text you the list of names attending my exhibition. Be ready to leave for Paris when I return in the morning.’
‘You’re not afraid I’ll vanish once you leave?’ she mocked.
‘No. Because you’ve revealed another weakness.’
Her eyes, a unique hazel that was more brown than green, remained unreadable despite the rapid pulse beating at the base of her slender throat.
‘By all means, enlighten me.’
‘Aside from the money, you obviously care about Ashton. I can only imagine what you’ll do to prevent him from being carted off to jail once I arrange for his debts to be called in.’
A spark very much like anger heated her cheeks. ‘Careful, now. That renowned Fortier halo is looking a tad besmirched.’
Damion laughed. The realisation that he was actually enjoying besting Reiko eased the intense frustration of the past few weeks.
‘You fight dirty. I fight dirtier. Phone number?’
Tersely, she recited it. He entered it into his phone and pressed ‘send’. ‘The quicker you strike my guests off your list, the quicker you can move on to find out who has the paintings. You’ve gained yourself an invitation to my exhibition, but if you have even the faintest urge to pull anything underhand, squash it.’
‘Scouts’ honour.’ She raised two slender fingers.
The folds of her billowing sleeves fell back and Damion caught the faintest glimpse of puckered flesh before she sucked in a breath and tucked her arm against her side. Whirling, she retreated into the shadowed hallway.
Puzzled by her behaviour, he followed. ‘Reiko—’
‘I didn’t get the chance to tell you before Trevor come downstairs.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’ll only need to find the Femme sur Plage.’
Ice clutched the back of his neck and he forced himself to speak. ‘Why?’
‘Because I already know where the Femme en Mer is.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In a storage vault in London.’
‘Who owns it?’
‘I do.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE DREAMS CAME AGAIN … She was laughing as she pulled her father’s resistant hand, telling him he had nothing to worry about, that there was space on the crowded train. No, she didn’t want to wait for the next train. His hastily concealed concern … his familiar embrace … his strong arms around her.
Then nothing … only the heavy weight of blackness.
And screams—horrible, heart-rending screams—as carnage reigned all round her. Her father’s warm hand was clutching hers, then gradually growing cold.
But this time her dreams were interspersed with other images.
Within the chaos Reiko dreamed of dancing with the Baron de St Valoire. And not just any dance. She dreamt of the Argentine frickin’ tango.
Reiko woke with her mind filled with vivid images of train wrecks, scarred bodies … and Damion’s long, muscular legs tangling with scissor-like precision and skill against her much shorter ones, his hands guiding her with exquisite mastery.
She dreamt of short, shockingly sexy dresses, stratospheric red-soled shoes.
In her dreams the disparity between their heights didn’t matter. They fitted perfectly. And when a particular move wasn’t possible, her dark-haired, stormy-eyed partner merely lifted her up against his strong, virile body and continued dancing, their heated breaths mingling, his movements getting increasingly faster, headier, sexier—
‘What the hell, Reiko?’
Shoving off the offending hot sheets, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She had just over an hour to get ready before Damion returned.
Recalling the incandescent rage that had filled his face after her revelation last night, she swallowed. Weirdly, he’d pulled himself under rigid control after that short display of emotion. He’d told her to concentrate her efforts on finding the Femme sur Plage, then he’d left.
After showering, she selected her best power suit. The severe cut of the black jacket and matching trousers coupled with a cream silk dress shirt gave off the no-nonsense vibe she wanted to project, while serving the very useful purpose of covering her up from neck to ankle.
More than anything, she w
ished she could catch her hair up into a tight bun to cement the outward image she craved, but the scars on her neck made that impossible, so she prayed the suit and make-up would be enough.
After brushing her fringe over the scar that slid down from her temple to her ear, she arranged her hair carefully over her shoulders and slipped her feet into black patent platforms. To complete the look, she secured small diamond studs to her ears.
The heels were a bad idea after the hours she’d spent in another pair yesterday, but there was no way she was putting herself at a disadvantage by wearing flats in Damion Fortier’s presence.
She’d pay the price later, with painful stretching techniques and long hours of hydrotherapy, but the idea of going toe to toe with the Baron made it worth it.
Half an hour later, Reiko brushed imaginary lint from her sleeve to avoid Trevor’s probing gaze.
‘Tell me again why you’re doing this, Reiko?’ he asked, concern etched into his face.
Reiko contemplated telling him about her bargain with Damion and immediately discarded it. ‘Because he’s paying me a shedload of money.’ She attempted a smile.
He frowned. ‘Money has never been your motivation.’
Her smile dimmed. ‘Sylvain Fortier is dying, and Damion’s asked me to help find his painting.’ The partial truth was better than nothing.
Trevor’s lips compressed. ‘That’s just it, Reiko. After what they did to your grandfather, and to you, they have no right!’
Reiko’s heart performed a painful flip but she kept the smile fixed in place. ‘That’s in the past. I’m over it. Besides, I wasn’t joking. He is paying me a shedload—some of which can help you—’
He shook his head firmly. ‘I can take care of my own financial mess.’
‘You took care of me when I needed you. Now it’s my turn.’
The lines of worry faded but didn’t disappear. ‘Did you sleep last night?’
She shrugged. ‘A little. Don’t worry about me, Trevor. That’s an order.’
He laughed, his worry abating to reveal the vibrant fifty-five-year-old man he was, despite his greying hair. Whatever answer he intended to give was curtailed by the sound of a throaty engine in the morning air.
Reiko’s heartbeat escalated as she watched the black sports car roar its way down the long lane.
Damion didn’t stop in the front drive like any other visitor. He kept coming, his ease behind the powerful car evident in the way his wrist rested on the steering wheel.
His gaze locked on hers, he drove forward until the hood of his car was directly in front of the conservatory. Even with a thick layer of glass between them, Reiko felt the force of his presence, the sheer magnetism of the man, like a crackle of electricity in the air.
Still trapping her with his gaze, he killed the engine and stepped from the car. He’d always had the ability to hold her captive like this, so her every sense was heightened, quaking with awareness.
This morning he’d discarded the designer suit in favour of designer casuals. Dark brown chinos encased his slim hips and ended precisely atop his high-gloss black boots. A slate-grey cashmere jumper worn over a sky-blue shirt did incredibly wonderful things to his eyes.
Watching him mount the shallow steps, she recalled with way too much clarity how his long legs had felt wrapped around her five years ago—and last night in her dreams.
Reeling herself in, she pulled on her cuffs. ‘Good morning. I trust today finds you in a less homicidal mood?’
‘To see you didn’t make a run for it in the middle of night is a good start, certainement.’
‘You need to have more faith, Baron.’
‘I prefer to rely on performance-backed talent.’
‘Then it’s a good thing I have that in abundance.’
His gaze flicked over her suit. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘We’re visiting a dusty vault, not attending a state funeral.’
Her belly tightened at his probing look and she forced a careless shrug. ‘This is England, Damion. The weather turns at the drop of a hat and I hate being cold.’
She turned with relief as Simpson walked in with her small suitcase. She went to take it but Damion beat her to it. His fingers brushed over hers, making her heightened senses shriek in hysterical warning. But he seemed totally oblivious as he thumbed the electronic key and stowed the case in the boot.
He glanced at the disappearing Simpson and frowned.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Is this all you’re taking with you?’
‘Yep, I have a PhD in travelling light.’
His upper lip curled ever so slightly, making Reiko’s hackles rise in response. ‘I suspect you’d need to, in your profession.’
She felt her smile slip and struggled to keep control. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer the insults to start after I’ve digested my breakfast. Now, can I have a minute to say goodbye?’
His eyes cooled as they flicked to Trevor. ‘Make it quick. I don’t have all day.’
She went to Trevor and brushed her lips over his bearded cheek. ‘I know you want to clobber him, but try and rise above it, okay?’
Trevor’s lips twisted. ‘I want to do more than clobber him. But I have to trust you know what you’re doing.’
She smiled, despite knowing Trevor would be no match for Damion. The whipcord strength in the Frenchman’s broad shoulders and that aura of power that radiated off him meant Damion Fortier need never lift a finger in a show of force.
Straightening, she stepped outside and encountered a stony-faced Damion. A dangerous edge of something she couldn’t quite name vibrated off him as he held the passenger door open. The hard slam of the car door rattled her teeth, but she kept the smile on her face for Trevor’s sake.
The moment Damion slid in beside her, Reiko found breathing difficult. The already cramped space diminished even further, the mixture of his scent and the smell of the soft black leather of the luxury car made the air intoxicating in the extreme.
Her trembling fingers had barely secured her seatbelt before he was accelerating down the lane.
‘You do realise you’re not coming back here until after I have my painting?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
His gaze left the road for a second. ‘The size of your case seems to indicate otherwise. If you have any thoughts of returning here any time soon, kill them now.’
‘Our agreement still stands. I packed a small case because I didn’t want Trevor to worry. Whatever else I need I can get later.’
His lips tightened. ‘Does he know of our past?’
‘What past?’ she taunted and watched his nostrils flare in irritation.
‘Is he your only lover or do you have one of those progressive relationships?’
‘Our relationship is based on truth and trust. More than I can say for whatever it was you and I had.’ She sucked in a sustaining breath and wished she hadn’t. Damion’s scent filled every pore of her being, invading her skin as he’d invaded her dreams last night. ‘And, for the record, my relationship with Trevor is none of your business.’
As for other relationships … the very thought made her snort bitterly.
Stormy grey eyes sliced into her. ‘You find me amusing?’ he rasped, his tone chilly.
‘Amusing? No. Inappropriate? Definitely. Who I sleep with has nothing to do with this commission. So, before one of us blows our top, I suggest we change the subject.’
His hands clenched over the wheel, his hooded gaze on a red light. As if he’d willed it, it turned green.
Damion’s foot slammed on the accelerator, sending the car surging forward.
‘I agree. This isn’t a subject I find palatable. Why did you buy the Femme en Mer?’
Reiko’s heart lurched. ‘Because it was a good investment and I had the resources to buy it at the time.’
Damion glanced at her before smoothly joining the motorway. ‘Was that the only r
eason?’
She licked her lips, nerves eating at her. ‘What other reason would there have been?
His eyes narrowed. ‘Foolish sentiment, perhaps?’
‘Sentimental? Over you?’ She tried to inject as much cynicism into her voice as possible.
‘I know our time together meant something to you. You wouldn’t have been so riled up last night if it hadn’t.’
‘Wow—conceited much?’ Reiko didn’t know why she was goading him. But then she’d never been one to leave well enough alone. ‘FYI, I got over you pretty quickly.’
His fingers gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles showed white. ‘Oui, I remember,’ he clipped out. Minutes ticked by. ‘So who was he?’
Reiko felt the familiar wash of shame and looked out of the window. She had no intention of revealing the truth of what had happened in the weeks after Damion had left. It wasn’t a time she was proud of, and she planned on keeping it buried along with all her other secrets.
‘No one you know. If you really want to know my reason for buying the painting, my grandfather once told me the story behind it. I was intrigued. But I’m willing to set my sentiment aside for a healthy return.’
Damion changed lanes again, swerving into the fast lane to pass a slower car. Beneath his trousers, his powerful thigh muscles bunched, the way they had in her dream. And just like in her dream, heat pooled in Reiko’s belly and started to rise. Staunchly, she pulled her eyes away and focused on the traffic.
‘What exactly do you know about the painting?’
There was nothing but curiosity in his tone, but apprehension raced over her skin nonetheless.
‘Our grandfathers met your grandmother at the same time. Sylvain Fortier got the girl and the chance to paint her. My grandfather lost out because yours had the most money and power in the love triangle. They remained long-distance friends and business partners until you Fortiers decided your mutual history wasn’t worth a damn in the face of your bottom line. Cute story, isn’t it? For goodness’ sake, slow down! I’d really appreciate arriving in one piece.’
Reiko breathed a sigh of relief as the powerful car eased its frightening pace. Beside her, Damion’s brows were clamped in a fierce frown.
