by Maya Blake
He stared, unsure what was different about her this morning.
Granted, her attire was different. She’d exchanged the power suit for a softer look—jeans, long-sleeved striped top teamed with a stylish jacket, and that signature flowing mane. The constant tension he sensed in her was still there but, looking closer, he saw her skin was flushed—the way he remembered it after she’d had a warm shower … or after making love.
He shifted, and frowned at the direction of his thoughts. He sipped his espresso, hoping the kick would obliterate the heat rising in his groin. She extended her slim hand to lift her cup, her brown-green eyes darting to him once again before flitting away to stare at the morning activity on the river.
‘I thought I’d go to the Louvre. I never pass up the chance when I’m in Paris.’
‘Whatever you do, don’t attempt to whisk away the Mona Lisa.’
Her eyes rolled. ‘She’s not my type. If I had a choice, I’d go for Julien’s Gladiateur.’
Her answer hit him like a cold bucket of water in his face. ‘If that’s the type of man you prefer, why are you with Ashton?’
Her tension increased. ‘I see we’re back to personal territory. Are you willing to play quid pro quo again? Only you went all Arctic on me yesterday when swapping questions was your idea.’
‘Do you treat everything in life like a game? Does it make it easier for you to treat your body like a commodity if it’s all a game to you?’
Lushly glossed lips firmed. ‘Is that your unsubtle way of asking me if I sleep around?’
Damion’s chest tightened. ‘Do you?’
‘Why are you so hung up on my sex life?’ she fired back.
‘Why are you wasting your sex life on an old man?’
‘Is it the thought of me with any man that bothers you, or just the thought of Trevor and I?’
His jaw clenched. Hard. He refused to examine why the subject bothered him so much. After what he’d witnessed five years ago, it shouldn’t. And yet it did.
After several seconds, she sighed. ‘Would you believe me if I told you there was nothing sexual between us?’
The blast of relief surprised him before he dismissed it. ‘The way you touch him, the closeness between you two, extends beyond mere—’
Her fingers arrived on the back of his hand, the soft caress fleeting and yet so forceful it dried up his words. Damion stared at his tingling skin, unable to stop the arousal rising through him. He hadn’t been able to stop it rising since he’d seen her again two nights ago.
‘You’ve just proved my point.’ He heard his hardened tone and acknowledged that having his point proved this time was far less palatable than he wished. ‘This is all a game to you. But it’s a very dangerous game you’re playing, Reiko.’
Fabrice approached with a fresh platter of croissants. Reiko greeted him with a wide smile. Before Damion’s eyes, his normally staid manservant melted. When her hand shot out and touched Fabrice’s elbow in thanks, Damion’s insides clenched hard.
‘I touch everyone, in case you haven’t noticed,’ she said once Fabrice left.
‘Yes, I’ve noticed. Obviously Ashton isn’t territorial.’
Her eyes connected with his. ‘Unlike you?’
‘I’m extremely possessive. I don’t react kindly when something of mine is poached.’
‘Save the caveman stuff for your future wife, Damion.’ She busied herself with buttering a croissant—one she seemed to have no interest in eating. ‘Didn’t I read somewhere you were scouring Europe for the perfect baroness?’
Ice clamped the back of his neck and slithered down his spine. ‘I intend to marry sooner rather than later, yes.’
Her hands stilled for a moment, then she continued buttering.
‘Then shouldn’t you be concentrating on that and staying out of my private life?’
Damion felt a stab of disquiet as the weight of responsibility pressed down harder on his shoulders. Once his grandfather was gone, he would become the sole remaining Fortier. He’d known for a while that he needed to marry and advance his family line. But the thought of marriage and the mind games that inevitably came with it left a coating of distaste in his mouth.
One obsessive relationship was enough for any child to endure growing up. The two Damion had endured had scarred him in a way that had made him wonder at an early age if he was appropriately wired to sustain another relationship. That theory had been tested and found severely lacking with his misjudgement of Reiko and his abject failure with Isadora.
The thought of making the wrong choice again left a knot of anxiety in his chest. One that only blackened his mood.
Tossing back the last of his espresso, he set the cup down. Below him, Parisians went about their morning business. He had back-to-back meetings extending well into the day. Yet he lingered.
‘I have more pressing things to attend to now. But when the time comes, there will be no hasty decisions. My mate will be chosen very carefully, and she’ll be grateful for the care I took to select her.’
He watched her mouth drop open, a look of incredulity wash over her face.
‘Wow, did you just hear yourself? You’re seriously amped up on your own power juice, aren’t you? I guess five hundred years of lording it over humanity would do that to you, huh? But you don’t know what’s around the corner.’ A look—part pain, part bitterness—crossed her face, shadowing her sunlit features. ‘One minute you’re walking around thinking you own the world, the next it can all be taken from you.’
‘Is that what happened to you?’ His gaze drifted to the left side of her face, where the heavy fringe was once again in place. Damion had a meeting in twenty minutes. He needed to leave. ‘Tell me about it.’
Her fingers shredded the croissant. When her gaze finally lifted to his, her eyes were devoid of emotion. ‘Stop prying into my life, Damion.’ She stood, and Damion was reminded how tiny she was without her heels. ‘I don’t want to be stuck in the queue outside the Louvre for hours. I need to spend at least one hour with the Odalisque.’
‘Why?’
‘Because anything less than an hour with her is an insult. See you later.’ She wiggled her fingers in a careless wave, but he sensed a brittle fragility in her that struck an unsettling chord within him.
He cast another impatient glance at his watch. ‘Dinner will be ready by seven. Make sure you’re back by then.’
She looked ready to protest. He deliberately turned away to pick up his suitcase. By the time he straightened, she was leaving, her oversized handbag banging against her hip. He watched her walking away, unable to tear his gaze from the lustrous mane swinging down her back to touch her pert little backside. With a frown he noticed her jeans were far too tight, moulding her hips in a way a lover’s hand would.
Another stab of white heat pierced his groin. He swore low and hard.
Reiko moved from room to room, determined to use the richness around her to obliterate thoughts of Damion.
But it seemed even the paintings and sculptures in the Louvre were conspiring against her. The strong, perfectly sculpted body of Oedipus brought to mind Damion’s hard-packed body when she’d slammed into him yesterday. The eroticism of David and Bathsheba reminded her of last night’s twisted erotic dreams, heavily featuring Damion Fortier.
By the time she entered the Richelieu Wing, frustration lurked a tiny scream away. Maintaining a neutral expression for Philippe, the curator’s personal assistant, whom she’d found waiting with a VIP pass when she’d arrived at the museum, was intensely difficult.
She refused to let the fact that Damion had arranged this for her touch her in any way. The only reason she could think of was that he really wanted her back by seven.
‘Do you wish to return to Goya’s Countess, or perhaps the Odalisque?’ Philippe asked. ‘The room containing the Odalisque has been cleared for your personal viewing.’
‘What? Why?’
Philippe smiled. ‘I believe the curator was told it i
s your favourite room in the Louvre.’
‘It is … but … he can’t just clear it!’
‘We don’t do it often. Only for special guests of Baron de St Valoire.’
‘And how many “guests” have there been?’ The words tripped out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘Oh, please—ignore me. I’m not normally this … Ignore me.’ She touched Philippe’s sleeve and his perturbed look dissipated.
Reiko followed Philippe back to the Sully Wing, myriad feelings churning through her belly.
Special guests of Baron de St Valoire.
Reiko shoved the emotion she was reluctant to acknowledge as jealousy aside and stood in quiet contemplation, studying the woman who’d been doomed to die but had faced her death with such dignity and courage.
Who cared who else Damion had done this for? It was a rare treat, and she had every intention of enjoying it.
After an eternity, she turned to thank Philippe—only to find herself alone.
With one last look at the haunting painting, she hitched her bag over her shoulder and slowly made her way outside.
Walking along Rue de Rivoli, she stopped at a patisserie and ordered a panini and a café au lait.
Weariness tugged at her senses. Nightmares had plagued her again last night—this time in even more vivid detail. She’d awoken on the couch in a sweat, heart pounding, with images of burning bodies in her mind. Luckily she hadn’t screamed. For hours she’d been afraid to go back to sleep. When she finally had, she’d dreamt of dancing with Damion—again in exquisite, erotic detail. They’d touched almost everywhere except their lips. Again he hadn’t kissed her, but she’d read the intent in his eyes, in his every breath.
The ache in her belly and between her thighs when she’d woken this morning had taunted her—a cruel reminder of what she could never have pressing down on her until tears had welled in her eyes.
But even her quiet sobs hadn’t erased the intense feelings. She’d barely been able to look Damion in the eye at the breakfast table.
She jumped as her phone rang. Frowning at the unfamiliar number, she answered it.
‘So—two hours with the Odalisque?’
Damion’s deep voice felt like a caress against her ear.
Surprise gave way to suspicion. ‘Did you arrange the VIP treatment so you could keep tabs on me?’
Silence greeted her accusation. Then, ‘I think the words you’re looking for are Thank you, Damion.’
‘Not if you’re spying on me, Baron.’ Perhaps she was overreacting, but hearing his deep, accented voice so soon after reliving her dreams unsettled her.
‘Do I need to?’ His voice held an edge to it.
‘Of course not.’ she muttered.
‘Bien sûr. I called the curator to find out if you were being looked after. He told me you’d finished your tour and left.’ He waited expectantly.
She bit her lip, breathed in deeply. ‘I thoroughly enjoyed my visit. Thank you for organising it. But I hope you don’t think this grants you a free pass to start prying into my life again.’
‘I know enough to satisfy me for now. Don’t be late.’
The line went dead.
Reiko stared at the phone, her heart rate suddenly rocketing in a way that made her breath catch. With shaking fingers, she tried to call him back but the number was engaged.
He doesn’t know, she reassured herself, but anxiety twisted through her as she made her way back to Damion’s apartment three hours later.
Fabrice let her in and informed her Damion was on his way home.
She took a few minutes to run a brush through her hair and fix her lipstick. She came downstairs just as Damion walked through the door.
The sheer magnetism of the man was off the scale. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked, lean-hipped and broad-shouldered, towards her. When his eyes raked her from head to toe before returning to capture her gaze, her insides twisted in alarm.
Keep calm, he doesn’t know.
But no matter how much she berated herself, her pulse just thundered harder.
‘What did you mean earlier on the phone?’ she demanded before she could stop herself.
His brow lifted along with an enigmatic smile that set her teeth on edge. ‘Bonsoir to you, too.’
Panic hammered beneath her skin but she refused to let it run free. ‘Please answer me.’
Fabrice appeared, took Damion’s briefcase and melted back into the hallway. Damion’s gaze stayed locked on hers.
Reiko licked her lips. ‘Tell me what you meant or I’ll walk out of here right now and you’ll never find your painting.’
He tensed slightly, then exhaled. ‘Put away your claws, kitten. I won’t hurt you.’
The unexpected gentleness stopped her breath. She stared at him, dread rising within her at the look in his eyes.
No, he couldn’t know. But the hairs on her forearms tingled with acute premonition. With every fibre of her being, she wanted to silence him before he spoke, but there was no way to prevent it.
‘Tell me about your accident, Reiko.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘HOW … HOW DID you find out?’
‘You’re not the only one who has access to information, Reiko.’
His tone was soft, careful. Next she’d read pity in his face.
Anger and pain rose through her. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I’m an impatient man. I needed to know what had happened to you—especially if it would jeopardise your assignment.’
She come down the last step and glared up at him. ‘So you thought you’d go ahead and dig a little deeper just to satisfy your curiosity? Despite my giving you my word that I’d make finding your painting my priority? Wow, what a prince you are.’
‘Calm down.’ He took her elbow and led her to the dining room, where exquisite silverware was set out on a long, intricately designed red cherrywood table.
She rounded on him. ‘Don’t tell me to calm down. And do you seriously think I’m going to eat with you when you’ve just informed me that you’ve spent the day adding a few more pages to my glorious dossier?’
A hooded look entered his eyes. ‘There are no more pages because I don’t have the full details of your accident.’
Stunned, she stared at him. ‘You don’t? But I thought …’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve asked for the investigation to be stopped. I’m hoping you’ll fill in the blanks.’
The idea of letting him have even the tiniest glimpse of the physical and emotional wreck she’d become sent a bolt of pure panic through her. ‘If you expect me to be grateful for that, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’ She couldn’t stop the snark from spilling over. The truth was she already felt exposed at Damion’s continued scrutiny, and she had a horrible feeling that sensation would only worsen the longer she spent in his company.
‘Sit down, Reiko.’
An unexpected spark of electricity zinged through her belly at the way he said her name, uttering the Japanese intonation perfectly.
Coming up behind her, he held out her seat. She sat, all the while feeling his gaze on her. He was still staring at her when Fabrice walked in with their first course a minute later.
She picked up her spoon but made no move to touch the chilled cucumber velouté served with braised chicken.
‘You aren’t staying with Ashton because you’re involved with him, are you?’
Her smile felt brittle. ‘No, he was my father’s friend and is a surrogate uncle to me. You made your sordid assumption. I let you run with it.’
His gaze raked over her face, probing deeper. ‘What happened to you?’
Exasperated with his relentless digging, she put down her spoon. ‘Please leave it alone.’ She stood and raked back her chair.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I’ve lost my appetite. Enjoy your dinner.’
‘Sit down.’ His voice held a ring of steel that anyone would have been a fool to dis
miss. But she wasn’t in the mood for his high-and-mightiness.
‘Unless you have thumbscrews at the ready, there’s no way I’m not walking out of here.’
‘That can be arranged.’
‘Oh? Is that growly French manliness supposed to turn me on or frighten me?’
‘I’ll find out one way or the other. I prefer to get the facts from you.’
She stared down at him. ‘Why is it so important to you?’
A look passed through his eyes before his lids descended. ‘Let’s just say I’ve learnt the hard way not to ignore warning signs. Eat your food.’
Slowly she sat and picked up her spoon with shaky fingers. She managed to swallow her first mouthful despite the lump in her throat.
‘Is that enigmatic statement supposed to make me bare my soul to you?’
‘No, it’s not.’ With a heavy sigh, he set down his spoon. ‘Your accident had an impact on you. I’m just trying to understand—’
‘I don’t need psychoanalysis, Baron. I already have a therapist!’ The shock on his face made her laugh—only it came out more like a cracked snort. ‘I’ve done the whole twelve-step programme and collected the badges along the way. And before you state the obvious—no, the therapy isn’t working.’
His jaw tightened. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’
‘Whatever. I don’t know why you keep pushing. You can’t fix me, so save yourself the trouble.’
‘What happened to break you?’
‘You mean other than being a gullible idiot and not seeing that you’d set out to ruin my grandfather?’
His face darkened, but this time Reiko thought she glimpsed a hint of regret in his eyes.
‘That was not my intention. I was in the middle of opening the Tokyo branch of Gallerie Fortier when my grandfather asked me to investigate what was going on with your grandfather. I merely reacted to the facts and figures in front of me. If I’d known he’d take it so badly—’
‘Your pity is five years out of its use-by date, Baron.’
‘Did you know he owed three times what I agreed to let him repay?’
She hadn’t known. Confusion mingled with all the different emotions rampaging through her. ‘Is that piece of news supposed to soften me up?’
