The Sinful Art of Revenge

by Maya Blake

  Fully expecting an argument, she was extremely surprised when he nodded and kissed her forehead. ‘It is a daunting process. I understand. But we will get there.’

  We.

  That simple word scared her more than the hardened determination oozing from his every pore.

  Long fingers drifted up her thigh, over her skirt to the silk shirt. Desire shoved the pain aside, escalating the deep melting inside her. When his lips drifted down from her forehead to her cheek, and finally to her lips, Reiko sighed with the pleasure that stole through her.

  Until she felt him release the first of her buttons. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What I’ve been dying to do since I saw you through Ashton’s window last week.’

  His heated gaze fell to her exposed throat and drifted down to the cleavage he was in the process of exposing. Another button popped open.

  She squeaked and tried to sidle away from him. He stilled her with very little effort.

  ‘I want to see you, Reiko.’ Fierce determination deepened his voice.

  The threat of exposure made ice dance down her spine. ‘I … I’m not ready for that.’ Nor would she ever be ready. Humiliation would always win. She was scarred, both outside and inside. ‘Besides, aren’t you forgetting something, Damion?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be finding a suitable bride—someone who will help seed the next Fortier generation.’ Pain stabbed right through her, lingering in the empty womb where no child would ever grow.

  Damion’s gaze dimmed. ‘That will happen eventually. First I must do this.’

  ‘Why? Why must you?’

  ‘I hurt you. I know that now. Give me the chance to make reparations.’

  ‘By sleeping with me again? Can’t I just say I forgive you?’

  Damion shook his head. ‘You think there’s something wrong with you. I want to prove to you there isn’t. Don’t worry, ma belle, we’ll take it slow.’

  Another button popped open and Reiko wondered why in hell’s name she wasn’t screaming in terror.

  Intrigued despite herself, she watched his face. ‘What does taking it slow mean?’

  He smiled. ‘For now, I just want to open your shirt.’

  ‘Nothing more?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s entirely up to you.’

  With the last of the buttons freed, he gently parted the lapels, his gaze on her face the whole time. When his hand slid over the waistband of her skirt and touched her midriff, every nerve-ending in her body screamed with pleasure.

  ‘What do you want, Reiko?’

  Her gaze dropped to his lips. ‘For you to kiss me—’

  He sealed his mouth over hers before she’d finished the sentence. Pleasure exploded underneath her skin and very quickly threatened to slide out of control. Her nipples peaked against the satin bra. Beneath her, the force of his erection probed forcefully against her bottom.

  A small part of her wept at the thought that she’d never experience what it was like to make love with Damion again. The greedy part of her took what she could.

  Her fingers sank into his hair and she revelled in his groan as his arms tightened around her. Heat pooled low in her belly, a demanding throb starting between her legs that made her clamp her thighs together.

  Nothing could come of this. Nothing …

  When Damion’s hand clamped over her bottom and squeezed, Reiko gasped, a shudder raking through her frame.

  He paused and slowly raised his head. ‘Enough?’

  Every instinct screamed no. But she knew there was only one answer she could give. Pushing away the sharp stab of pain, she swallowed. ‘Enough.’

  Damion called the dealer who’d bought the Femme sur Plage the next morning and offered him a price he couldn’t refuse.

  By noon the painting had been returned. Three hours later, they were on their way to the airport.

  In his hurry to get moving, Damion hadn’t bothered to wrap the painting. As the sleek, luxurious private jet took off and winged its way back to France, Reiko gazed at the painting leaning against the cabin wall, wondering how a woman so staggeringly beautiful could have been the way Damion had described her.

  ‘What are you going to do with the other paintings?’

  A myriad emotions criss-crossed Damion’s face before it froze into the carefully neutral mask he adopted so well. ‘I’ve thought of burning them a few times—’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘But I guess my children deserve to know what a messed-up family they’re born into.’

  The mention of children sent a horrid vein of chill through her. For two years she’d swept the issue of children blithely under her mental carpet—out of sight, out of mind.

  Now she reeled under the impact of a thousand mental pictures of Damion’s children and fought to catch her breath.

  Across from her, Damion frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.’

  She glanced down at her hands. ‘Guess I’m still jet lagged. I barely managed to get rid of the last bout before jumping on a plane again.’

  He studied her for several seconds, during which she held her breath, afraid a single movement would crack her open and expose all her secrets.

  When his gaze moved back to the painting, his thoughts obviously still occupied by haunting memories of his childhood, Reiko heaved a sigh of relief.

  A shadow crossed his face. ‘I guess you must think me heartless for the way I feel towards my family?’

  She shook her head, tensing when his gaze traced the scar she’d unwittingly revealed. Reiko itched to cover it. Instead she took a deep breath and reached for his hand. Warm fingers curled into hers, his eyes darkening as he glanced down at their entwined fingers.

  ‘No. I suspected that a family as outwardly pristine as yours would be hiding epically gruesome skeletons. But I’d like you to stop pretending you’re not upset by all of this,’ she murmured, with an ache in her heart for what he’d suffered.

  ‘A lifetime of witnessing volatile emotions on a daily basis either teaches you to replicate the same behaviour or bury it.’

  ‘You’re talking about obsession. What about love?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve survived this far with the barest minimum. It doesn’t feature high on the list of things I crave.’

  A band of discomfort tightened around her chest. ‘So you feel no remorse for all the broken hearts you’ve scattered around Europe?’

  He raised their entwined hands and brushed feather-light kisses on her knuckles. ‘A prince has to kiss a lot of girl-frogs to find the right match.’

  His gaze settled on her, and an inscrutable gleam in his eyes caused alarm to skitter across her skin.

  ‘But I think my search is almost over.’

  His tone had lightened, his face unfreezing from the icy mask it had been minutes ago. But almost in direct proportion, Reiko felt her insides clamp down hard with the echo of his words.

  She had no part in that scenario. Just as she had no right to feel that the ache in her heart was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced.

  Château Fortier, the centuries-old ancestral seat of the Fortiers, was soaked in rain as their car approached along the tree-lined, double-width lane. Reiko gaped in wonder at the dark waters lapping the stone walls.

  There was a genuine moat. And an honest-to-goodness drawbridge.

  She tried to suppress the hysterical bubble of amusement that rose in her throat. She succeeded. Only to lose it at the first sight of the château.

  Beside her, in the back seat of the silver limousine that had transported them from the private airport in Bordeaux, she felt Damion’s keen gaze swing her way.

  The car stopped at the end of the sweeping driveway. She looked up at the never-ending fairytale splendour of Château Fortier and shook her head. ‘He never stood a chance.’

  ‘Who didn’t?’

  She heard the frown in his voice. ‘My grandfather. Against all this.’ She ind
icated with the wave of her hand. ‘Your grandfather had this; mine was just a poor art student from a suburb of Kyoto on scholarship to the Sorbonne when he met your grandmother. There was no way he could offer her anything like this.’

  Damion’s frown was replaced by a carefully neutral look, but not before she spotted the hint of regret in his eyes.

  ‘Money isn’t everything,’ he dismissed.

  Reiko blew out an exasperated breath through the sadness welling up inside her. ‘That’s rubbish. Only the people with money tend to trot out that piece of nonsense. Money buys power. Power is a drug few people can resist.’

  ‘You’ve set aside the pursuit of it for a higher purpose.’

  ‘We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about how mean life can be sometimes.’

  His eyes narrowed as he slammed the boot and came to stand before her. Tilting her chin with one long, slim finger, he let his gaze rake her face. ‘But if you could have anything you want, what would you choose, Reiko?’

  For you not to have walked away.

  For me not to be left with emotional and physical scars because of my mistakes.

  She couldn’t even think about the third and deepest wish, so she looked away from him and started counting the turrets that graced the château. When she ran out of fingers to count on, she sucked in a composing breath and glanced back at him.

  ‘For now? A tour would be nice. Maybe a cheese panini thrown in at the end? I’m starving. You think your chef can rustle one up for me if I ask nicely?’

  ‘Without question.’ He took her arm and led her through the double-pillared entrance into the château. ‘But first we’ll do your exercises.’

  Her pulse shot into overdrive. ‘What do you mean, we? I can do them on my own.’

  ‘You’re in pain again. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. As much as your exaggerated walk is sexy as hell, I can’t overlook the reason behind it. So—exercise first, then the tour, before food.’

  ‘Did anyone tell you you’re an insufferable tyrant?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘No, but I understand some think I’m a stuffy Frenchman. Tell me—if I pick you up will I hurt you?’

  She felt her resolve weakening, an ever-growing need to set down the chafing reins of self-control. Just to let go … for a little while. ‘No, but why—?’

  He swung her up into his arms, held her close to his chest and mounted the stone steps that led into the château.

  Over his shoulder she could see beautifully landscaped gardens stretch as far as the eye could see, above her she caught a view of a slate-roofed turret, and the feeling of being overwhelmed washed over her again. There was just so much—of the man, of his wealth and prestige, of the history in this place.

  She looked at his profile and felt an overwhelming need to touch his face. Giving in to it, she traced her fingers over his jaw. Hard, warm, slightly rough. And so evocatively sexy she couldn’t resist leaning up to press her lips against his skin.

  He stumbled to a halt in the hallway. Above the din of blood roaring through her ears, she heard him dismiss the driver and the housekeeper. He stared down at her, the look in his eyes so captivating and powerful she trembled.

  ‘See how far we’ve come, ma petite? Now you kiss me because to resist is simply too painful. And you touch me because you want to. Not because you want to gain the upper hand.’

  Surprise shot through her, making her drop her hand. ‘You knew?’

  He smiled and brought his nose down to nuzzle hers. ‘It’s an effective tool. I’ve always found it difficult to think straight when your hands are on me.’

  Heat seared through her belly and flooded her whole being until she felt engulfed by it. When his lips lowered an extra half-inch to capture hers in a blistering kiss, she gave in to a desire that left her gasping for breath afterwards.

  By the time he lifted his head, her senses were swimming. She closed her eyes for several seconds to regain her equilibrium. When she finally opened them, he was striding towards the right wing of a spectacular sweeping staircase.

  Finally looking around, Reiko caught her first glimpse of the interior of Château Fortier.

  Thick walls were decorated with portraits of past Fortiers, interspersed with stunning pieces of art and antiquities. Masterpieces dotted the hallway, and at the base of each staircase two French marble busts stood in complete prominence.

  He made it to the top of the stairs and turned down the east corridor. Antique leather trunks dotted the hallway, and above her exquisitely cut crystal chandeliers set into vaulted ceilings gleamed and sparkled.

  The suite Damion entered was the last word in luxury. The blue-and-gold décor was impossibly beautiful and followed the magnificently warm yet stunningly extravagant theme of Château Fortier. A huge sleigh bed stood on a dias, and had an honest-to-goodness intricately designed canopy that fed an endless curtain of white muslin around the bed.

  Her gasp of appreciation drew Damion’s attention. ‘You like it?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s not to like? It’s completely breathtaking. I’m almost too scared to touch anything in case I break it.’

  He set her down, but kept his arms around her. ‘Objects can be replaced. Your comfort is what’s important.’ He leaned down and kissed her forehead. ‘But if you get too scared, feel free to knock on my door. I’m right through there.’ He nodded towards a connecting door on the far side of the room.

  The sensation that shot through her had nothing to with the stiffness in her body and everything to do with the way this man made her feel on a constant basis.

  The knowledge that he was stepping up his campaign to get her into his bed should have frightened her, but all Reiko felt was an inferno-like desire raging through her, loosening the notch on her control a little more.

  Would it hurt just to take this one last opportunity to be with him?

  Yes!

  Desperately, she tried to scramble back control. ‘That probably won’t be necessary. I don’t spook that easily.’

  He pulled her close until her breasts touched his chest. Her nipples peaked and by the catch in his breath she knew he’d felt them.

  ‘I’d advise you to keep the door locked, then. I may not be able to help myself.’ He took her mouth again, this time deepening the kiss with a bold stroke of his tongue.

  Reiko whimpered as desire scoured through her. At the back of her mind she called herself ten kinds of fool for giving in to this dangerously heady situation. But when it came to Damion her willpower had always been pathetically deficient.

  By the time he stepped back and sucked in a deep breath, she was ready to throw caution to the wind, consequences be damned.

  The dark stamp of desire on his face told its own lust-ramping story. ‘I need to get out of here. Tell me to get out of here, Reiko.’

  She licked tingling lips, fighting the need to say the opposite. ‘Get out of here, Damion.’

  He gave a harsh sigh, took another step back and thrust his fingers through his hair. ‘Get your swimsuit and meet me downstairs in five minutes.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  An enigmatic smile crossed his lips. ‘I have a surprise for you.’ His gaze dropped to her feet. ‘And wear sensible shoes.’ With that, he turned and left the room.

  For several seconds, she remained where she stood, her senses crashing like an addict on a downward spiral. Damion seemed to have taken the very air and vitality of life with him, leaving her craving and desperate.

  Catching herself standing there like a lovelorn fairytale maiden, she forced herself to move. But as she caught a glimpse of a gilt-edged, intricately designed mirror she knew was from the boudoir of a French empress, she couldn’t help but feel that she was in a fairytale. Every ornament, rug and painting was embroidered in the rich tapestry of history. History that would be here long after she had passed through.

  Long after Damion had installed his chosen wife in the château and sired countless babies and she was
but a distant memory.

  Pain roused her from her lethargy. Firming her lips, she moved past the bed towards a door she rightly guessed to be the dressing room.

  Her suitcase had arrived in her room before she had—a testament to just how efficiently everything moved in Damion’s world..

  She found the Lycra unitard she’d used in Paris and quickly slipped it on. Feeling adequately covered, she slipped her feet into a pair of ballerina pumps and made her way downstairs.

  She caught Damion’s frown long before she descended the gloriously curved staircase.

  ‘That is not a swimsuit,’ he rasped, displeasure in his voice.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint. If you expect me to parade in front of you in a skimpy number, it’s not going to happen. I don’t own a swimsuit.’ She’d burned them all in a dark haze a month after the accident. And she didn’t regret the decision.

  ‘I can—’

  ‘No. I’m sure you have a whole wardrobe full of bikinis tucked away somewhere in this vast place, but I’ll pass, thanks. This is an all-purpose outfit. It’ll do for whatever it is you have in mind.’

  His gaze drifted over her and Reiko found out very quickly that the tungsten-laced outfit was no match for the heated intensity in Damion’s eyes. Feeling her nipples peak and heat pool between her legs again, she shifted restlessly.

  ‘Damion …’

  ‘Alors, let’s go,’ he commanded, his voice deeply husky.

  He took her hand and led her behind the left staircase. They descended several steps and ended up in front of a large black-painted door.

  ‘You’re taking me to the dungeon?’

  His smile held a wealth of dark promise. ‘Not just yet.’

  The door opened into a small but well-lit hallway. Limestone walls and grey floor slates echoed the sound of their passage as he led her deeper underneath the château.

  After several twists and turns, they passed underneath a stone arch and emerged into an enclosed space. At first she didn’t see it because she was too captivated by the sight of Damion’s broad shoulders. When she managed to prise her gaze away, Reiko gasped at the stunning sight before her.

  The pool was surrounded on three sides by hanging foliage and lit underneath so the water glowed a soft, mesmerising aqua. The faint rush of water reached her ears, and she turned left to see a small inlet from where the pool flowed. Next to it stood a large wooden bench and a stone table that held a stack of towels.