The Sinful Art of Revenge

Chapter TWO


DESPITE THE INDIRECT devastation Sylvain Fortier had caused her, the raw pain behind Damion’s words made her insides clench.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she fought the sudden automatic need to offer comfort, but the words spilled out anyway. ‘I’m sorry for …’ She stopped. What could she say in such a circumstance?

When she’d been contacted to broker the sale four years ago, she’d known immediately what the Femme paintings meant to Damion’s grandfather. Her grandfather had told her the history behind them. At the time her first instinct had been to refuse the commission. But she’d convinced herself she’d moved on from Damion’s betrayal—that it was merely another business deal. Now, looking into Damion’s darkened eyes, she wondered if she’d inadvertently set herself up for this meeting, and for his displeasure when he found out just what she’d done with his paintings.

‘Damion, I need to—’

Reiko heard footsteps at the door and her heart sank. A second later, Trevor walked in.

‘Sweetheart, what’s going on? I thought I heard the guests leave—’ Catching sight of Damion, he froze inside the doorway. ‘What are you doing here, Fortier?’ he demanded, his hands leaving his dressing-gown pockets to clench at his sides.

Damion’s set jaw tightened. ‘My business is with her, Ashton, not you. And I’d think carefully before lying to me again in future.’

‘You should’ve fetched me the moment he got here, Reiko. After what he did—’

‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ she rushed to interrupt before he could finish. He was acting out of concern for her. His guardian role was one he refused to relinquish despite her insistence that at twenty-seven she was old enough to take care of herself. What she’d been through made it difficult for him to let go.

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.’