The Sinful Art of Revenge

Chapter FIVE


SHE JERKED BACK from his touch. Her crystal glass sloshed water onto the pristine white tablecloth as she set it down unsteadily. ‘Excuse me?’

‘It’s a simple question, Reiko.’

‘It’s also a very personal question. Hell, for all you know it might even border on the sentimental! Are you sure you want to dip your toe in those treacherous waters?’

Damion’s eyes glittered with a determination that made her insides clench.

‘I’m willing to take that chance.’

Every bone in her body fought against lifting her hand to check that her temple wasn’t exposed, that the thin scar tissue burning with its exposure was covered. Reiko felt her lips tremble and fought for control.

‘I’m not. Anyway, how would you like it if I asked you an extremely personal question?’ she demanded in a voice far shakier than she’d prefer.

‘Answer mine and I’ll give you a chance to ask yours.’

She froze in stunned surprise. ‘Are you serious?’

He nodded. ‘When did it happen?’ he demanded.

She glanced down and moved her food around her plate. ‘Two years ago.’

‘How?’ he fired back.

She shook her head. ‘I’ve answered your question. Now it’s my turn. You weren’t around when your grandfather sold the paintings. Where were you?’

The sudden tension in his frame made her breath stall in her chest. His features hardened, his fingers clenching around his wine glass as his gaze pinned her to her chair. When he answered, his voice held an edge that grated on her nerves.

‘I was here in Paris for a while. Then I went to Arizona.’

‘Arizona. Of course.’ Reiko didn’t frame it in a question because she already suspected the answer.

Isadora.

Bile rose in her mouth, along with nausea. Appetite lost, she crumpled her napkin and threw it on the table.

He followed suit and settled the bill.

The walk back to his apartment was tense. His shoulders were held in rigid anger. He made no move to take her elbow, for which she was … glad. Just before they reached his building, he turned to her, eyes narrowed.

‘What did you mean by “of course”?’

She glared back at him. ‘I heard the Arizona rumours. You confirmed it.’

‘What else did you hear?’ he asked, tension escalating until it was a living force field around them.

‘Nothing that matters.’

His face grew colder.

When he opened his mouth, she held up her hand. ‘Seriously, I don’t need any more details.’

‘I wasn’t about to offer any. Merely to suggest that whatever you think you know, keep it to yourself.’

Because he didn’t want Isadora Baptiste upset? Despite being close-lipped about the famous designer, everyone knew the truth about their sordid affair.

She shrugged. ‘I think we’ve exchanged enough delightful morsels about ourselves for one day, don’t you?’ Mounting the shallow steps, Reiko prayed he’d drop the subject.

In silence, he led her into his apartment. She looked around and drew in a stunned breath.

The mezzanine apartment was overwhelmingly beautiful.

Black and white tiles reminiscent of the floor tiles in Versailles gleamed with a high polish. Tall, light-emitting windows overlooked the winding Seine and the Place des Vosges, and in the distance the iconic Tour Eiffel rose proudly.

There wasn’t a single curtain or drape in sight, which, for a man who valued his privacy as much as Damion did, surprised her. Beyond the slightly opened window, sounds emitted from the street, bringing with them a soft breeze that flowed into a sunken living room decorated with deep blue wide sofas, boldly designed coffee tables and a state-of-the-art entertainment centre.

And, of course, being the home of a French art connoisseur, it had sculptures, paintings and tasteful works of art displayed in a wealthy tapestry that made the art-lover in her want to fall to her knees in adoration.

Damion dropped his keys onto a nearby table, startling her from her avid inspection of the breathtaking space.

She whirled away from a miniature marble depiction of Psyche and Cupid locked in an embrace set underneath a low light and slammed straight into the hard-packed body of Damion Fortier. She stumbled. Pain ripped through her pelvis. Sucking in a breath, she tried to free herself from the arms that banded her.

But her struggles only made her more aware of the heat and sensual energy emanating from his body.

All the time and effort she’d expended on wrestling back control started to crumble. Reiko wanted to weep.

He frowned. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Let me go!’

After a few tense moments, he set her free. ‘Watch out for the floors. They can be slippery.’

‘Noted. Would you mind showing me where my things are? I need my laptop.’

Gaze hooded, he nodded. After a quick tour of the apartment, he led her down a hallway decorated in the same tasteful manner as the rest of the apartment.

Her suite was immense, blending ancient—a solid antique divan that wouldn’t have been remiss in Madame de Pompadour’s bedchamber—with twenty-first-century modern comfort—an ergonomic chair and a desk that housed her laptop, with several outlets for her smartphone and electronic accessories.

In the en suite living room a curved sofa faced a large-screened TV and entertainment centre, as well as a miniature drinks cabinet. Beneath her feet, Aubusson rugs led to the bathroom, and on two sides of the room, the floor-to-ceiling windows were repeated, giving stunning views over the water. Again without a single privacy-shielding drape or shutter in sight.

She turned to find Damion once again close. Too close. She caught his scent and breathed it in before she could stop herself.

‘You have something against drapes?’

He indicated the remote. ‘These two buttons regulate the privacy settings on the windows.’

‘Oh, good. For a minute there I wondered whether you’d become a shameless exhibitionist.’

She took the control and aimed it at the window. The first button frosted the windows completely, turning them an opaque white that cut off the view. The second button shielded the window halfway, so only the skyline above the river was visible. She left it at that setting and faced Damion, who stared back at her with a probing scrutiny that set her teeth on edge.

‘I need to get on with my work, so if you’ll excuse me …?’

He pointed to a high-tech console beside the desk. ‘If you need anything, press the first buzzer. Fabrice, my butler, will respond. I’m leaving for the gallery now. I don’t expect to be back until later this evening. Bonsoir, Reiko.’

He left with a soft click of the door. Reiko stood in the middle of the room, feeling deflated and unsure of herself.

She hated the feeling.

Clutching the remote, she gazed at the stunning beauty of her surroundings, at the pieces of art—each more exquisite and priceless than the last. But it was the bed that held her attention. Despite its jaw-dropping beauty, she knew it wouldn’t provide a reprieve from the nightmares that had haunted her since the crash. Really, she’d be better off sleeping on the couch, away from main door that led to the rest of the apartment, just in case …

Mind made up, she set to work.

When Fabrice knocked on the door several hours later, Reiko was on the phone to Japan. She listened patiently as the older woman, a member of the same support group Reiko belonged to, sobbed. Gently putting her on hold, she answered the door and said, yes, she’d have a tray brought to her room.

Reiko refused to acknowledge that the need to stay in her room had anything to do with hiding from Damion’s prying eyes.

She was here to work.

Turning from the door, she winced as pain shot through her abdomen.

Her fingers drifted to her stomach, where beneath her suit further evidence of her trauma marred her flesh in a permanent, vivid reminder of what she’d been through.

Suddenly her reassurances to the older woman sounded hollow. How could she offer someone else hope when she herself had lost everything—even the ability to be a real woman?

‘What are your plans for today?’ Damion asked, pulling back his cuff to glance at his watch.

Reiko’s eyes darted to him and looked away again. The sunlight caught the tip of her eyelash as it swept down to hide her eyes.

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 is 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.’