The Sinful Art of Revenge

by Maya Blake

  When he pulled up outside his apartment overlooking the Place des Vosges, he glanced at her again. This time she met his gaze. Damion saw a trace of pain in that look and frowned. Had he been too rough with her? A tinge of guilt seeped in to compound his confusion. As feisty as she was, he wasn’t unaware of her diminutive stature. His glance slid over her again and his frown deepened. Why had she covered herself up so completely?

  The Reiko he’d known had worn skimpy outfits designed to drive him wild with desire. He recalled her perfect, flawless skin, and heat unfurled within him. He’d loved running his hands over her naked body, watching arousal heat her flesh, hearing her words of wonder as he’d taken her …

  He stemmed the tide of unwanted memories.

  Five years ago he’d let the personal get in the way of business and regretted it.

  Whatever Reiko Kagawa was hiding underneath those staid, sexless clothes was no longer his business.

  His main focus needed to be on locating the third painting and making sure his grandfather’s last days were made as comfortable as possible.

  As to what came after that … His jaw tightened. He’d think about that aspect of his duty—finding a wife, making sure his family name continued—when the time was right.

  ‘Vien, we’re here.’ His personal concierge hurried forward and opened Reiko’s door. Damion handed over the contents of the boot and turned to her. ‘It’s lunchtime. I’ve booked a restaurant close by. Are you okay to walk?’

  He caught her look of panic-tinged suspicion before she quickly doused it.

  ‘Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be?’ she challenged, her eyes fiery.

  He indicated the cobblestoned pavement reminiscent of this part of Paris. ‘Those heels look hazardous—’

  ‘They’re fine.’

  He’d clearly touched a nerve, but Damion didn’t know why. ‘Let’s go.’

  The scent of her flowery perfume caught his nostrils as she fell into step beside him. He slowed his pace to match hers, and in the spring sunshine watched the way the light bounced over her long, dark locks.

  He felt another puzzle tease at his brain. Her suit, make-up and shoes all shrieked a power statement that her free-flowing hair immediately defused.

  Or was that her trick? Recalling the way she’d touched him last night and this morning, Damion felt his gut tighten. The contact had been in no way sensual, and certainly not what he was used to from women, but it had captured his attention. So much so he hadn’t been able to dismiss it from his mind.

  A grande dame tottered past with several dogs on a leash. Reiko didn’t seem to notice her. He grabbed her arm to steer her clear of the menagerie and felt the fragile bones of her elbow beneath his touch. He waited for her to make a comment and glanced at her when she didn’t.

  ‘What?’ she enquired.

  He nodded to the old lady. ‘You once mentioned how cute you thought that whole grande dame with dogs thing. So very French.’

  Her mouth dropped open. She looked after the old woman and her dogs, then back at him. ‘You remember?’

  He remembered a great deal about their six weeks in Tokyo; he had spent far too much time last night thinking about it. Was spending too much time thinking about it now. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Everything Reiko had said to him at the vault had been true. He had sent her the money to salve his conscience after he’d learnt of her grandfather’s death. But deep down he’d hoped she wouldn’t take it—that she’d call or come and find him and rip the cheque to shreds in his presence.

  When she hadn’t, he’d returned to Tokyo, foolishly believing he’d find her, apologise and resume what they’d started. How wrong he’d been.

  Ruthlessly, he pushed the images in his brain away. ‘Oui, I remember.’ Bitterness slashed through him, mingling with an arousal he refused to acknowledge. Looking away, he glimpsed the discreet entrance to the restaurant. ‘We’re here.’

  He went to take her elbow again, but she pulled away from him under the pretext of greeting the maître d’.

  Damion suppressed a grim smile. It seemed this new Reiko had developed a penchant for touching at will, but curiously she didn’t like the favour returned. He tucked that little morsel to the back of his mind.

  ‘You didn’t finish telling me about the exhibition.’ When he hesitated, Reiko shrugged. ‘I’m going to find out eventually.’ She sipped her water, gripping the glass firmly to hide her trembling.

  Damion’s revelation outside the restaurant had shaken her. So Damion remembered one tiny comment she’d made during their time together? Big deal. It made no sense for her emotions to skitter out of control because of it.

  ‘The Ingénue is a collection of firsts—first poems, first paintings, first sculptures. Even the first haute couture gown created by Michel Zoltan.’

  She was reluctantly impressed. ‘Wow, how did you manage that?’ The temperamental and very reclusive designer had created the most perfect wedding gown for the last European royal bride, and then promptly declared it to be his last-ever creation.

  He shot her a droll look. ‘I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you. And all that blood on this perfect parquet floor …’

  ‘Ha-ha—very funny.’

  One side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile as he beckoned the hovering sommelier. Once Damion had inspected the chilled bottle and the Chablis was poured, she chose her entrée and main and handed the menu to the waiter.

  ‘These works were done before the influence of the outside world—before the artists’ innocence was stolen, as it were. The world has never seen an exhibition like this. Most artists believe their first works aren’t worthy of publicising.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s so much that as an unwillingness to bare their souls to the public—especially in the presence of other artists. Artists have very fragile egos.’

  ‘With the right incentive, even fragile egos are malleable.’

  Her fingers tightened around the glass. ‘Does that translate as everyone can be bought?’

  ‘In my experience, oui,’ he responded without an ounce of regret, his cold gaze locked on hers.

  She carefully swallowed. ‘What a jaded life you’ve led.’

  ‘As opposed to your unsullied existence in an ivory tower? Why do you really want to attend my exhibit? And don’t tell me it’s because of your love of art.’

  Reiko was eternally grateful she’d perfected her poker face long before she could speak, because the grey eyes boring into hers made shivers dance down her spine. ‘I told you—to explore whatever lead I can to establish the whereabouts of your painting.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘So you won’t be blatantly poaching my business?’

  She shrugged. ‘If you’re that bothered about it, we could come to an agreement.’

  On cue, haughty distaste filled his eyes. ‘I don’t do backroom deals.’

  ‘Never say never.’

  He was about to respond when the waiter brought their entrée. Her thinly sliced ham on a bed of apple and celeriac was exquisite. Opposite her, Damion attacked his own lobster salad with a relish that reminded her of his huge appetite. Watching his hands as he deftly forked food into his mouth, Reiko felt familiar heat invade her belly.

  She lowered her gaze to her plate, a shaft of pain slicing through her at the fruitlessness of her feelings.

  Even if there were the remotest chance of a physical relationship with a member of the opposite sex, the man sitting before her would not be her prime choice. Damion Fortier appreciated beauty and perfection. She’d been stunned five years ago when he’d shown an interest in her. Of course the reason why had eventually revealed itself. Like a gullible fool, she’d let him brush aside her initial scepticism, drawn to him with an intensity she’d found impossible to fight.

  His every choice of female since he’d walked away from her attested to the fact that she had been a fluke—a step outside his normal circle, which he’d always intended to return to
.

  No, Damion would never be given the chance to see her physical scars or glimpse the emotional wasteland that had ravaged her soul.

  ‘Is this how you’re hoping to convince me to trust you?’ His question broke through her agonising thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You asked me to trust you but your intentions in attending my exhibition put that theory to the test.’

  ‘Finding your painting is my priority. Everything else is secondary. I give you my word.’

  He stared at her for an interminable minute. Then he nodded. ‘Bien.’ He extended his hand. ‘Shall we shake on it?’

  Reiko swallowed and stared at the large masculine hand in front of her. When she glanced back at him, the look in his eyes shifted, and a gleam that made her hackles rise passed through the grey depths before the veneer of civility slid back into place.

  ‘I’ve already promised to be on my best behaviour, Baron.’

  ‘But a handshake is much more … professional than Scouts’ honour, n’est ce pas?’

  His firm reasoning didn’t ease her anxiety. Inhaling, she set her fork down and tentatively placed her hand in his.

  The heat from his touch singed all the way to her toes. When she tried to free herself, he held her for a few seconds longer before releasing her.

  After that he turned into the perfect host.

  Reiko eventually dared to relax a little, allowed the tension to ease out of her body.

  Until he reached out and brushed back her fringe. Her skin burned at the laser-like focus of his gaze on her face.

  ‘How did you get that scar on your temple?’ he rasped.

  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.