The Sinful Art of Revenge Page 16

  A long time after his steady breathing told her he was asleep, Reiko lay awake, gripped with the terrifying feeling that the only reason she’d allowed herself to trust Damion was possibly because she was falling in love with him.

  The next two weeks rushed by in a heady, blissful blur. During the day she stood by Damion’s side as he opened the château each morning with a short speech before handing the day’s tour over to Sabine LeBoeuf.

  But once everyone had left, Damion dined with his grandfather, if Sylvain felt up to it, or with her on the terrace. Afterwards Damion would take her to the thermal pool. Sometimes he let her wear one of the bikinis he’d insisted on buying her. Most of the time he preferred her naked—a state she still found a little disconcerting.

  The day before the ball, he came to find her mid-morning as she was going over last-minute menu details with the head chef.

  ‘Here—try this.’ She forked a piece of lobster with mango-and-lime-infused sauce and held it out to him. He chewed and nodded in approval. ‘It’ll be the starter, served with a Mersault, then beef or fish for the main. François suggested foie gras, but I’ve convinced him to change his mind.’ She smiled at the French chef, who gave a wry shrug and set out the dessert. ‘Do you want to try the dessert?’

  His hands arrived on her hips, his body drawing closer to hers. ‘Whatever you go with is fine. I trust you.’

  Her heart gave another lurch, as it had done lately every time Damion made such comments. And he did it with resounding regularity. She wasn’t sure why it frightened her. No. Scratch that. She knew why. She feared she was falling into the trap of believing this thing between them had some sort of healthy shelf life, when deep down she knew it was a fleeting moment in time.

  Except with every demonstration of his trust, she felt herself falling deeper into an abyss she feared she might never be able to get herself out of once he learned the whole truth.

  She touched François’s arm in thanks and felt Damion stiffen beside her. Even before the chef had disappeared back into the vast kitchens, Damion was turning her to face him. The dark look of displeasure on his face stopped her breath.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He pulled her closer until his face was inches from hers. ‘This touching other people. It has to stop,’ he breathed.

  Her mouth dropped open. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

  He shook his head. ‘It does. It’s a coping mechanism—your way of anchoring yourself. The way you did with your father when you were trapped in the crash.’ His voice gentled. ‘I get it, but you have to stop. I can’t handle it.’

  ‘Does that mean I can’t touch you, either?’ she teased.

  The look he gave her scorched her soul.

  She sobered. ‘I can’t help it, Damion. My therapist told me to accept the flaw and use it as a crutch if I needed to.’

  His hands slid up and down her sides in a soothing caress but his lips firmed. ‘I’m beginning to think your therapist was a quack who should be shot. Reiko, I’ll help you cope. Every time you want to touch someone, touch me.’

  ‘And if you’re not around?’

  He kissed along her jaw and whispered in her ear, ‘Just think of me holding you, touching you. Let that be your anchor.’

  Intense feeling rushed through her, making her mouth dry and her heart rate soar as she looked into his eyes. His words, the depth of feeling in his voice, all pointed to the impossible. She refused to believe Damion felt anything more for her than mere transient lust. Because anything else would be unthinkable. And yet …

  Just like his steady assault on her resistance to sleeping with him, he seemed to be mounting a steady assault on her emotions—almost as if he cared about her …

  Completely rejecting the thought for the ridiculous notion it was, she gave in to the kiss she knew would follow.

  When he finally lifted his head, the look in his eyes threatened to send her emotions into freefall once again.

  ‘Was there a reason you came looking for me?’ she asked, as a way of bringing herself down to earth.

  ‘Oui. I have to go into Bordeaux to pick up a painting—a Ventimiglia. You said you had nothing suitable for the ball. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone.’

  A memory nudged her mind. When it didn’t immediately reveal itself, she shrugged. ‘Sounds great. I’ll go and finalise the dessert wines with François, grab my bag and meet you out front in ten minutes.’

  He nodded, then leaned down and pressed another hard kiss on her lips. ‘Remember—no touching.’

  ‘Scouts’ honour, Baron.’

  His eyes darkened, but his only response was a light tap on her rear as she walked away.

  Damion insisted on accompanying her on her shopping trip. He then proceeded to take command of the changing room and dismiss every gown she tried on. It was either too tight or too bold or too sexy.

  ‘You want me to ask the saleswoman if she has a sack in the back? I could just cut two holes in it to see where I’m going and be done with it,’ she teased when he rejected yet another dress.

  He rose from the armchair and came towards her. Grey eyes skimmed her from head to toe, and a possessive look devoured her whole.

  ‘I don’t want any other men looking at you and getting ideas.’

  She snorted, then realised he was serious. ‘Thank you … I suppose.’

  ‘You suppose?’ He caught her to him, hands skimming over her bottom to pull her into his body. ‘You don’t think other men want you?’

  She shrugged, feelings of insecurity rushing back. Pushing them away, she looked at him, at the look in his eyes, and sucked in a deep breath.

  ‘You’ve given me so much these last two weeks. Much more than I can ever repay you for. I’ll always be grateful to you for that.’

  ‘I don’t want your gratitude, and I don’t like the sound of that little speech. It smacks of I’m about to dump you, which can’t possibly be the case.’

  The lazy assurance as he tugged her into his arms should have irritated her.

  Except it was true. She wasn’t about to dump him. She would have to eventually. She knew that. But she wasn’t ready to let Damion Fortier go. Not just yet …

  A discreet cough broke their kiss. Damion laughed beneath his breath, muttered something about this becoming a habit, and they both turned.

  Reiko gasped. Damion nodded with approval and almost purred with satisfaction. ‘Oui, that’s the dress. We’ll take it.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAMION STRAIGHTENED HIS TUXEDO and adjusted the gold cufflinks bearing the Fortier family crest. He refused to admit he was nervous. Nerves would mean there was more to the plans he’d made than mere altruism.

  He frowned at his mocking reflection and jerked at his sleeve.

  So, yes, he did care.

  Reiko would be annoyed, of that he had no doubt, but she was also practical. She would understand the reason behind his actions.

  Satisfied with his reasoning, he glanced at the connecting door to her suite and felt the familiar pulse-leap. Although she slept in his bed, she insisted on dressing in her own suite—a decision he disapproved of but one he’d granted her anyway. He didn’t dismiss the fact that she needed more time to be completely confident with him. As for her recurring nightmares, the ones he’d arrogantly thought would disappear just because he held her in his arms at night …

  Teeth gritted, he walked into her suite.

  At the faint sound of her shower, every cell in his body tightened in arousal. With every pump of his heartbeat, he wanted to open that bathroom door. But he knew if he did they’d never make it downstairs in time.

  He’d requested his first guest arrive early.

  With heavy, reluctant feet, he stepped away from the door and went downstairs just as a car drew up outside. Crossing the hallway, he nodded to the butler, who opened the door.

  Again nerves tightened his nape.

  But he accepted that big, life-altering decisi
ons warranted a few nerves. The simple fact was that he’d made his decision. And nothing would stand in his way.

  Reiko twirled in front of the mirror, a smile of pleasure lighting her face as she watched the dress flare before falling to rest against her body. She’d fallen in love with the aqua-and-molten-gold dress at first sight. Sleeveless, with amber crystals sewn into the bust, the dress fell from just below her breasts in a gold skirt, with aqua chiffon gathered panels that fluttered with every step. Against her tanned skin, the material felt rich and deliciously decadent. Her hair fell free in its customary long waves down her back, and on her feet delicately strapped gold heels completed the look.

  She was glad she hadn’t tried on the dress in front of Damion. She wanted to savour the look on his face when he saw it on her. She also wanted him to see her gratitude that he’d helped her regain enough confidence to bare her arms for the first time in nearly two years. She glanced at the long scar on her arm and smothered the fluttering of trepidation.

  After one last make-up check, she picked up the matching silk wrap and made her way downstairs.

  The muted voices coming from the living room next to the ballroom drew her attention. With a smile pinned in place to welcome this early guest, she entered the room.

  Damion turned sharply, came towards her and slid an arm around her waist. ‘Reiko, allow me to introduce you to Dr Emmanuel Falcone.’

  Despite his easy tone, she detected his tension. She glanced at him, but his face remained carefully neutral.

  Pasting a smile on her face, she extended her hand in greeting.

  ‘Dr Falcone is a world-renowned therapist …’

  The rest of Damion’s words faded underneath the punch of shock that stopped her breath.

  Her heart raced, her thoughts scattering, as everything she’d thought these past two weeks had been about disintegrated before her eyes.

  ‘Reiko?’ Damion’s voice held a tinge of uncertainty as he glanced down at her.

  Somehow she managed to find her voice, to answer him and conduct what she knew was a subtle interview with the therapist.

  Reiko forced herself to remain calm, but deep inside something cracked, then pain poured through her. After all he’d said, everything he’d led her to believe, Damion believed she was flawed.

  Dr Falcone mentioned something about suitable times and appointments. Reiko nodded along and accepted his card, willing the numbness not to overtake her.

  What did it really matter? She would be gone from here soon enough.

  She finally focused to realise both men were staring at her in silence.

  ‘Um, I need to ring through to the kitchen and check that everything is ready. I’ll be out in a few minutes.’ Reiko was glad her voice held. Yep, she was still great at keeping up appearances.

  After they’d left—Damion casting a puzzled look at her as he escorted the doctor out—Reiko took several breaths, willing the pain away.

  Outside, she heard the sound of cars arriving, voices carrying anticipation and excitement at the evening ahead. She could do this … she could. And after tonight she’d leave.

  Sucking in one last deep breath, she turned.

  Damion stood framed in the doorway.

  Her heart kicked at the sight of him, then dropped when she saw the intent purpose on his face. ‘Not now, Damion.’

  ‘Oui. Now.’ His nostrils pinched as he inhaled sharply. ‘You’re angry with me. I know that. But I only wanted—’

  Anger flared into being, washing aside the last of her shock. ‘You wanted. So far everything’s been about what you have wanted. You invited him here without my agreement. Because you still think I’m broken, that I need to be fixed.’

  He paled and grasped her hand. ‘No, I do not. But I do think you need help to work through those nightmares.’

  Weary resignation washed over her. ‘I’ve accepted them as part of my life. Besides, they’re not your problem.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘They shouldn’t have to be part of your life. You’ve been through enough.’

  ‘I really don’t want to do this right now.’ She glanced towards the door as the voices grew louder.

  Warm hands tightened on hers. ‘You have to do it sometime. This cannot go on, Reiko.’

  She shook her head. He’d made her face a few demons in the past few weeks, but the fear that Damion was gradually taking over her life and her emotions had become a reality she couldn’t ignore. If she didn’t take care, he would devour her whole.

  ‘Your guests are arriving. I need to make sure they’re comfortable. The models are also assembling for the show. That’s what you hired me for, after all, isn’t it?’

  He dismissed her words with a typical Gallic hand gesture. ‘The guests can entertain themselves. This is important.’

  ‘You have lousy timing, Damion. All this time you’ve been determined to set me on the straight and narrow. Now just as I think I could get into this whole organizing-slash-party-planning thing, you want to tear me away.’ She shook her head satirically.

  His face closed, but not before she caught a look of uncertainty.

  ‘I’ve messed up. I realise that now. Let me try to fix this.’

  ‘That’s just it. Don’t you get it? You’ve been trying to fix me ever since we met. And you know what? I think I prefer myself broken. I’m much more fun that way.’

  ‘Reiko, arrête.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘It’s also not fair that you can speak Japanese and I can’t speak French. That annoys the hell out of me, actually—’

  Her snarky response was choked off in her throat as she looked over Damion’s shoulder and caught sight of who’d just walked in.

  Isadora Baptiste. Blonde, blue-eyed, statuesque and extremely beautiful, she was everything Reiko knew she would never be. And, as if to drive the point home, two young girls, dressed in similar white gowns to the world-renowned designer’s, flanked her. Isadora’s children.

  In that moment the fact that she would never be given the opportunity to experience motherhood for herself ripped a path of pain through Reiko.

  ‘You invited her?’ She wasn’t sure which emotion reigned supreme—shock or devastation.

  He glanced at his old flame. ‘Isadora is still a friend.’

  She tried to pull herself together, to find the poise and composure that had been sorely missing since she’d walked downstairs and been thrown into chaos.

  ‘Well, let’s go and greet your friend, then, shall we?’

  For the next five minutes, Reiko staged the performance of her life. She sailed ahead of Damion and introduced herself. Although Isadora smiled at her, her attention strayed to Damion, her eyes devouring him in a way that made Reiko alternately want to claw her eyes out and hurry away so they could have privacy. Worse still, all four broke into French, leaving her biting her lip as fresh waves of despair crashed over her.

  She withstood it for as long as humanly possible. ‘Excuse me.’ She pasted on a smile as she excused herself and moved to the next set of guests.

  For the next hour, she kept a safe distance. Every time Damion stalked closer, she moved away. Once she caught his eyes across the room. His displeasure hit her like a sledgehammer and a shiver washed over her at the dark promise of retribution. Defiantly, she glared back at him.

  What right had he to feel annoyed when he was the one who’d upset her? As Reiko glared, Isadora sidled up beside him and slid her arm through his. Pain scoured through her. He must have caught it because his expression changed. The hint of gentle speculation made her feel even more exposed.

  Her heart hammered. Damion learning of her deeper feelings for him was the last thing she wanted. She was already vulnerable enough as it was. Isadora leaned up to whisper in his ear. He smiled but his gaze never wavered from Reiko.

  He finally looked away when one of Isadora’s daughters, Alaine, tugged on his sleeve. But it wasn’t before Reiko knew with every fibre of her being that Damion had seen into her heart
, had guessed at her devastation. And had every intention of exploiting it.

  She started as a deep voice murmured beside her. ‘Here we are again. The déjà vu is overwhelming, non?’ Sylvain Fortier demanded, a shrewd gleam in his eyes.

  ‘Yes. I mean, no.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Sylvain, it’s good to see you again—’

  He waved her away. ‘Let us do away with the platitudes, ma petite. It is time to stop running away.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He nodded to where Damion stood, surrounded by Isadora and her children, his stunning dark looks a perfect foil for their blonde beauty. The perfect picture they made tore a path of pain through her chest.

  ‘You need to stop running and grasp your future before it slips away from you.’

  A bitter laugh scoured her throat. ‘Nothing in my future includes him. I’m here to do this job, followed by another—preferably somewhere far, far away. Speaking of jobs …’ She waved to Sabine LeBoeuf, who was trying to catch her attention.

  With relief, she excused herself from Sylvain and hurried away—but not before she caught a look similar to Damion’s assessing one crossing his face.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Sabine fluttered agitated fingers. ‘One of the models hasn’t turned up. The agency said she was on her way but she’s not here, and the show starts in ten minutes. With only six models, the show won’t run to time, and the fireworks are set on a timer, so they can’t be delayed.’

  Reiko tried not to panic. Sabine was distressed enough for both of them. ‘Where the bloody hell am I going to conjure up a model at the eleventh hour?’ she muttered under her breath.

  The stylist approached them, speaking rapidly into his phone. She gazed hopefully at him. When he shook his head, her heart dropped.

  ‘We could ask one of the guests? Madame Baptiste, perhaps?’ Sabine suggested.

  ‘No!’

  ‘No …’

  The stylist’s endorsement of her rejection pleased her. Irrational though it might be, Reiko wanted Damion’s ex-lover nowhere near the production she’d poured her soul into.

  Her heart stuttered at the speculative look in the stylist’s eyes. ‘What?’