The Sinful Art of Revenge Page 7

  ‘It’s supposed to tell you that I’m not always the heartless bastard you think I am.’

  Perhaps it was the soft yet implacable assertion. Or maybe it was the large hand that suddenly gripped hers, threading warm fingers through her cold, numb ones. Or it might have been the weariness digging into her soul, causing fresh tears to gather behind her eyes.

  Whatever it was, Reiko did the last thing she’d ever intended to do. Staring into Damion’s face, she whispered, ‘You want to know what happened to break me? Watching my grandfather suffer came close enough, but being responsible for my father’s death …? Yep, that clinched the deal.’

  Damion witnessed the soul-shattering pain that crossed her face and felt his chest tighten in response.

  A shudder raked through her frame, and her face was almost white from the effort it had taken her to utter the words. He reached over and removed the spoon from her grip, laid it down. He, like her, had lost his appetite.

  Deep inside he wondered why he was doing this when he’d been so determined not to get personal. Then he thought of Isadora. He’d foolishly taken everything she’d said at face value, hadn’t probed enough until it was too late.

  ‘How were you responsible?’ he asked.

  Haunted eyes met his. ‘Why are you doing this? You’re not insensitive enough not to notice that this isn’t an easy subject for me, so why do you pursue it?’

  His unease increased. ‘I don’t mean to distress you—’

  A harsh laugh broke from her lips. ‘You’re doing a stellar job, regardless.’

  His jaw clenched. ‘You’re as fragile and brittle as sheet glass. One push in the wrong direction and you’ll shatter.’

  ‘Then stop pushing!’

  He tightened his grip. ‘You said yourself the therapy isn’t working. How long do you intend to bury this?’

  Angry colour surged into her cheeks. ‘Spare me your pop psychology.’

  ‘Don’t get snippy.’

  ‘Back off, Fortier. I might look small but I can hurt you. I’m Japanese. Ninja skills are in-built. I can kill you with a single look.’

  Despite the fierceness of her tone, he laughed. ‘You’re only half-Japanese. And I thought ninjas weren’t supposed to reveal their true status?’

  He saw her relief at the change of subject and gave her a little reprieve.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s only fair to forewarn you. I wouldn’t like you to think I’ve taken unfair advantage.’

  Her lips trembled, and his heart clenched again.

  Before he could stop himself, he brushed his thumb over her lips. Softness registered, along with an intense need to remind himself of her sweet taste.

  Bravo, Damion.

  ‘I mean it, Damion. Don’t make me kick your ass.’

  Sudden fire flamed through his groin.

  ‘Say my name again,’ he instructed, before the thought had fully formed.

  Wariness entered her eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve always loved the way it sounds on your lips.’

  ‘Damion …’

  Fabrice walked into the dining room. Damion cursed under his breath and sat back. The anxious look on Fabrice’s face when he saw their barely touched plates immediately abated when Reiko smiled at him.

  ‘It’s my fault, Fabrice. I think I’m still digesting the panini I had at lunch.’

  Fabrice nodded. ‘Would mademoiselle like a lighter main course, perhaps?’ he suggested.

  Reiko shook her head and touched his sleeve.

  Everything inside Damion clenched—much tighter than it had this morning. The sensation seemed to knock the breath out of him. With ruthless force, he shoved it aside and focused, to find her accusatory gaze fixed on him.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, Fabrice. I don’t think I can eat anything else,’ she said.

  His butler took the news with annoyingly obsequious grace. ‘Pas de quoi, mademoiselle. Et pour vous, Baron?’

  Damion dismissed him with a shake of his head. After Fabrice had left, Damion glanced over and watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her left ear.

  She looked up and caught his gaze. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘If you’re going to accuse me of ruining your dinner, forget it. You performed that magnificent feat all on your own.’

  His teeth hurt from being ground together. ‘I wasn’t. I’ve lost my appetite, too.’

  ‘Well, hard-core interrogation has a habit of doing that to you. Here’s a tip—next time do it after your belly is full of Michelin-star-quality goodness.’

  Damion didn’t answer. He stared at her, unable to shake the single disturbing thought running through his head.

  He hated the thought of Reiko touching other people.

  Reiko woke up just after midnight in excruciating pain. In her distress after the disastrous dinner with Damion, she’d forgotten to do her exercises. All she’d sought after bidding him a terse goodnight had been escape.

  She’d collapsed onto the couch, knowing there was no way she would sleep.

  How wrong she’d been. Not only had she slept, she hadn’t been haunted by nightmares.

  Only unbearable pain.

  She gritted her teeth against the pain shooting through her pelvis and struggled to regulate her breathing. In the end she knew she had no choice but to do something about it. Gingerly she struggled into her Lycra unitard and made her way to the sleek state-of-the-art gym Damion had shown her when they’d toured the apartment yesterday. Ignoring the highly sophisticated gym equipment, she grabbed a bottle of water and headed for the far side of the room.

  Lowering herself onto the mat in front of a mirrored wall, she took a sip of water and breathed in deeply. The first series of exercises were so painful her skin was covered in sweat by the time they were over. But she knew the next set—the knee thrusts—would be even more painful. The very thought of them made her moan in despair.

  ‘I don’t quite know how to interpret a beautiful woman moaning in my gym in the middle of the night. Alone.’

  Her head snapped towards the voice. Damion leaned in the doorway, wearing sweat pants and a tight white T-shirt, with tousled just-got-out-of-bed hair. Heat slammed into her chest even as she hastily pulled the grip from her hair so her fringe fell over her face. The high neck and long sleeves of her outfit thankfully covered the parts of her body she needed to be covered.

  ‘You’re losing your touch, obviously. This is a one-woman show to which you’re not invited.’ She fervently prayed he’d take the hint and leave.

  He didn’t. With slow, assured strides, he came forward until he stood directly over her. From her position on the floor, Reiko was treated to the simply magnificent landscape of his body—strong legs, trim waist, ripped ridges on his abdomen that rose and curved into a wide, powerful chest … the bulge in his trousers she tried very hard not to stare at despite the blood rushing faster through her veins.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘What does it look like? I’m exercising.’

  ‘You’re in pain. Why?’

  ‘Go away, Damion.’

  ‘If you wanted to keep what you were doing a secret, you would’ve stayed in your room.’

  She blew out an exasperated breath. ‘Trust me, I would have if I’d known you’d subject me to another interrogation. It’s wearing seriously thin, by the way.’

  He merely shrugged and waited.

  Her gaze slid away from his. ‘I have a back and pelvic injury from the accident. I was on my feet for too long today and forgot to stretch before bed.’

  ‘You woke in pain?’

  She heard the frown in his tone.

  She nodded. ‘The pain increases when my body stiffens.’

  He dropped smoothly onto his haunches, caught her chin in his hand and turned her gaze to his. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘You can go away and leave me alone to get on with it.’

  The implacable look in his eyes told him he would be doing no such thing.

  She sig
hed. ‘Damion—’

  ‘We’ve performed this dance before, ma belle. Tell me how to help you.’

  Sighing, she collapsed back onto the mat. ‘I told you, I don’t need—’

  He leaned over and placed his hands on either side of her hips. Her breath snagged in her chest as he reared over her. Glossy chocolate waves fell over his forehead as his eyes bored determinedly into hers. Damion Fortier was going nowhere—of that she had no doubt.

  Her only option was to get this over with as quickly as possible. Having him this close bombarded her with haunting, painful memories.

  She sucked in a quick, woefully inadequate breath. ‘Hold my feet against your chest and push against my resistance. No matter how much I whine, don’t stop. Okay?’

  Concern darkened his eyes. ‘This whining—will it take the form of tears or screams?’

  ‘Either. Both. If you’re squeamish, leave now.’

  ‘I’m not squeamish,’ he answered, although a look of unease had settled over his face.

  He positioned himself on his knees and glanced at her bare legs. For endless moments he just stared at them.

  ‘Come on, Baron, don’t wuss out on me. Unless you can conjure a thermal jet pool for me, this is the only way—so let’s get on with it.’

  His lips firmed. ‘Raise your legs.’

  She carefully raised them. With firm, strong hands he grabbed her ankles and settled her feet on his chest.

  The initial shock of the contact obliterated the pain in her pelvis for several seconds. Fiery currents travelled up her ankles, shot through her calves to concentrate in a steady pulse of delicious heat between her thighs. Of their own accord her toes flexed against his muscled chest as if they were remembering another time, another place.

  His chest lifted in a heavy inhale. ‘What now?’ he rasped.

  ‘Slowly pull my knees apart as you push towards me.’

  Warm hands cupped her knees. Gauging her reaction, he leaned down in a slow, steady forward movement.

  Reiko bit her lip as pain surged through her pelvis. She clenched her hands against her side, fighting to keep her breathing steady.

  ‘Are you okay?’ His eyes had darkened until they were almost black, and the look of concern in them touched a place inside her she most definitely did not want touched.

  Swallowing, she nodded. He kept up the momentum, pushing her knees closer to her chest, coming closer, until she could see the faint stubble grazing his jaw. When her heels touched the back of her thighs, she let out a shuddering breath.

  ‘Back, please. Then repeat,’ she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so husky. So … needy.

  He slowly sat back. They repeated the process. On the third round when she moaned, he swore and stopped.

  ‘No, don’t stop. I’m okay.’

  ‘You’re obviously not. You’re crying—’

  ‘I’m not crying!’

  ‘Your eyes are leaking—’

  ‘It’s just sweat, for goodness’ sake. Do it!’

  She groaned as he grasped her ankles and repositioned her feet on his chest. By the time he’d repeated the process, her muscles had started to loosen. With the lessening pain she became even more aware of Damion as he surged over her. His powerful aura surrounded her; his scent dominated her every breath. When he drew closer her gaze fell to the smooth, defined curve of his mouth.

  She’d always liked him on top …

  Like a flash flood, memories rushed through mind—how it had felt the first time they’d kissed, the feel of his hard, hot body against hers, his thick hair between her fingers, the power of his potent manhood as he’d possessed her that first time in her grandfather’s cabin in Tokyo. The sheer bubble of joy she’d lived in for weeks after that …

  Right from the start the power of his attraction had held her enthralled. She’d been caught up in the sizzle of sensation from the first time he’d introduced himself as Daniel Fortman, a young man she’d assumed was merely a business acquaintance of her grandfather’s.

  She’d known before they’d exchanged a single word that he would be dangerous to her. But even by then it had been too late. She’d handed herself over to him heart, body and soul. And he’d ripped her apart.

  Her thoughts coalesced into a hard knot in her belly, along with a sadness that made tears prickle in her eyes. Proper tears this time—not the pain-evoked, sweat-mingled tears she’d brazenly explained away moment ago.

  She was so focussed on not losing it in front of him that she hardly felt Damion lowering her legs on either side of him, or slowly levering himself over her until he filled her vision.

  ‘Tears this time. Don’t deny it,’ he rasped hoarsely, his breath washing over her face.

  She studiously avoided eye contact, preferring to focus instead on the steady pulse beating at his throat. ‘Fine. Yes, I’m crying. Deal with it.’

  Through the haze of tears, she watched him lower himself further over her, his forearms trapping her body on either side. Her misery receded, her every sense caught up in the altered purpose of Damion’s stance. His head lowered another fraction and her pulse raced faster.

  ‘Do you ever think about us?’

  His voice, low, intense, caught her on the raw.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she lied. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because of this.’

  His gaze dropped to linger on her mouth, setting off a deep tingling. She was vaguely aware of his fingers toying with strands of her hair, but was too focused on the promise of those lips to concentrate on anything else.

  And when that promise was fulfilled, the explosion of joy that stormed through her left her reeling. Hot, firm, his mouth teased hers, brushed against it, drawing out the pleasure in a series of touches that made her move restlessly beneath him.

  The tiny mole above her lip, which she considered a flaw but recalled he’d adored, became an erogenous zone as his tongue flitted against it. He teased, tugged at her lips for endless pleasure-stoking moments, before he finally deepened the kiss.

  A moan far different from the one she’d uttered minutes ago broke through the heated silence of the gym when his tongue boldly caressed hers. With her arms trapped, she couldn’t touch him the way she wanted to, but she was already drowning under the sensations coursing through her, and willingly surrendered that particular pleasure. Instead she stroked his tongue with hers, her teeth nipping the end of it as it plunged deeper into her mouth.

  His moan of pleasure fired her up. Molten heat coursed through her body to pool in her belly. Her nerves tingled with an electric spark only this man seemed able to ignite.

  She gave up completely when his fingers surged into her hair and scraped against her scalp in a frenzied need that threatened to carry her into sheer bliss.

  Almost as if he couldn’t help it, his hips sought the cradle of her thighs. The potent evidence of his erection burned through his trousers and her thin Lycra. He pushed against her, a forceful presence that promised unlimited pleasure and infinite possibilities.

  Possibilities …

  Impossible!

  With a hoarse cry she wrenched her lips from his.

  He frowned, a dazed look in his eyes. ‘Reiko?’

  ‘Get off me,’ she rasped, using every last ounce of her severely dwindled control to moderate her voice, to force back the panic as her senses reeled at what she’d almost let happen. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have let her guard down so completely?

  The dazed look cleared from Damion’s eyes. With lithe grace, he moved off her and sat with his back against the mirrored wall, one leg bent at the knee to hide the evidence of his arousal.

  Somewhere in the confused miasma where her mind should have been, Reiko was thankful she couldn’t see his erection. The thought of never again feeling him within her tore through her like a bullet.

  ‘That shouldn’t have happened. Although as pity kisses go, it wasn’t half bad,’ she said, once she was mid-way certain her voice wou
ld hold.

  His gaze shot to hers. ‘Is that what you think it was? A pity kiss?’

  She shrugged and slowly sat up, grateful when her body co-operated. ‘What else could it have been?’

  She turned away before she could see his reaction. Belatedly remembering, she hurriedly attempted to brush her fringe over her scar—only to gasp when his hand shot out and captured hers.

  ‘I’ve already seen your scar. Hiding it is pointless.’

  ‘Tactlessness is a twenty-four-hour malaise for you, I see.’

  She tried to free her arm. He easily restrained her, drew her closer and with his other hand brushed her hair away until the scar was completely exposed. Her breath caught as he slowly bent his head and touched his lips to her skin.

  The feelings roiling through her were so tumultuous, so frightening, Reiko wanted to run and hide. With the last of her strength, she pushed him away.

  ‘I’m certain I’ll know who currently owns your painting within a day or two.’ Any more time spent in Damion’s presence was unthinkable. She’d find his precious painting as soon as possible or die trying! ‘Once you’re reunited with your painting, do me a favour and stay the hell away from me.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GALLERIE FORTIER PARIS was also located in the third arrondissement. The large former warehouse had been converted into a space that blended wood, glass and light in a jaw-dropping, stunningly beautiful design.

  From the moment she entered, Reiko knew she’d stepped into a different world.

  The exhibition was being held on the second floor of the three-floored gallery. Mounting the glass-and-steel staircase, Reiko couldn’t help but feel envious that Damion got to come here to work every day. The display of spectacular art on each floor made the art-lover in her want to weep with joy.

  She’d arrived early, and with Damion occupied with last-minute details, she took the opportunity to sneak a peek at the exhibition. At the door she accepted a glass of vintage champagne from a waiter, took a step into the room—and immediately knew why Damion had been so intent on acquiring the Femme sur Plage.

  One entire wall had been dedicated to the works of Sylvain Fortier. Most of the paintings she’d never seen before, but a few stood out to her, her keen eye immediately recognising the subtle strokes and delicate colour combination that had made Damion’s grandfather a renowned painter of his time.