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

Reiko was so focused on not losing it in front of him she hardly felt Damion lowering her legs on either side of him, or slowly levering himself over her until he was at eye-level.

‘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. Reiko was vaguely aware of his fingers toying with strands of her hair, but was too aware of the promise of those lips to concentrate on anything else.

About the Author

MAYA BLAKE fell in love with the world of the alpha male and the strong, aspirational heroine when she borrowed her sister’s Mills & Boon® at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon® is a dream come true. Maya lives in south-east England with her husband and two kids. Reading is an absolute passion, but when she isn’t lost in a book she likes to swim, cycle, travel and Tweet!

You can get in touch with her via e-mail

at mayablake@ymail.com, or on Twitter:

www.twitter.com/mayablake

Recent titles by the same author:

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Sinful Art of Revenge
Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

AFTER THREE HUNDRED YARDS, turn right.

Damion Fortier ignored the sultry voice of his satellite navigator and accelerated his Bugatti Veyron past the floodlit tree-lined lane that led to Ashton Manor. The aging Duke he’d liberally plied with Krug and caviar all evening at his exclusive London private gentlemen’s club had supplied Damion with directions to a less well-known entrance to Sir Trevor Ashton’s Surrey country residence—one Damion fully intended to use.

Turn around when possible.

The veiled reproach barely registered. A quarter of a mile up the road he slowed down and turned into a narrower lane. Ahead of him he could see the rear of the aging Manor. The gardens on this side of the estate were remarkably less manicured than the showcased frontage cultivated to fool the less discerning. With an impatient hand he shut off the navigator’s repeated entreaty to turn around. He had reached his destination.

Satisfaction oozed through him even as confusion threaded doubt through his mind. Considering the money he’d spent to achieve what he wanted, this whole situation should have gone much more smoothly. He’d learnt very early on in life that some people responded only to cold, hard cash, and he’d expected it this time, too.

But his investigators had already been to Ashton Manor once before and been stonewalled. Which was unacceptable.

He stopped the car at the bottom of the back garden and stepped out.

Annoyance made his movements jerky as he climbed the stone steps and approached the ivy-trellised Manor. Despite being cloaked by the inky-black night, its dilapidated status couldn’t be hidden.

As he drew nearer he heard female laughter, interlaced with several deeper tones. He skirted a bramble-choked rosebush and felt it snag on his trouser leg. Jaw tightening, he stared down at his ruined trousers.

He reached down to free himself and hissed with anger when a thorn bit into his thumb.

Pressing his tongue to the torn flesh to stem the blood flow, Damion stepped up to the tall double windows of the Georgian mansion. Several couples stood outside the drawing room, preparing to take their leave. It was obvious they’d been partying a while; one or two of them weren’t quite steady on their feet.

Damion scanned the crowd but didn’t immediately spot her.

He stepped back onto the overgrown path, abandoning his previous intention of stealth. About to stalk round to the front of the Manor, Damion paused as a figure nudged into his peripheral vision.

Her presence was unobtrusive, her movements graceful, unhurried, intended not to draw attention to herself. And yet as if drawn by her magnetism, the group turned at her approach.

The light from the room spilled over her. The air snagged mid-breath in Damion’s chest and his whole body clenched in remembrance.

On any other woman the white kimono-style gown that lightly hugged her body would have looked simple and elegant—sexy but not sexual.

But on her the body-skimming design immediately drew the eye to her plump breasts, the tiny indentation of her cinched-in waist and the voluptuous curve of her hips. Damion followed the flow of the silk dress. If his memory served him right, she would either be wearing a very tiny thong or nothing at all underneath that silk.

Recalling her proclivity for designer thongs—and how he’d been obsessed with taking them off—he felt a pulse of heat shoot through him, surprising him with it intensity.

His frowning gaze rose to her face. She wore her hair differently now. A heavy fringe slanted over one temple, covering most of the right side of her face, while the rest of her long, dark hair hung thick and luxurious down her back. Her make-up was a little more on the heavy, dramatic side than he remembered her favouring, but even without those camouflaging accessories Damion recognised her immediately.

Reiko Kagawa.

The woman he’d been hunting for weeks. The woman who’d become so skilled in camouflage and subterfuge she’d eluded his security experts. And almost eluded him, too, save for a chance conversation with a drunken duke …

Damion’s gaze travelled over her as she moved through the small gathering. She was still a strikingly beautiful woman … if you preferred your women pocket-Venus-size and duplicitous to the core.

People changed. He knew that. Hell, the five years since he’d last seen Reiko had taught him fresh life lessons he would willingly unlearn. But he’d never thought she would end up this way …

The epitome of all he despised.

Tightening his fist, he reminded himself of why he was here—because of his grandfather, the last of his blood relatives. The only one he cared enough about to put himself through this …

Damion refused to let heartache linger at the thought of what lay ahead. He would do what needed to be done for his grandfather, regardless of the personal cost to himself. Five years had passed since he’d set eyes on Reiko—five years since he’d learned that the woman he’d thought he knew was just an aberration.

This time he had his eyes wide open. And once he had what he wanted, she could go back to being a minor blip in his past.

Rounding the old Manor, he marched up the front steps.

A shiver raced down Reiko’s spine a split second before the knock came. She tore her gaze from the window, where it had swung as if compelled by an unknown force.

For several moments her mind remained blank, a whisper of premonition shivering over her skin as she glanced back at the tall windows. There was nothing out there except overgrown bushes and the odd fox or two.

Yet …

The knock sounded again, followed almost immediately by the pull of the ancient doorbell no one used much any more.

Recalling that she’d sent Simpson, the day butler, home, Reiko put down the loaded tray she’d been carrying and headed towards the door. The party had been a bad idea. The financial strain alone didn’t bear thinking about. But Trevor had insisted.

To keep up appearances.

Her lips twisted. She knew all about keeping up appearances; she had a master’s degree in it, in fact. When she needed to, like tonight, she could smile, laugh, negotiate her way through tricky conversation, while desperately keeping a lid on the demons that strained at the leash just below the surface.

The façade was cracking. Nowadays even the little effort it took to smile drained her. And it had all started since she’d heard he was looking for her …

Her thoughts skated to a halt as the door flew open. The hundred-year-old oak, worn from lack of proper care, stood little chance of avoiding a collision with the stone wall.

Reiko gasped at the huge figure filling the doorway.

‘There you are.’ The deep, velvety voice oozed satisfaction and barely suppressed anger.

‘Do you always crash your way into people’s homes like some wannabe action hero?’ she fired back, despite her thundering heart.

She’d feared this moment would come ever since she’d heard on the grapevine he was looking for her. That was why she never stayed in the same place for more than a few days.

A thick wave of panic rolled over her as she stared at him.

The unmistakable French accent and the air of brutal self-assuredness hadn’t lessened since she’d last clapped eyes on Damion Fortier. If anything, time had added a maturity and depth to the sexy, charismatic man recently polled by French Vogue as the most eligible bachelor in the western hemisphere—possibly the whole frickin’ world.

The Sixth Baron of St Valoire, descended from a pure line of French aristocracy, was six-foot-four-inches of swoon-worthy masculine beauty—even when in the grip of bristling fury.

Wavy hair the colour of dark chocolate grew long enough to touch the collar of his bespoke grey suit without looking unkempt or unfashionable. Broad shoulders, honed to perfection during his rugby-playing late teens and early twenties, moved restlessly, drawing attention to their sheer width and power. But, as arresting as his body was, it was his face that captured her attention.

Reiko’s art-steeped heritage, cultivated since birth and sharpened by years of apprenticeship under her late grandfather’s keen tutelage, meant she could spot a true masterpiece from twenty feet—it was, after all, the reason she’d chosen her specialised profession.

Damion Fortier was the epitome of Michelangelo’s David, his face hauntingly beautiful and yet so uniquely mysterious it drew attention and held it, commanding eyes to worship it.

As for his eyes …

They always reminded her of furious storm clouds right before thunder boomed and lightning struck. Or right before—

‘Aren’t you going to say hello, Reiko?’

Reiko sucked in a long breath to calm her galloping heartbeat. And another in order to find the Zen she needed to deal with the situation.

Despite the colossal trepidation accelerating through her body, she forced herself to move towards him, hand outstretched. ‘Hello … Wait—shall I call you Monsieur Fortier, or do you prefer Baron?’

Without waiting, she took his hand in hers.

Face your demons—wasn’t that what her therapist had told her? If she hadn’t been so desperate to stay hidden, Reiko would have called her to demand her money back because so far her advice hadn’t worked. If anything, the demons had grown larger.

An explosion of heat shattered her thoughts as Damion’s firm fingers curled around hers. Stormy sensation fired up deeply suppressed memories, unnerving her much more than she’d expected. Desperately ignoring it, she covered their entwined hands with her other hand.

Surprise flared in his eyes at her action, as she’d known it would. Her recently learned trick always surprised when she made the bold move. Normally it disarmed long enough for her to read her opponent, to see behind the façade to the real person beneath the civilised gloss. Because, inevitably, there was always something else underneath.

‘I’d like to be sure of the correct way to address you, since Daniel Fortman is clearly no longer an option.’

Reiko was unprepared for the stab of pain that lanced through her. She’d thought she was over this—had thought five years was enough to get over Daniel … Damion’s betrayal.

But then how could she forget? She’d watched her grandfather wither away before her eyes, his devastation complete after Damion Fortier had been done with him.

She tried to free her fingers but he’d recovered quickly. ‘What the hell do you want?’ she said.

His eyes gave nothing away as he used his controlling grasp to push her back one step and nudge the door shut behind him.

‘You never gave me a chance to explain—’

‘When should I have let you explain? After your bodyguards nearly flattened my grandfather’s cabin because they thought you’d been kidnapped? Or after your head of security inadvertently revealed that far from the casual business acquaintance I believed you to be you were in fact Damion Fortier—French royalty, and the man who was ruthlessly ruining the grandfather while sleeping with the granddaughter?’ Pain stabbed deeper, reminding her just how blind and trusting she’d been.

‘Sleeping is a very loose term, since we hardly did any in those six weeks.’ His smile held a hint of flint. ‘And what happened with your grandfather was just business—’

‘Don’t you dare try to justify it as just business! You took away everything he’d ever worked for, everything that mattered to him. Just so you could fatten your already bloated bank balance.’

Damion shrugged. ‘He made a deal, Reiko. Then proceeded to make very bad decisions, which he tried to cover up. Because of his friendship with my grandfather, he was given more than enough time to fix the problem. He didn’t. I kept my identity a secret because I didn’t want things to get sentimental and messy.’

‘Of course. Sentiment is so inconvenient when it comes to making money, isn’t it? Do you know my grandfather died barely a month after you bankrupted him?’ To this day, she couldn’t get over the guilt of not seeing what was going on under her nose until it was too late. She’d been too besotted, too trusting. And she’d paid dearly.

Damion’s eyes darkened and his grip tightened around hers. ‘Reiko—’

‘Can you cut to the chase, please, Baron? I’m sure you didn’t pursue me for weeks just to reminisce about the past.’ A past she never thought of during her wakeful hours but which had recently blended itself into her nightmares.

His eyes narrowed. ‘You knew I was looking for you?’

Reiko forced a smile despite the fresh wave of anxiety that coursed through her. ‘Of course. It’s been fun watching your security experts’ antics. They even came close a few times—Honduras especially.’

‘You think this is a game?’

Her heart clenched. ‘I have no idea what this is. The sooner you enlighten me, the sooner you can get out of my life.’

He seemed lost for several seconds, his gaze lightening then darkening as it scoured her face. Finally his lips firmed, as if he wanted to stem what he was about to say.

‘I need you.’

Reiko stared blankly, tried very hard not to swallow, sure he’d see her unease in that simple act. But it was hard not to. ‘You … need … me?’

In all the feverish scenarios she’d enacted, this hadn’t even occurred to her. After all, what could Damion Fortier possibly want with her, after using and discarding her like a piece of garbage?

His grip altered, and the slide of his palm against hers sent another pulse of heat up her arm. Reiko glanced down at their entwined hands and felt a knot tighten in her belly. This hadn’t been such a bright idea after all. Rather than throwing him off guard, she felt at a disadvantage.

‘Let me rephrase that. I need your expertise.’

That was more like it. ‘Careful, Baron, your sneer isn’t exactly endearing. It’s taken you weeks to find me. The least you can do is be civil. Otherwise next time I may not be so easy to find.’

‘For that to happen I’d have to let you out of my sight. And I have no intention of doing so. As for being civil—I must admit that’s a little lower on my list right at this moment.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, you can leave, or I can call the police and have you arrested for trespass.’

Intense eyes narrowed. ‘That would be a mistake.’

Her smile widened. ‘I’m quite happy to let them decide.’

Without releasing her, he extracted his BlackBerry from his pocket and held it out to her. ‘Bien sûr—make the call.’

Despite her smile staying put, she shuddered. The police were the last people she wanted to be dealing with. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I’m prepared to accept a charge for trespass. Are you prepared for me to hand over the interesting facts I’ve gathered on you to them?’

Her fingers jerked within his grasp. To cover the telling reaction, she pressed her palm closer to his. His eyes widened, the grey darkening a touch as his gaze dropped to their entwined fingers.

Despite everything screaming at her to run in the opposite direction, Reiko went one better. Reaching out, she clasped his elbow. His head jerked up, his gaze snagging and holding hers prisoner, his brow furrowing in an attempt to read her.

Sensory overload warred with anxiety. This close to his overwhelming masculinity, she could smell the crisp tones of his aftershave, along with the heat coming off his toned skin. Frantically she tried to stem the memory of how his skin had felt against hers, how she’d loved to wear his shirt, roll around in his scent like some loved-up puppy.

But all she could compute was how perfectly sculpted his cheekbones were, how lush and damned sexy his spiky lashes looked, sweeping down to rake over her.

Beneath her dress, her body reacted. A slow burn started in her stomach, and grew, spreading fiery sensation … taunting her—

The sound of breaking glass made her jump.

Damion raised an eyebrow.

‘The caterers are still here. Give me a few minutes to dismiss them, then you can resume threatening me.’

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, he released her.

Reiko headed for the kitchen, not at all surprised when he fell into step beside her. She forced herself not to rub her hands against her thighs to alleviate their intense tingling.

After making sure they hadn’t broken a priceless heirloom, she signed the cheque, thanked and dismissed the catering crew.

Slowly retracing her steps, she carefully altered her walk to adjust to the pain shooting through her hips and pelvis. She’d been on her feet for too long in heels far too uncomfortable for her injuries. But, as much as she wanted to trudge her weary body upstairs, stretch through her painful exercises before showering for bed, she couldn’t give in.

She had to deal with the ex-lover who prowled like a dangerous jungle animal beside her. Straightening her spine, she led him to the living room.

‘Right, are you going to resume your ogre impression?’ She glanced over at him and caught the edge of bleakness that shot across his face.

He gave a grim smile. ‘I’d like to return to London tonight, so I’ll get to the point. My grandfather disposed of a collection of three paintings four years ago, shortly after my grandmother died. I believe you know something about them?’

Her chest tightened. ‘Maybe.’

His jaw tightened so hard and for so long she feared it would crack. Then he sighed, and she caught the edge of weariness in the sound. ‘Don’t play games with me, Reiko. I know you were the broker.’

‘But games are what we do best—aren’t they, Daniel? Pretending to be one thing when we’re something else?’

He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I was surprised when your grandfather didn’t recognise me—’

‘He had other things on his mind, like trying to stop you from taking everything away from him.’

Damion nodded. ‘Once I realised that, I thought it would be better if he didn’t know.’

‘And what about me? We were together for six weeks. You could’ve come clean at any time. You chose not to.’ Because she hadn’t been important enough—hadn’t been worthy of his honesty even after he’d taken her to his bed.

He inhaled sharply. ‘Don’t over-dramatise what happened between us, Reiko. If I recall, you were surprisingly easy to get rid of. But then you had incentive, didn’t you?’

‘If you’re talking about the money—’

‘The money and the lover who replaced me before the bed was cold!’

His teeth visibly clenched over the words and a flash of ice washed over her.

Amid the dark panic and unwanted feelings flooding her, shame threaded its way through. It was no use telling herself she had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d let herself down, and it was yet another thing the demons never let her forget.

As she watched, Damion reined his emotions in. But even from across the room she could feel the pulse of his anger and contempt.

‘Now that we’ve relived fond memories, let’s move on, shall we?’ he said. ‘I’ve retrieved the Femme de la Voile. I haven’t been able to trace the Femme en Mer or the Femme sur Plage. It’s imperative that I find them both, but Sur Plage is the one I want found soonest.’

She forced herself back to the present. ‘You want the Femme en Mer, too?’ she murmured. ‘I thought—’

‘You thought what?’

Somehow she’d expected Damion Fortier would want to reclaim the largest, most spectacular of the three paintings, not the smallest, the one only a handful of people had been allowed to see in its fifty years in existence.

‘Never mind. Why do you want them back?’

He shoved a hand deep into one trouser pocket, a look passing through his eyes that intrigued her.

‘That is not your concern.’

He didn’t know how wrong he was. ‘But it is. You want it for your VIP-only exhibition at Gallerie Fortier in Paris next week. That’s why you’ve been hunting the paintings these past months, isn’t it?’

He stilled. ‘Only six people are aware of my exhibition. The invitations haven’t even gone out yet. How did you come by this information?’

Reiko shrugged. ‘I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you. And all that blood would ruin my dress. Pointless, really.’

He sucked in an inflamed breath, then moved so quickly and silently she barely had time to register his intention before he’d caught her shoulders in a firm grip. ‘Who told you about the exhibition?’ he demanded.

She held her ground, despite the fire burning through her veins. ‘You don’t have to worry that I’ll leak the information. I never reveal my sources. In my line of business it’s suicide.’

‘It’ll be first degree murder if you don’t tell me.’

Reiko held very still, acutely aware that if his left hand dropped one inch lower he’d feel the rough edge of the scar on her arm. ‘Wouldn’t murder taint your precious family history? Did you know there’s a blog dedicated to tracing and recording every good deed your family has performed in the last five hundred years? If it’s to be believed, no Fortier has so much as stolen a sip of water throughout your glorious generations. Now here you are, threatening murder. Aren’t you afraid your ancestors will return to haunt you if you break tradition?’

His grip tightened. ‘I’m prepared to make an exception this once.’

The rigidity in his body, the cold bite of anger in his voice made her think he probably would, too.

‘Ah, but with me dead you’d never see your precious paintings again.’

A frown gradually darkened his face as his eyes bored into hers. ‘I don’t remember you being this bitter or twisted five years ago. What the hell has happened to you?’

The observation, coming out of nowhere, sent a thunderbolt of panic coursing through her.

What the hell has happened to you?

Only Trevor and her mother knew what had happened. Trevor would never betray her trust, and her mother was too self-centred to dwell for too long on her daughter’s emotional state.

With a forceful wrench, she freed herself from Damion’s grasp and gathered every last ounce of willpower to cling to the outward composure she’d battled so damned hard for this past year. The demons she battled in private were another matter.

After taking a few control-installing breaths, she faced him.

‘I’m no longer the wide-eyed, gullible puppy you knew five years ago, Baron. So if you’ve come here hoping I’ll happily wag my tail and pant with yearning for you, you’re sorely mistaken.’

Damion stared into her perfectly made-up face. Two emotions—surprise and an unacceptable degree of surrealism—twisted through him. His gaze dropped to her lips, to the tiny dark mole above her upper lip. For a single uncontrolled moment he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her or to shake her—another alien concept that added to the absurdity of the situation.

The Reiko he’d known five years ago would have seen her effect on him. She’d have smiled the smile of a shameless temptress then proceeded to taunt him with her body, confident of the inevitable outcome.

This Reiko stared stonily back at him, her gaze dark and hostile, as if she were counting the minutes until he removed himself from her presence.

Damion wasn’t prepared for the hollow feeling the observation left inside him.

‘I never thought of you as a puppy. Feline and exceptionally cunning with it is a far more accurate description. Knowing what I do about your shady dealings, I suspect that trait has come in handy in your profession.’

‘There’s nothing underhand about what I do—’

‘What about your penchant for handling stolen goods? Goods that more often than not disappear before the authorities are notified of their whereabouts?’

Her pert nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in your fancy art journals.’

‘My sources are completely trustworthy.’

‘If they were, you wouldn’t have wasted your time coming here today. They’d have told you I’m no longer actively involved in the art-retrieval business. I haven’t been for the past eighteen months.’

Her brittle tone, the way she hugged her elbows and held herself rigidly, told him there was something more going on here. But weariness dug behind his eyes, bit into his soul, dulled his senses.

For a single heartbeat Damion contemplated walking away, finding another way to appease his grandfather. The thought dissolved before it was fully formed.

Fortier curse or not, he would honour his grandfather’s wish—even if it meant dallying with the woman who stared at him with eyes that dared and detested him at the same time. A woman who’d proved herself as faithless as his mother and grandmother.

He gritted his teeth as a flash of guilt seared his mind.

He was here today because he’d walked away from his family, from his duty, for a whole year. In his attempt to escape the stark reality of the obsessive compulsion that dogged his family, he’d walked straight into the arms of the very chaos he’d been trying to escape—and destroyed lives in the process. Never again.

Resolve firmed. ‘You’ll find the paintings for me.’

Hazel eyes snapped fire at him. ‘You order me about as if you own me. You don’t, so drop the attitude.’

He allowed himself a whisper of a smile. He now understood why, for such a diminutive figure, her reputation seemed larger than life. She’d obviously developed a blatant disregard for sense or self-preservation.

‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding, ma belle,’ he said in a softer, more conversational tone. ‘You seem to be labouring under the impression that you can bargain with me. But understand this—you’ll use all your resources to find the paintings for me or I will hand my dossier over to Interpol. Let them decide what to do with you. As for your connection with the man who owns this house …’

A trace of colour left her smooth features. ‘What about Trevor?’

‘He knew your whereabouts when I contacted him last week and he lied to me. I’m prepared to let that affront slide if you help me.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘I can easily make life difficult for him if you don’t co-operate. Given the state of his finances …’ He let his shrug finish his sentence.

What little colour there was left her face. ‘He’ll fight you. We both will.’

‘With what? He’s nearly bankrupt. And you recently liquidated ninety percent of your assets. The reason behind that isn’t yet known to me, but it’s only a matter of time.’

‘How—?’

Reiko stopped and sucked in a desperate breath. It wasn’t worth asking how he knew all this about her. The man she’d known five years ago had possessed the same single-minded intensity in his pursuits.

Only then that pursuit had been his unrelenting desire. For her. Not her talent.

Looking into his eyes, she knew he meant every word. And if Damion succeeded in finding out why she’d liquidated her assets …

Renewed panic clawed at her insides. The feeling of being cornered, of being exposed, threatened to fling her into the familiar dark void.

Fighting to keep her fraying emotions under control, she moved away from him, but Damion Fortier’s gaze tracked her, setting her on edge. ‘I never thought you’d resort to blackmail to achieve your goals, Damion,’ she bit out.

‘And I never thought you’d take a lover three weeks after leaving my bed. Let’s agree to be deeply disappointed in each other, cherie, and move on.’

The ice in his tone froze her spine.

‘To sweeten the deal, I’ll even pay you handsomely. Two million dollars for locating both paintings.’

Her mouth dropped open at the astounding figure.

A mocking smile touched his lips. ‘I thought that might get your attention. Listen to your instinct. Take the deal.’

A sense of inevitability settled on her shoulders. Damion was going nowhere. She could fight, or she could take the money. That sort of money could make a huge difference—change the lives of so many. ‘I’ll do it. For the two million. But I want something else.’

Grey eyes darkened with thinly veiled contempt. ‘Of course you do. What?’

‘Invite me to your exhibition.’

‘Non,’ he negated immediately.

Her lips tightened. ‘My talents are good enough for tracking paintings but not good enough for your crowd?’

‘Precisely,’ he parried without blinking.

His insult bounced off her. He wasn’t the first to call her character into question and he wouldn’t be the last. Reiko liked it that way. With people busy examining the glossy, showy shell of her carefully honed character, they weren’t looking underneath to the scars, the pain of loss and the constant fear that lurked there; they couldn’t see the empty darkness in her soul that she battled every waking moment to hide.

She needed the camouflage just as she needed every wit to keep Damion Fortier from finding out just how damaged she’d become.

‘I’ve been out of circulation for a while. If you want me to find your paintings quickly, don’t deny me this lead.’

The lead would also give her the chance to find the final Japanese jade statue she’d been attempting to retrieve. Her client’s last desperate call rang in her ears—one she hadn’t been able to ignore. The digging Reiko had done this past week had pointed her in the direction of a prominent French politician who’d be attending Damion’s exclusive exhibition.

When Damion’s face remained impassive, she changed tactic. ‘Your guest list reads like something out of an art collector’s fantasy. I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance to mingle with people so influential in art or come within a whisper of the famous St Valoire Ingénue collection.’

‘Your presence anywhere near my exhibition is not something I’d term a fantasy. In fact I’d call it more of a nightmare.’

Despite knowing he wouldn’t believe her, she said, ‘I’m not a thief, Baron.’

‘All evidence points otherwise.’

‘I’m an art connoisseur, like you. Just because we took different paths in our pursuit of art doesn’t make us any different from each other.’

His haughty expression added insult to injury. ‘I highly doubt we’re anything alike. You deal underneath the black market—’

‘I retrieve art no one else can and return it to where it belongs. Isn’t that why you’re here?’

One silky eyebrow shot up. ‘So you’re the Robin Hood of the art world?’

She grimaced. ‘Green tights aren’t my style. Besides, I don’t really like labels. Invite me to your exhibition. Who knows? Your squeaky-clean patrons might rub off on me and I’ll transform into a model citizen and find your precious paintings.’

His eyes narrowed.

Reiko held her breath, fought the urge to speak. Sometimes silence was a better weapon.

‘You can work on your transformation in your own time. First you’ll agree to use your every resource to find the paintings.’

The gravity and raw need behind his words caught her attention. Glancing at him, she saw something in his face she couldn’t give a name to—although she felt his near-hypnotic eyes pin her to the spot. In that moment she was almost ready to forget everything she knew about this man and believe the paintings meant something significant to him.

Almost … if she didn’t know for a fact that Damion Fortier was a heartless bastard. He’d said it himself—anything that didn’t earn him cold hard cash was sentimental and messy.

His bloodline might be pure but the man was anything but. In the past five years, the broken hearts he’d left scattered around Europe alone—publicly denied in return for jaw-droppingly extravagant parting gifts but privately mourned—put his status as heartless in direct conflict with his family’s sanctimonious image.

As for his year-long affair with Isadora Baptiste …

‘Why do you want the paintings so badly?’ she asked.

For several minutes she thought he wouldn’t answer. A very real emotion that looked oddly like pain settled in his eyes. Her breath caught. Pain was a familiar emotion to her, along with guilt, and panic-inducing demons that haunted her nights. Suddenly the need to know clawed at her, and her heart was thundering wildly as she waited for his answer.

‘Why, Damion?’

‘I want … I need to have them back. My grandfather is dying. The doctors have given him less than two months to live. I have to find the paintings for him.’

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.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE DREAMS CAME AGAIN … She was laughing as she pulled her father’s resistant hand, telling him he had nothing to worry about, that there was space on the crowded train. No, she didn’t want to wait for the next train. His hastily concealed concern … his familiar embrace … his strong arms around her.

Then nothing … only the heavy weight of blackness.

And screams—horrible, heart-rending screams—as carnage reigned all round her. Her father’s warm hand was clutching hers, then gradually growing cold.

But this time her dreams were interspersed with other images.

Within the chaos Reiko dreamed of dancing with the Baron de St Valoire. And not just any dance. She dreamt of the Argentine frickin’ tango.

Reiko woke with her mind filled with vivid images of train wrecks, scarred bodies … and Damion’s long, muscular legs tangling with scissor-like precision and skill against her much shorter ones, his hands guiding her with exquisite mastery.

She dreamt of short, shockingly sexy dresses, stratospheric red-soled shoes.

In her dreams the disparity between their heights didn’t matter. They fitted perfectly. And when a particular move wasn’t possible, her dark-haired, stormy-eyed partner merely lifted her up against his strong, virile body and continued dancing, their heated breaths mingling, his movements getting increasingly faster, headier, sexier—

‘What the hell, Reiko?’

Shoving off the offending hot sheets, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She had just over an hour to get ready before Damion returned.

Recalling the incandescent rage that had filled his face after her revelation last night, she swallowed. Weirdly, he’d pulled himself under rigid control after that short display of emotion. He’d told her to concentrate her efforts on finding the Femme sur Plage, then he’d left.

After showering, she selected her best power suit. The severe cut of the black jacket and matching trousers coupled with a cream silk dress shirt gave off the no-nonsense vibe she wanted to project, while serving the very useful purpose of covering her up from neck to ankle.

More than anything, she wished she could catch her hair up into a tight bun to cement the outward image she craved, but the scars on her neck made that impossible, so she prayed the suit and make-up would be enough.

After brushing her fringe over the scar that slid down from her temple to her ear, she arranged her hair carefully over her shoulders and slipped her feet into black patent platforms. To complete the look, she secured small diamond studs to her ears.

The heels were a bad idea after the hours she’d spent in another pair yesterday, but there was no way she was putting herself at a disadvantage by wearing flats in Damion Fortier’s presence.

She’d pay the price later, with painful stretching techniques and long hours of hydrotherapy, but the idea of going toe to toe with the Baron made it worth it.

Half an hour later, Reiko brushed imaginary lint from her sleeve to avoid Trevor’s probing gaze.

‘Tell me again why you’re doing this, Reiko?’ he asked, concern etched into his face.

Reiko contemplated telling him about her bargain with Damion and immediately discarded it. ‘Because he’s paying me a shedload of money.’ She attempted a smile.

He frowned. ‘Money has never been your motivation.’

Her smile dimmed. ‘Sylvain Fortier is dying, and Damion’s asked me to help find his painting.’ The partial truth was better than nothing.

Trevor’s lips compressed. ‘That’s just it, Reiko. After what they did to your grandfather, and to you, they have no right!’

Reiko’s heart performed a painful flip but she kept the smile fixed in place. ‘That’s in the past. I’m over it. Besides, I wasn’t joking. He is paying me a shedload—some of which can help you—’

He shook his head firmly. ‘I can take care of my own financial mess.’

‘You took care of me when I needed you. Now it’s my turn.’

The lines of worry faded but didn’t disappear. ‘Did you sleep last night?’

She shrugged. ‘A little. Don’t worry about me, Trevor. That’s an order.’

He laughed, his worry abating to reveal the vibrant fifty-five-year-old man he was, despite his greying hair. Whatever answer he intended to give was curtailed by the sound of a throaty engine in the morning air.

Reiko’s heartbeat escalated as she watched the black sports car roar its way down the long lane.

Damion didn’t stop in the front drive like any other visitor. He kept coming, his ease behind the powerful car evident in the way his wrist rested on the steering wheel.

His gaze locked on hers, he drove forward until the hood of his car was directly in front of the conservatory. Even with a thick layer of glass between them, Reiko felt the force of his presence, the sheer magnetism of the man, like a crackle of electricity in the air.

Still trapping her with his gaze, he killed the engine and stepped from the car. He’d always had the ability to hold her captive like this, so her every sense was heightened, quaking with awareness.

This morning he’d discarded the designer suit in favour of designer casuals. Dark brown chinos encased his slim hips and ended precisely atop his high-gloss black boots. A slate-grey cashmere jumper worn over a sky-blue shirt did incredibly wonderful things to his eyes.

Watching him mount the shallow steps, she recalled with way too much clarity how his long legs had felt wrapped around her five years ago—and last night in her dreams.

Reeling herself in, she pulled on her cuffs. ‘Good morning. I trust today finds you in a less homicidal mood?’

‘To see you didn’t make a run for it in the middle of night is a good start, certainement.’

‘You need to have more faith, Baron.’

‘I prefer to rely on performance-backed talent.’

‘Then it’s a good thing I have that in abundance.’

His gaze flicked over her suit. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘We’re visiting a dusty vault, not attending a state funeral.’

Her belly tightened at his probing look and she forced a careless shrug. ‘This is England, Damion. The weather turns at the drop of a hat and I hate being cold.’

She turned with relief as Simpson walked in with her small suitcase. She went to take it but Damion beat her to it. His fingers brushed over hers, making her heightened senses shriek in hysterical warning. But he seemed totally oblivious as he thumbed the electronic key and stowed the case in the boot.

He glanced at the disappearing Simpson and frowned.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Is this all you’re taking with you?’

‘Yep, I have a PhD in travelling light.’

His upper lip curled ever so slightly, making Reiko’s hackles rise in response. ‘I suspect you’d need to, in your profession.’

She felt her smile slip and struggled to keep control. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer the insults to start after I’ve digested my breakfast. Now, can I have a minute to say goodbye?’

His eyes cooled as they flicked to Trevor. ‘Make it quick. I don’t have all day.’

She went to Trevor and brushed her lips over his bearded cheek. ‘I know you want to clobber him, but try and rise above it, okay?’

Trevor’s lips twisted. ‘I want to do more than clobber him. But I have to trust you know what you’re doing.’

She smiled, despite knowing Trevor would be no match for Damion. The whipcord strength in the Frenchman’s broad shoulders and that aura of power that radiated off him meant Damion Fortier need never lift a finger in a show of force.

Straightening, she stepped outside and encountered a stony-faced Damion. A dangerous edge of something she couldn’t quite name vibrated off him as he held the passenger door open. The hard slam of the car door rattled her teeth, but she kept the smile on her face for Trevor’s sake.

The moment Damion slid in beside her, Reiko found breathing difficult. The already cramped space diminished even further, the mixture of his scent and the smell of the soft black leather of the luxury car made the air intoxicating in the extreme.

Her trembling fingers had barely secured her seatbelt before he was accelerating down the lane.

‘You do realise you’re not coming back here until after I have my painting?’

She frowned. ‘Yes.’

His gaze left the road for a second. ‘The size of your case seems to indicate otherwise. If you have any thoughts of returning here any time soon, kill them now.’

‘Our agreement still stands. I packed a small case because I didn’t want Trevor to worry. Whatever else I need I can get later.’

His lips tightened. ‘Does he know of our past?’

‘What past?’ she taunted and watched his nostrils flare in irritation.

‘Is he your only lover or do you have one of those progressive relationships?’

‘Our relationship is based on truth and trust. More than I can say for whatever it was you and I had.’ She sucked in a sustaining breath and wished she hadn’t. Damion’s scent filled every pore of her being, invading her skin as he’d invaded her dreams last night. ‘And, for the record, my relationship with Trevor is none of your business.’

As for other relationships … the very thought made her snort bitterly.

Stormy grey eyes sliced into her. ‘You find me amusing?’ he rasped, his tone chilly.

‘Amusing? No. Inappropriate? Definitely. Who I sleep with has nothing to do with this commission. So, before one of us blows our top, I suggest we change the subject.’

His hands clenched over the wheel, his hooded gaze on a red light. As if he’d willed it, it turned green.

Damion’s foot slammed on the accelerator, sending the car surging forward.

‘I agree. This isn’t a subject I find palatable. Why did you buy the Femme en Mer?’

Reiko’s heart lurched. ‘Because it was a good investment and I had the resources to buy it at the time.’

Damion glanced at her before smoothly joining the motorway. ‘Was that the only reason?’

She licked her lips, nerves eating at her. ‘What other reason would there have been?

His eyes narrowed. ‘Foolish sentiment, perhaps?’

‘Sentimental? Over you?’ She tried to inject as much cynicism into her voice as possible.

‘I know our time together meant something to you. You wouldn’t have been so riled up last night if it hadn’t.’

‘Wow—conceited much?’ Reiko didn’t know why she was goading him. But then she’d never been one to leave well enough alone. ‘FYI, I got over you pretty quickly.’

His fingers gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles showed white. ‘Oui, I remember,’ he clipped out. Minutes ticked by. ‘So who was he?’

Reiko felt the familiar wash of shame and looked out of the window. She had no intention of revealing the truth of what had happened in the weeks after Damion had left. It wasn’t a time she was proud of, and she planned on keeping it buried along with all her other secrets.

‘No one you know. If you really want to know my reason for buying the painting, my grandfather once told me the story behind it. I was intrigued. But I’m willing to set my sentiment aside for a healthy return.’

Damion changed lanes again, swerving into the fast lane to pass a slower car. Beneath his trousers, his powerful thigh muscles bunched, the way they had in her dream. And just like in her dream, heat pooled in Reiko’s belly and started to rise. Staunchly, she pulled her eyes away and focused on the traffic.

‘What exactly do you know about the painting?’

There was nothing but curiosity in his tone, but apprehension raced over her skin nonetheless.

‘Our grandfathers met your grandmother at the same time. Sylvain Fortier got the girl and the chance to paint her. My grandfather lost out because yours had the most money and power in the love triangle. They remained long-distance friends and business partners until you Fortiers decided your mutual history wasn’t worth a damn in the face of your bottom line. Cute story, isn’t it? For goodness’ sake, slow down! I’d really appreciate arriving in one piece.’

Reiko breathed a sigh of relief as the powerful car eased its frightening pace. Beside her, Damion’s brows were clamped in a fierce frown.

Finally he drew to a stop at another set of traffic lights. Stabbing a hand through his hair, he exhaled. ‘Cute is the last term I’d use to describe the story behind the paintings.’

‘I was being facetious. Trust me, there’s nothing cute about watching someone you care about lose everything. And there’s certainly nothing cute about being made a fool of. So unless you want to talk about that, I suggest we drop the subject, shall we?’

Stony-faced, Damion shrugged. The rest of the journey was made in silence.

Their escort to the vault in Central London was conducted with reverent haste once the patrons recognised Damion. He stood close as the Femme en Mer was removed from the vault and its protective sheets unwrapped.

The painting was of a woman in a barely-there bikini, crashing through frothy waves. Her windswept hair gleamed dark and glossy, the chocolate tresses begging to be touched. Her laughing face, set in profile, was stunning, and drew the eye to her exquisitely detailed features. Around her neck was fastened a thin white scarf that billowed over one shoulder, lending a whisper of innocence to the painting.

But it was her mouth—a sensual mouth so like Damion’s that Reiko had to steel herself not to glance at it—that set the woman’s beauty apart from the ordinary. The painting was alive. The oils, even after over a half-century, were vibrant and passionate. It was a true masterpiece.

‘She was truly stunning, your grandmother,’ Reiko murmured, unable to take her eyes off Gabrielle Fortier’s image.

‘Oui, she was.’ His tone was firm, but where she’d expected fondness or a little warmth, she heard nothing.

A glance at his face showed the same stony demeanour he’d worn since they stepped out of the car into the quiet London side street.

Curiosity made her continue. ‘My grandfather told me she had the whole of the Sorbonne at her feet the two semesters she was there.’

His smile did nothing to alleviate his icy, harsh features. ‘I’ve no doubt that is what happened, because at her feet was exactly where Grandmère preferred her men.’

Her shocked gasp made him raise an eyebrow.

‘I’ve surprised you?’

‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I wasn’t expecting … Wow—just … wow.’

‘It’s the truth. You expect me to mouth platitudes where there are none?’

‘Platitudes? Probably not, seeing as you don’t do sentiment. But isn’t it a harsh thing to say about your own grandmother?’

‘You know nothing about my life.’

Pain struck sharp. ‘Of course I don’t. Damion Fortier is a stranger to me. I spent six weeks with a man I knew as Daniel Fortman. But I do know about social etiquette and the art of polite conversation. I wouldn’t denounce a member of my family the way you do without even blinking. Especially when your family goes to great lengths to project a pristine image.’

‘Even angels fall, mademoiselle. And I hid my identity simply to avoid this very situation.’

‘What situation?’ she demanded.

He waved his hand at her. ‘This false affront. This pretence that what I did caused any lasting damage. We both know you got over me very quickly, don’t we?’ he flamed at her.

Heat crept up her neck and engulfed her face. His condemning gaze raked her face but she refused to look away. ‘You have no right to look down your nose at me when you lied to me consistently for six weeks. And I don’t really care about your reasons for lying. I trusted you enough to give you my body. You didn’t return the favour; instead you sent a cheque for a million dollars to salve your conscience. And now you’re disappointed I took it? If the money was some sort of test I was expected to pass to be deemed worthy in your eyes, then screw you, Damion. I’m glad I failed—’ Reiko bit her lip to stem the flow of words.

The last thing she wanted him to know was how devastated she’d been when she’d received the money after her grandfather’s death in place of an explanation. Yes, she could have taken the high road and ripped the cheque to shreds. Instead she’d taken delight in giving away every last cent to her favourite charity.

‘… sorry.’

The low, deep word drifted over her, pulling her back from dark recollections. When she glanced at him, he looked slightly shaken—taken aback, even.

‘What did you say?’

His features remained taut. ‘Perhaps the situation could’ve been handled differently.’

‘No kidding, Sherlock.’

‘And for that I’m sorry.’

She heard the words but the condemnation in his eyes didn’t dissipate. Slowly it dawned on her what was really bothering Damion. ‘It’s not about the money, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Even though you’ve apologised, you’re still staring at me like I’m pond scum. But it’s got nothing to do with the money, has it? It’s because you think I sl—’

‘I prefer not have this conversation here, Reiko, or indeed at all.’ He nodded to the vault attendant who’d been listening raptly to their conversation. The young man hurried forward with the crate.

‘That’s fine by me.’ Reminiscing … sentiment … led to nothing but pain. She needed to be as clinical as Damion, see this job through, and make sure the next time she disappeared she stayed hidden for good.

Jaw set in concrete, Damion packed the Femme en Mer himself, his gentle but efficient handling of the painting a testament to his years of experience in art-dealing.

The St Valoire auction house dated back to the turn of the nineteenth century, when it had been opened by one of Damion’s illustrious forebears, but Damion himself had been the one to open the now world-famous Gallerie Fortier.

In its very short history it had grown to rival Sotheby’s and Christie’s, specialising in holding prestigious exhibitions exclusively for royalty and heads of state. Only two months ago the Paris headquarters of Gallerie Fortier had held the first ever exhibit of twelve stunning diamond-and-emerald-encrusted Matryoshka nesting dolls, rumoured to have belonged to the wife of a long-dead tsar. The art world had been abuzz with the news for weeks, especially as no one had claimed the bounty.

Wrestling to bring things back to neutral ground, she asked, ‘Did you ever find out who owned those Matryoshka nesting dolls?’

Cold eyes looked up from his wrapping of the painting. ‘The rightful owner was tracked down eventually, yes.’

She passed him tape to secure the thick paper around the painting. Again their fingers touched. Again the surge of heat made her insides clench. ‘Want to share with me who it is?’

‘No, I don’t. What’s your interest anyway? I thought you were retired?’

She shrugged. ‘Semi-retired from art retrieval. I broker from time to time, and I may have a buyer who’s interested in acquiring the whole collection.’

‘An anonymous one who prefers to hide in the shadows, no doubt?’

‘Naturally,’ she responded drolly.

‘Use the right channels, and my people will happily supply you with the owner’s details.’ He picked up the crate and headed towards the exit.

Reiko hurried to catch up. She reached the car just as Damion stowed the crate in the boot, next to her suitcase.

Slamming the boot, he turned to her. ‘Have you ever given any thought to going straight? Giving up the sordid underworld in favour of using your talents legitimately?’

‘Straight is boring. I like what I do.’

‘Serial killers like what they do, too, but they eventually get caught.’

Unexpected laughter bubbled up from her chest and spilled out into the mid-morning sunshine. ‘You did not just compare me to a serial killer! I thought you French were supposed to be charming?’

The barest hint of a mocking smile lightened his face and his gaze dropped to her feet. ‘If the Ferragamos fit …’

Confronted with the less haughty features she’d once been captivated by, Reiko stared. Just then a light wind whipped between them. She felt it tug her fringe away from her face, threatening to expose her scar. Hurriedly she smoothed her hair down and tucked it behind her ear.

But not before she caught Damion’s frown. A dart of anxiety stabbed her. What would he think if he saw her scars? Would he be disgusted and pitying? Or would he strive for false indifference as some did when she inadvertently exposed them, as she almost had last night?

The thought made a silent scream rip through her. His lips parted and she knew he was going to ask what she was hiding. The urge to curtail the question made her reach out. With her free hand she gripped his biceps. His gaze stayed on her hair for several seconds, then dropped to her hand on his arm.

Despite the sensation crawling over her skin, Reiko kept the smile on her face. ‘We have a plane to catch, I believe?’

Grey eyes snapped back to hers. Their gleam told her he knew what she was doing. Thankfully, he didn’t push.

The worst of the rush-hour traffic was clearing by the time they rejoined the motorway. Damion handled the sleek sports car with the ease and efficiency of an expert. Slowly Reiko became less tense as the miles flew by.

The signs for Biggin Hill’s private airport flashed past before she decided to break the silence.

‘So, is it true your exhibition is centred around the Ingénue collection?’

‘Yes. What else did you hear?’

She shrugged. ‘That you’re holding the exhibition on February fourteenth.’

‘Oui, c’est vrais.’

‘Is that like you flipping two fingers at St Valentine?’

He frowned. ‘Why would you think that?’

Her choked laughter scraped her throat. ‘What else could it be? Surely you don’t expect me to think the day holds special meaning for you?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re “about as loveable as an arsenic-coated spike”.’ When he shot her a furious look, she held up her hand. ‘Don’t glare at me. I’m just quoting one of your loved-up girlfriends. Or should I say loved-out? She wasn’t too happy with being an ex-girlfriend, if I recall the article correctly.’

‘Don’t believe everything you read in your gutter press.’

‘Touché. But seriously? Valentine’s Day?

His shrug drew her attention to his powerful physique. ‘It was the most convenient date and suited all parties. If it adds a little je ne sais quoi to the occasion, all the better.’

‘Ah … ever the ruthless entrepreneur.’ Deep bitterness spiked her heart.

He swung into a hangar marked ‘Private’ and brought the powerful sports car to a stop at the steps of a large white, gold-trimmed aircraft.

Two men approached, one going directly to unpack the boot. The pilot stood at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, ready to usher them in.

Damion swung his door open, but before he stepped out, he turned to her. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Reiko. I believe in everything February the fourteenth stands for. I just haven’t found a woman who shares the same belief with no strings attached.’ His gaze dropped to her lips briefly before rising to pin her. ‘If and when I do, I will pursue her with the same relentless determination I pursue every other pleasure in my life. And I will let nothing stand in my way until she’s mine.’

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