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
