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More than anything, she w
ished 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?’
