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‘Yes. Let me go!’
After a few tense moments, he set her free. ‘Watch out for the floors. They can be slippery.’
‘Noted. Would you mind showing me where my things are? I need my laptop.’
Gaze hooded, he nodded. After a quick tour of the apartment, he led her down a hallway decorated in the same tasteful manner as the rest of the apartment.
Her suite was immense, blending ancient—a solid antique divan that wouldn’t have been remiss in Madame de Pompadour’s bedchamber—with twenty-first-century modern comfort—an ergonomic chair and a desk that housed her laptop, with several outlets for her smartphone and electronic accessories.
In the en suite living room a curved sofa faced a large-screened TV and entertainment centre, as well as a miniature drinks cabinet. Beneath her feet, Aubusson rugs led to the bathroom, and on two sides of the room, the floor-to-ceiling windows were repeated, giving stunning views over the water. Again without a single privacy-shielding drape or shutter in sight.
She turned to find Damion once again close. Too close. She caught his scent and breathed it in before she could stop herself.
‘You have something against drapes?’
He indicated the remote. ‘These two buttons regulate the privacy settings on the windows.’
‘Oh, good. For a minute there I wondered whether you’d become a shameless exhibitionist.’
She took the control and aimed it at the window. The first button frosted the windows completely, turning them an opaque white that cut off the view. The second button shielded the window halfway, so only the skyline above the river was visible. She left it at that setting and
faced Damion, who stared back at her with a probing scrutiny that set her teeth on edge.
‘I need to get on with my work, so if you’ll excuse me …?’
He pointed to a high-tech console beside the desk. ‘If you need anything, press the first buzzer. Fabrice, my butler, will respond. I’m leaving for the gallery now. I don’t expect to be back until later this evening. Bonsoir, Reiko.’
He left with a soft click of the door. Reiko stood in the middle of the room, feeling deflated and unsure of herself.
She hated the feeling.
Clutching the remote, she gazed at the stunning beauty of her surroundings, at the pieces of art—each more exquisite and priceless than the last. But it was the bed that held her attention. Despite its jaw-dropping beauty, she knew it wouldn’t provide a reprieve from the nightmares that had haunted her since the crash. Really, she’d be better off sleeping on the couch, away from main door that led to the rest of the apartment, just in case …
Mind made up, she set to work.
When Fabrice knocked on the door several hours later, Reiko was on the phone to Japan. She listened patiently as the older woman, a member of the same support group Reiko belonged to, sobbed. Gently putting her on hold, she answered the door and said, yes, she’d have a tray brought to her room.
Reiko refused to acknowledge that the need to stay in her room had anything to do with hiding from Damion’s prying eyes.
She was here to work.
Turning from the door, she winced as pain shot through her abdomen.
Her fingers drifted to her stomach, where beneath her suit further evidence of her trauma marred her flesh in a permanent, vivid reminder of what she’d been through.
Suddenly her reassurances to the older woman sounded hollow. How could she offer someone else hope when she herself had lost everything—even the ability to be a real woman?
‘What are your plans for today?’ Damion asked, pulling back his cuff to glance at his watch.
Reiko’s eyes darted to him and looked away again. The sunlight caught the tip of her eyelash as it swept down to hide her eyes.
He stared, unsure what was different about her this morning.
Granted, her attire was different. She’d exchanged the power suit for a softer look—jeans, long-sleeved striped top teamed with a stylish jacket, and that signature flowing mane. The constant tension he sensed in her was still there but, looking closer, he saw her skin was flushed—the way he remembered it after she’d had a warm shower … or after making love.
He shifted, and frowned at the direction of his thoughts. He sipped his espresso, hoping the kick would obliterate the heat rising in his groin. She extended her slim hand to lift her cup, her brown-green eyes darting to him once again before flitting away to stare at the morning activity on the river.
‘I thought I’d go to the Louvre. I never pass up the chance when I’m in Paris.’
