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‘Whatever you do, don’t attempt to whisk away the Mona Lisa.’
Her eyes rolled. ‘She’s not my type. If I had a choice, I’d go for Julien’s Gladiateur.’
Her answer hit him like a cold bucket of water in his face. ‘If that’s the type of man you prefer, why are you with Ashton?’
Her tension increased. ‘I see we’re back to personal territory. Are you willing to play quid pro quo again? Only you went all Arctic on me yesterday when swapping questions was your idea.’
‘Do you treat everything in life like a game? Does it make it easier for you to treat your body like a commodity if it’s all a game to you?’
Lushly glossed lips firmed. ‘Is that your unsubtle way of asking me if I sleep around?’
Damion’s chest tightened. ‘Do you?’
‘Why are you so hung up on my sex life?’ she fired back.
‘Why are you wasting your sex life on an old man?’
‘Is it the thought of me with any man that bothers you, or just the thought of Trevor and I?’
His jaw clenched. Hard. He refused to examine why the subject bothered him so much. After what he’d witnessed five years ago, it shouldn’t. And yet it did.
After several seconds, she sighed. ‘Would you believe me if I told you there was nothing sexual between us?’
The blast of relief surprised him before he dismissed it. ‘The way you touch him, the closeness between you two, extends beyond mere—’
Her fingers arrived on the back of his hand, the soft caress fleeting and yet so forceful it dried up his words. Damion stared at his tingling skin, unable to stop the arousal rising through him. He hadn’t been able to stop it rising since he’d seen her again two nights ago.
‘You’ve just proved my point.’ He heard his hardened tone and acknowledged that having his point proved this time was far less palatable than he wished. ‘This is all a game to you. But it’s a very dangerous game you’re playing, Reiko.’
Fabrice approached with a fresh platter of croissants. Reiko greeted him with a wide smile. Before Damion’s eyes, his normally staid manservant melted. When her hand shot out and touched Fabrice’s elbow in thanks, Damion’s insides clenched hard.
‘I touch everyone, in case you haven’t noticed,’ she said once Fabrice left.
‘Yes, I’ve noticed. Obviously Ashton isn’t territorial.’
Her eyes connected with his. ‘Unlike you?’
‘I’m extremely possessive. I don’t react kindly when something of mine is poached.’
‘Save the caveman stuff for your future wife, Damion.’ She busied herself with buttering a croissant—one she seemed to have no interest in eating. ‘Didn’t I read somewhere you were scouring Europe for the perfect baroness?’
Ice clamped the back of his neck and slithered down his spine. ‘I intend to marry sooner rather than later, yes.’
Her hands stilled for a moment, then she continued buttering.
‘Then shouldn’t you be concentrating on that and staying out of my private life?’
Damion felt a stab of disquiet as the weight of responsibility pressed down harder on his shoulders. Once his grandfather was gone, he would become the sole remaining Fortier. He’d known for a while that he needed to marry and advance his family line. But the thought of marriage and the mind games that inevitably came with it left a coating of distaste in his mouth.
One obsessive relationship was enough for any child to endure growing up. The two Damion had endured had scarred him in a way that had made him wonder at an early age if he was appropriately wired to sustain another relationship. That theory had been tested and found severely lacking with his misjudgement of Reiko and his abject failure with Isadora.
The thought of making the wrong choice again left a knot of anxiety in his chest. One that only blackened his mood.
Tossing back the last of his espresso, he set the cup down. Below him, Parisians went about their morning business. He had back-to-back meetings extending well into the day. Yet he lingered.
‘I have more pressing things to attend to now. But when the time comes, there will be no hasty decisions. My mate will be chosen very carefully, and she’ll be grateful for the care I took to select her.’
He watched her mouth drop open, a look of incredulity wash over her face.
