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The tiny mole above her lip, which she considered a flaw but recalled he’d adored, became an erogenous zone as his tongue flitted against it. He teased, tugged at her lips for endless pleasure-stoking moments, before he finally deepened the kiss.
A moan far different from the one she’d uttered minutes ago broke through the heated silence of the gym when his tongue boldly caressed hers. With her arms trapped, she couldn’t touch him the way she wanted to, but she was already drowning under the sensations coursing through her, and willingly surrendered that particular pleasure. Instead she stroked his tongue with hers, her teeth nipping the end of it as it plunged deeper into her mouth.
His moan of pleasure fired her up. Molten heat coursed through her body to pool in her belly. Her nerves tingled with an electric spark only this man seemed able to ignite.
She gave up completely when his fingers surged into her hair and scraped against her scalp in a frenzied need that threatened to carry her into sheer bliss.
Almost as if he couldn’t help it, his hips sought the cradle of her thighs. The potent evidence of his erection burned through his trousers and her thin Lycra. He pushed against her, a forceful presence that promised unlimited pleasure and infinite possibilities.
Possibilities …
Impossible!
With a hoarse cry she wrenched her lips from his.
He frowned, a dazed look in his eyes. ‘Reiko?’
‘Get off me,’ she rasped, using every last ounce of her severely dwindled control to moderate her voice, to force back the panic as her senses reeled at what she’d almost let happen. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have let her guard down so completely?
The dazed look cleared from Damion’s eyes. With lithe grace, he moved off her and sat with his back against the mirrored wall, one leg bent at the knee to hide the evidence of his arousal.
Somewhere in the confused miasma where her mind should have been, Reiko was thankful she couldn’t see his erection. The thought of never again feeling him within her tore through her like a bullet.
‘That shouldn’t have happened. Although as pity kisses go, it wasn’t half bad,’ she said, once she was mid-way certain her voice wou
ld hold.
His gaze shot to hers. ‘Is that what you think it was? A pity kiss?’
She shrugged and slowly sat up, grateful when her body co-operated. ‘What else could it have been?’
She turned away before she could see his reaction. Belatedly remembering, she hurriedly attempted to brush her fringe over her scar—only to gasp when his hand shot out and captured hers.
‘I’ve already seen your scar. Hiding it is pointless.’
‘Tactlessness is a twenty-four-hour malaise for you, I see.’
She tried to free her arm. He easily restrained her, drew her closer and with his other hand brushed her hair away until the scar was completely exposed. Her breath caught as he slowly bent his head and touched his lips to her skin.
The feelings roiling through her were so tumultuous, so frightening, Reiko wanted to run and hide. With the last of her strength, she pushed him away.
‘I’m certain I’ll know who currently owns your painting within a day or two.’ Any more time spent in Damion’s presence was unthinkable. She’d find his precious painting as soon as possible or die trying! ‘Once you’re reunited with your painting, do me a favour and stay the hell away from me.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
GALLERIE FORTIER PARIS was also located in the third arrondissement. The large former warehouse had been converted into a space that blended wood, glass and light in a jaw-dropping, stunningly beautiful design.
From the moment she entered, Reiko knew she’d stepped into a different world.
The exhibition was being held on the second floor of the three-floored gallery. Mounting the glass-and-steel staircase, Reiko couldn’t help but feel envious that Damion got to come here to work every day. The display of spectacular art on each floor made the art-lover in her want to weep with joy.
She’d arrived early, and with Damion occupied with last-minute details, she took the opportunity to sneak a peek at the exhibition. At the door she accepted a glass of vintage champagne from a waiter, took a step into the room—and immediately knew why Damion had been so intent on acquiring the Femme sur Plage.
One entire wall had been dedicated to the works of Sylvain Fortier. Most of the paintings she’d never seen before, but a few stood out to her, her keen eye immediately recognising the subtle strokes and delicate colour combination that had made Damion’s grandfather a renowned painter of his time.
In the middle of the wall the Femme de la Voile, another painting depicting Gabrielle Fortier, held pride of place. Although a delicate muslin veil covered most of her face, her eyes stared boldly at the painter, the intensity in their depths speaking of her power over the artist.
Reiko heard movement and turned. Damion stood behind her, his gaze focused on her. Her breath strangled in her throat as the memory of their kiss slammed into her. Again.
