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‘I won’t beat about the bush, Monsieur Duvall. Six months ago you were in Kyoto and came into possession of a jade figurine.’
The startled Frenchman started to release her hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw Damion heading towards her.
She held onto Duvall’s hand and kept her gaze on his. ‘The artefact belongs to my client. I want it back.’
‘I paid a fair price for it—’
‘No, you did not. It’s a twelfth-century family heirloom worth at least twenty times what you paid for it. It was supposed to have been held until my client paid off her debt to a loan shark. He sold it to you at a fraction of the price for a quick profit.’
‘That’s not my problem.’
She tightened her grip. ‘It should be. There was another buyer interested in the piece. He thinks you stole it from under his nose.’ Reiko dropped the name of a well-known unscrupulous black-market dealer—one known to take very extreme measures in acquiring his art.
Pascale Duvall paled, his eyes growing wide.
She pressed home her advantage. ‘You have two choices: sell the figurine back to me for what you bought it for, or I release your name to my circle of friends and you can deal with them. Either way, the piece won’t be in your possession for very long.’
Damion drew level with her as she pressed her card into a shaken Duvall’s hand. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ she murmured sweetly and released him.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ Damion demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he watched Duvall’s hasty retreat.
She widened her eyes and let her smile broaden. ‘Just doing my job while getting to know some of your friends.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘If I find out that you’re up to no good—’
She placed a finger on his lips, enjoying the sensation far more than she knew was safe for her. ‘You’re too suspicious for your own good. Relax or you’ll develop ulcers.’
Damion’s lips moved against her finger. If the thought wasn’t absurd, she’d have believed he was caressing her finger with his lips. Fired up by the sensation as much as by the thought, she withdrew her finger and folded her hand into a fist.
‘You spoke to my grandfather?’
She glanced warily over at Sylvain. ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip.
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He expressed his views on men and women—’
Recalling his exact words, she felt a blush climbing her face. And of course Damion saw it.
‘How, exactly?’ he asked in a lower, deeper voice.
‘He said men were stupid—you won’t get an argument from me there, by the way—and women rule the world. Then he said you and I were pretending we weren’t attracted to each other—that given the chance we’d be tearing each other’s clothes off and dance the Argentine tango naked.’
At his stunned look, she snorted. ‘Relax, that last part was complete exaggeration on my part. By the way, I assured him there was no pretence, no attraction and definitely no tangoing.’
His eyes bored into hers. ‘Did he believe you?’
‘It doesn’t matter what he believes. What you and I know is the truth is what matters, isn’t it?’
Before he could answer, her phone trilled in her handbag. Pouncing on it with extreme relief, she answered it. A dart of surprise went through her when Pascale Duvall spoke. Her indication that she needed to take the call brought a dark frown to Damion’s face. With a curt nod, he moved away.
Within minutes she’d arranged to take delivery of the figurine. Duvall’s obvious reluctance to attract the attention of the Eastern European mobster was plain in his voice.
Once she’d concluded the call, she saw Damion had returned to his grandfather’s side. Her pelvis throbbed with the dark promise of another painful night ahead if she didn’t take off her shoes. Reiko made a quick decision.
The doorman was more than happy to pass her note to Damion and hail a taxi for her. Fabrice let her into the apartment. Within half an hour she was asleep on the sofa.
‘Reiko, wake up.’
