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‘I think that’s a great idea,’ Damion replied in perfect, exquisite Japanese.
Reiko gaped at him. Yoshi’s laughter and his ‘Well played, my friend’ barely registered because she was frantically replaying everything she’d said since they got here.
Oh, God!
When Damion caught hold of her wrist and pulled her up, she followed him onto the dance floor, still in a daze.
His amusement as he pulled her close finally loosened her tongue.
‘You. Speak. Japanese. It’s epically sneaky of you not to tell me.’
‘I told you I do a lot of business in Japan. And I think you know me well enough to know I don’t like to relinquish the upper hand.’
‘You still could’ve told me you understood everything I said back there.’
‘You told me to let you do the talking, remember?’
She had no answer for that. She was too busy kicking herself for making assumptions where Damion was concerned.
A particularly energetic couple danced close. Damion caught her around the waist and lifted her out of their way. ‘So … I’m not stuffy—I’m … French?’
Heat stung her cheeks. ‘I was trying to be polite. I shouldn’t have bothered.’
‘What would you have called me if you knew I could understand you?’
‘Arrogant, opinionated, pushy as all hell.’
Low, deep laughter rumbled through his chest. This close, she could feel the heat rising from his body. And the ease with which he moved.
Damion Fortier, the French aristocrat she’d assumed wouldn’t fit into this strange, alternative world, danced just as in her dream. The grace and precision of his feet as he moved to the beat, the supple abandon in his hips and the arrogant confidence with which he danced soon drew eyes to them. Remembering how heated their dance had become in her dreams, Reiko felt her insides clench with need.
She tried to look away from him but found she couldn’t. His sheer animal magnetism held her captive.
They danced for what seemed like hours but in reality was barely ten minutes.
‘You’re exceptional
ly good,’ he murmured against her ear-lobe. ‘I should’ve taken you dancing five years ago.’
The reminder had the effect of cold water thrown in her face. ‘You should’ve done a lot of things five years ago.’
She stepped away from him but Damion caught her back easily. He ignored her glare and nodded towards the VIP lounge.
‘I think your friend has the details for us.’
On the way back to their seats, his arm came around her and pulled her closer. The heat of him short-circuited her brain. She was still scrambling madly when Yoshi pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
Damion took it before she could, and thanked Yoshi in flawless Japanese. Struggling to focus, Reiko reached out with the intention of touching her friend—only to find her hand captured in Damion’s. This time Yoshi’s smile held heavy circumspection.
Without breaking off his conversation, Damion tucked her hand through his arm and pulled her to his side. The move felt so familiar and natural she was stunned by the temptation to ease into it.
The power of that emotion frightened her into pulling away. A small frown creased his eyebrows, but aside from that small betrayal of emotion, Damion didn’t react. He carried on talking, but she could tell he was attuned to her every move.
Forcing in a deep breath, she smiled at Yoshi. ‘Thanks for your help, Yosh.’
He waved her away. ‘I owed you for giving me the heads-up about the Qianlong vase two months ago. Consider this a freebie.’
Damion handed him his card. ‘I’m always interested in new pieces. If that German art is all above board, contact my gallery.’
