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Reiko held very still, acutely aware that if his left hand dropped one inch lower he’d feel the rough edge of the scar on her arm. ‘Wouldn’t murder taint your precious family history? Did you know there’s a blog dedicated to tracing and recording every good deed your family has performed in the last five hundred years? If it’s to be believed, no Fortier has so much as stolen a sip of water throughout your glorious generations. Now here you are, threatening murder. Aren’t you afraid your ancestors will return to haunt you if you break tradition?’
His grip tightened. ‘I’m prepared to make an exception this once.’
The rigidity in his body, the cold bite of anger in his voice made her think he probably would, too.
‘Ah, but with me dead you’d never see your precious paintings again.’
A frown gradually darkened his face as his eyes bored into hers. ‘I don’t remember you being this bitter or twisted five years ago. What the hell has happened to you?’
The observation, coming out of nowhere, sent a thunderbolt of panic coursing through her.
What the hell has happened to you?
Only Trevor and her mother knew what had happened. Trevor would never betray her trust, and her mother was too self-centred to dwell for too long on her daughter’s emotional state.
With a forceful wrench, she freed herself from Damion’s grasp and gathered every last ounce of willpower to cling to the outward composure she’d battled so damned hard for this past year. The demons she battled in private were another matter.
After taking a few control-installing breaths, she faced him.
‘I’m no longer the wide-eyed, gullible puppy you knew five years ago, Baron. So if you’ve come here hoping I’ll happily wag my tail and pant with yearning for you, you’re sorely mistaken.’
Damion stared into her perfectly made-up face. Two emotions—surprise and an unacceptable degree of surrealism—twisted through him. His gaze dropped to her lips, to the tiny dark mole above her upper lip. For a single uncontrolled moment he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her or to shake her—another alien concept that added to the absurdity of the situation.
The Reiko he’d known five years ago would have seen her effect on him. She’d have smiled the smile of a shameless temptress then proceeded to taunt him with her body, confident of the inevitable outcome.
This Reiko stared stonily back at him, her gaze dark and hostile, as if she were counting the minutes until he removed himself from her presence.
Damion wasn’t prepared for the hollow feeling the observation left inside him.
‘I never thought of you as a puppy. Feline and exceptionally cunning with it is a far more accurate description. Knowing what I do about your shady dealings, I suspect that trait has come in handy in your profession.’
‘There’s nothing underhand about what I do—’
‘What about your penchant for handling stolen goods? Goods that more often than not disappear before the authorities are notified of their whereabouts?’
Her pert nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in your fancy art journals.’
‘My sources are completely trustworthy.’
‘If they were, you wouldn’t have wasted your time coming here today. They’d have told you I’m no longer actively involved in the art-retrieval business. I haven’t been for the past eighteen months.’
Her brittle tone, the way she hugged her elbows and held herself rigidly, told him there was something more going on here. But wearine
ss dug behind his eyes, bit into his soul, dulled his senses.
For a single heartbeat Damion contemplated walking away, finding another way to appease his grandfather. The thought dissolved before it was fully formed.
Fortier curse or not, he would honour his grandfather’s wish—even if it meant dallying with the woman who stared at him with eyes that dared and detested him at the same time. A woman who’d proved herself as faithless as his mother and grandmother.
He gritted his teeth as a flash of guilt seared his mind.
He was here today because he’d walked away from his family, from his duty, for a whole year. In his attempt to escape the stark reality of the obsessive compulsion that dogged his family, he’d walked straight into the arms of the very chaos he’d been trying to escape—and destroyed lives in the process. Never again.
Resolve firmed. ‘You’ll find the paintings for me.’
Hazel eyes snapped fire at him. ‘You order me about as if you own me. You don’t, so drop the attitude.’
He allowed himself a whisper of a smile. He now understood why, for such a diminutive figure, her reputation seemed larger than life. She’d obviously developed a blatant disregard for sense or self-preservation.
