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A small part of her wept at the thought that she’d never experience what it was like to make love with Damion again. The greedy part of her took what she could.
Her fingers sank into his hair and she revelled in his groan as his arms tightened around her. Heat pooled low in her belly, a demanding throb starting between her legs that made her clamp her thighs together.
Nothing could come of this. Nothing …
When Damion’s hand clamped over her bottom and squeezed, Reiko gasped, a shudder raking through her frame.
He paused and slowly raised his head. ‘Enough?’
Every instinct screamed no. But she knew there was only one answer she could give. Pushing away the sharp stab of pain, she swallowed. ‘Enough.’
Damion called the dealer who’d bought the Femme sur Plage the next morning and offered him a price he couldn’t refuse.
By noon the painting had been returned. Three hours later, they were on their way to the airport.
In his hurry to get moving, Damion hadn’t bothered to wrap the painting. As the sleek, luxurious private jet took off and winged its way back to France, Reiko gazed at the painting leaning against the cabin wall, wondering how a woman so staggeringly beautiful could have been the way Damion had described her.
‘What are you going to do with the other paintings?’
A myriad emotions criss-crossed Damion’s face before it froze into the carefully neutral mask he adopted so well. ‘I’ve thought of burning them a few times—’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘But I guess my children deserve to know what a messed-up family they’re born into.’
The mention of children sent a horrid vein of chill through her. For two years she’d swept the issue of children blithely under her mental carpet—out of sight, out of mind.
Now she reeled under the impact of a thousand mental pictures of Damion’s children and fought to catch her breath.
Across from her, Damion frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.’
She glanced down at her hands. ‘Guess I’m still jet lagged. I barely managed to get rid of the last bout before jumping on a plane again.’
He studied her for several seconds, during which she held her breath, afraid a single movement would crack her open and expose all her secrets.
When his gaze moved back to the painting, his thoughts obviously still occupied by haunting memories of his childhood, Reiko heaved a sigh of relief.
A shadow crossed his face. ‘I guess you must think me heartless for the way I feel towards my family?’
She shook her head, tensing when his gaze traced the scar she’d unwittingly revealed. Reiko itched to cover it. Instead she took a deep breath and reached for his hand. Warm fingers curled into hers, his eyes darkening as he glanced down at their entwined fingers.
‘No. I suspected that a family as outwardly pristine as yours would be hiding epically gruesome skeletons. But I’d like you to stop pretending you’re not upset by all of this,’ she murmured, with an ache in her heart for what he’d suffered.
‘A lifetime of witnessing volatile emotions on a daily basis either teaches you to replicate the same behaviour or bury it.’
‘You’re talking about obsession. What about love?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve survived this far with the barest minimum. It doesn’t feature high on the list of things I crave.’
A band of discomfort tightened around her chest. ‘So you feel no remorse for all the broken hearts you’ve scattered around Europe?’
He raised their entwined hands and brushed feather-light kisses on her knuckles. ‘A prince has to kiss a lot of girl-frogs to find the right match.’
His gaze settled on her, and an inscrutable gleam in his eyes caused alarm to skitter across her skin.
‘But I think my search is almost over.’
His tone had lightened, his face unfreezing from the icy mask it had been minutes ago. But almost in direct proportion, Reiko felt her insides clamp down hard with the echo of his words.
