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He set his cup down, picked up a fork and speared a plump, perfectly cut peach. ‘I won’t bore you with the intimate details of my restless night, mon amour. Let’s just say my shower has been well exercised.’ He held out the fruit to her.
Feeling another wave of heat wash through her, she opened her mouth and took the offering. His gaze dropped to her lips, and his grey eyes darkened to almost black.
‘I won’t feel guilty just because I slept better than you did.’
He smiled. ‘On the contrary. I’m glad you did. You’ll need your strength for when the time comes.’
‘You’re so sure you’ll succeed, aren’t you?’
‘Oui,’ he stated simply, with irritating assurance.
‘Saru mo ki kara ochiru.’ She couldn’t help the need to pierce that arrogance.
His deep laugh struck a chord deep inside her, and before she knew it a smile broke over her face. He held another piece of fruit against her lips.
She accepted it, deliberately keeping her mouth wrapped around the fork for longer than was necessary. His breath hissed through his teeth.
‘You’re right. Even monkeys fall from trees,’ he responded in a serious, deep tone. ‘But I get the feeling this won’t be one of those times. You want to be mine again as much as I want to be yours.’
The bold statement sobered her up. There was no way in a thousand years she and Damion would ever work. And no amount of arrogance on his part would make the reality of her condition any less palatable.
She was everything Damion Fortier would never accept in his perfect existence.
Desperately forcing aside the wave of despair that threatened to wash over her, she brushed a few crumbs from the table. ‘You were about to tell me what my job entails.’
He frowned at her brisk tone and change of subject, but she breathed a sigh of relief when he set his fork down and nodded.
‘For the first two weeks of every March, we open parts of the château to the public. During that time all the museums and galleries that hold Fortier art and paintings on loan are required to return them for exhibition. I’ll provide you with a list, and you’ll liaise with the various houses to co-ordinate the shipping and safe delivery of the pieces. I also have six pieces arriving from Kazakhstan tomorrow. Once you’ve examined them, I’ll decide which ones to include in the exhibition.’
‘Damn, I should have asked for double what you’re paying me.’
He smiled. ‘That’s not all. There’s also a ball at the end of the two weeks. I usually stage a show of the Fortier jewellery collection. You’ll help organise that, too.’
She frowned. ‘Don’t you have a curat
or-slash-party-planner-type person for this sort of thing? Organising shows isn’t really my thing.’
Darkness clouded his eyes. ‘This will be my grandfather’s last ball, so I want it to be special. He arrives tomorrow, by the way. Besides, the person I used last year is no longer available and I haven’t found a replacement.’
His first statement made her insides soften with sympathy. His last hardened the softness immediately. ‘You mean you dumped her.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘I take it she was one of the girl-frogs who didn’t quite make the cut?’
‘What can I say? I’m a perfectionist.’
His words punched a hole through her. Pushing back her chair, she surged to her feet. ‘Then what the hell are you doing with me? I’m very far from perfect.’
He caught her wrist and pulled her to him before she could escape. Swinging his legs from under the table, he rested both hands on her hips, trapping her between his legs. ‘You’re also a little damaged, wilful and, prone to defensive anger and bad language.’
‘Who do you think you are? Freud?’
‘I fully intend to cure you of all that.’
‘Cure me? What? I’m like some pet project to you?’
‘You’re a very beautiful woman over whom I’ve spent several sleepless nights sporting a raging hard-on to end all hardons. My intentions aren’t altogether altruistic, so don’t make me out to be some sort of saint.’
She snorted despite her pain. ‘Sainthood is the last honour I’d bestow on you.’
‘Your trust is all I need, ma fleur.’
