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‘Oui. I have to go into Bordeaux to pick up a painting—a Ventimiglia. You said you had nothing suitable for the ball. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone.’
A memory nudged her mind. When it didn’t immediately reveal itself, she shrugged. ‘Sounds great. I’ll go and finalise the dessert wines with François, grab my bag and meet you out front in ten minutes.’
He nodded, then leaned down and pressed another hard kiss on her lips. ‘Remember—no touching.’
‘Scouts’ honour, Baron.’
His eyes darkened, but his only response was a light tap on her rear as she walked away.
Damion insisted on accompanying her on her shopping trip. He then proceeded to take command of the changing room and dismiss every gown she tried on. It was either too tight or too bold or too sexy.
‘You want me to ask the saleswoman if she has a sack in the back? I could just cut two holes in it to see where I’m going and be done with it,’ she teased when he rejected yet another dress.
He rose from the armchair and came towards her. Grey eyes skimmed her from head to toe, and a possessive look devoured her whole.
‘I don’t want any other men looking at you and getting ideas.’
She snorted, then realised he was serious. ‘Thank you … I suppose.’
‘You suppose?’ He caught her to him, hands skimming over her bottom to pull her into his body. ‘You don’t think other men want you?’
She shrugged, feelings of insecurity rushing back. Pushing them away, she looked at him, at the look in his eyes, and sucked in a deep breath.
‘You’ve given me so much these last two weeks. Much more than I can ever repay you for. I’ll always be grateful to you for that.’
‘I don’t want your gratitude, and I don’t like the sound of that little speech. It smacks of I’m about to dump you, which can’t possibly be the case.’
The lazy assurance as he tugged her into his arms should have irritated her.
Except it was true. She wasn’t about to dump him. She would have to eventually. She knew that. But she wasn’t ready to let Damion Fortier go. Not just yet …
A discreet cough broke their kiss. Damion laughed beneath his breath, muttered something about this becoming a habit, and they both turned.
Reiko gasped. Damion nodded with approval and almost purred with satisfaction. ‘Oui, that’s the dress. We’ll take it.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAMION STRAIGHTENED HIS TUXEDO and adjusted the gold cufflinks bearing the Fortier family crest. He refused to admit he was nervous. Nerves would mean there was more to the plans he’d made than mere altruism.
He frowned at his mocking reflection and jerked at his sleeve.
So, yes, he did care.
Reiko would be annoyed, of that he had no doubt, but she was also practical. She would understand the reason behind his actions.
Satisfied with his reasoning, he glanced at the connecting door to her suite and felt the familiar pulse-leap. Although she slept in his bed, she insisted on dressing in her own suite—a decision he disapproved of but one he’d granted her anyway. He didn’t dismiss the fact that she needed more time to be completely confident with him. As for her recurring nightmares, the ones he’d arrogantly thought would disappear just because he held her in his arms at night …
Teeth gritted, he walked into her suite.
At the faint sound of her shower, every cell in his body tightened in arousal. With every pump of his heartbeat, he wanted to open that bathroom door. But he knew if he did they’d never make it downstairs in time.
He’d requested his first guest arrive early.
With heavy, reluctant feet, he stepped away from the door and went downstairs just as a car drew up outside. Crossing the hallway, he nodded to the butler, who opened the door.
Again nerves tightened his nape.
But he accepted that big, life-altering decisi
