Reiko’s heart lurched. ‘Because it was a good investment and I had the resources to buy it at the time.’
Damion glanced at her before smoothly joining the motorway. ‘Was that the only r
eason?’
She licked her lips, nerves eating at her. ‘What other reason would there have been?
His eyes narrowed. ‘Foolish sentiment, perhaps?’
‘Sentimental? Over you?’ She tried to inject as much cynicism into her voice as possible.
‘I know our time together meant something to you. You wouldn’t have been so riled up last night if it hadn’t.’
‘Wow—conceited much?’ Reiko didn’t know why she was goading him. But then she’d never been one to leave well enough alone. ‘FYI, I got over you pretty quickly.’
His fingers gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles showed white. ‘Oui, I remember,’ he clipped out. Minutes ticked by. ‘So who was he?’
Reiko felt the familiar wash of shame and looked out of the window. She had no intention of revealing the truth of what had happened in the weeks after Damion had left. It wasn’t a time she was proud of, and she planned on keeping it buried along with all her other secrets.
‘No one you know. If you really want to know my reason for buying the painting, my grandfather once told me the story behind it. I was intrigued. But I’m willing to set my sentiment aside for a healthy return.’
Damion changed lanes again, swerving into the fast lane to pass a slower car. Beneath his trousers, his powerful thigh muscles bunched, the way they had in her dream. And just like in her dream, heat pooled in Reiko’s belly and started to rise. Staunchly, she pulled her eyes away and focused on the traffic.
‘What exactly do you know about the painting?’
There was nothing but curiosity in his tone, but apprehension raced over her skin nonetheless.
‘Our grandfathers met your grandmother at the same time. Sylvain Fortier got the girl and the chance to paint her. My grandfather lost out because yours had the most money and power in the love triangle. They remained long-distance friends and business partners until you Fortiers decided your mutual history wasn’t worth a damn in the face of your bottom line. Cute story, isn’t it? For goodness’ sake, slow down! I’d really appreciate arriving in one piece.’
Reiko breathed a sigh of relief as the powerful car eased its frightening pace. Beside her, Damion’s brows were clamped in a fierce frown.
Finally he drew to a stop at another set of traffic lights. Stabbing a hand through his hair, he exhaled. ‘Cute is the last term I’d use to describe the story behind the paintings.’
‘I was being facetious. Trust me, there’s nothing cute about watching someone you care about lose everything. And there’s certainly nothing cute about being made a fool of. So unless you want to talk about that, I suggest we drop the subject, shall we?’
Stony-faced, Damion shrugged. The rest of the journey was made in silence.
Their escort to the vault in Central London was conducted with reverent haste once the patrons recognised Damion. He stood close as the Femme en Mer was removed from the vault and its protective sheets unwrapped.
The painting was of a woman in a barely-there bikini, crashing through frothy waves. Her windswept hair gleamed dark and glossy, the chocolate tresses begging to be touched. Her laughing face, set in profile, was stunning, and drew the eye to her exquisitely detailed features. Around her neck was fastened a thin white scarf that billowed over one shoulder, lending a whisper of innocence to the painting.
But it was her mouth—a sensual mouth so like Damion’s that Reiko had to steel herself not to glance at it—that set the woman’s beauty apart from the ordinary. The painting was alive. The oils, even after over a half-century, were vibrant and passionate. It was a true masterpiece.
‘She was truly stunning, your grandmother,’ Reiko murmured, unable to take her eyes off Gabrielle Fortier’s image.
‘Oui, she was.’ His tone was firm, but where she’d expected fondness or a little warmth, she heard nothing.
A glance at his face showed the same stony demeanour he’d worn since they stepped out of the car into the quiet London side street.
Curiosity made her continue. ‘My grandfather told me she had the whole of the Sorbonne at her feet the two semesters she was there.’
His smile did nothing to alleviate his icy, harsh features. ‘I’ve no doubt that is what happened, because at her feet was exactly where Grandmère preferred her men.’
Her shocked gasp made him raise an eyebrow.
‘I’ve surprised you?’
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but I wasn’t expecting … Wow—just … wow.’