The Imperial Palace and the Nijo Castle, even the mild stench from Nishiki Market imbued a sense of homecoming so strong, tears threatened.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Damion’s deep voice roused her from musings.
As if on cue, her phone buzzed with an incoming message. With relief, she activated it and read the message.
‘We’re going clubbing.’
He paced the vast living room of his penthouse, forcing himself not to check his watch for the umpteenth time. They were supposed to have left fifteen minutes ago.
The last thing he wanted was to go out, especially in light of the latest morsel Reiko had revealed. What he really wanted to do was lock her up in a room and interrogate her until every last secret she was hiding was out in the open.
But he knew he couldn’t do that. Thoughts of Isadora intruded. The hard stance he’d taken when he’d discovered just what she was hiding from him had reaped disastrous consequences. He couldn’t afford to do that with Reiko.
Why is this so important to you?
Damion shied away from the persistent voice and glanced at his watch again.
Why was she taking so long? What was so damned special about where they were going that she had to make this much effort with her appearance?
Recalling the smile on her face after she’d read the text, he clenched his jaw. Without realising he was moving, he stood in front of her door, his fist rapping on the polished wood.
She pulled the door open. ‘Hold your horses. I’m ready …’
The sudden drumming in his ears drowned out the rest of her words.
Her dress was blood-red threaded with gold. The high collar and wide, long sleeves clearly lent themselves to a traditional geisha look that was destined to ensnare the interest of every red-blooded male with a ten-mile radius.
But it was the plunging neckline that hit him like a punch in the solar plexus. The very smooth, very tempting slopes of her breasts made heat surge through his groin. He felt himself harden long before the seductive scent from her sinfully voluptuous body reached his nostrils. His fist suspended in the air, he swallowed thickly.
‘Damion?’
‘Oui?’ he managed past the haze of lust that threatened to unman him.
She licked her lips and his fever rose another dangerous notch.
‘I said, are you okay?’
He felt his frown return, but this time impatience at being kept waiting had nothing to do with his pique. ‘Naturellement. Why shouldn’t I be?’
When she shrugged, his gaze fell back to the semi-exposed curve of one plump breast. ‘Are you wearing a coat over that dress?’
Her perfectly plucked brow rose. ‘It’s warm out. I don’t need a coat.’
He wanted to argue with that but held off. ‘Bien, let’s go.’
He was about to turn and head for the door when her saucy smile stopped him in his tracks.
‘Quoi?’
‘You probably don’t play poker, but if you ever decide to take it up, I think you should know you have a tell.’
‘A tell?’
She nodded. ‘You slip into French when you’re agitated. Although why you’re agitated right now is beyond me.’
‘Is it?’
Damion deliberately let his gaze drop to linger over her face, her red-painted mouth, her sinfully delicious cleavage. He took his time, let his eyes feast on her. Then he met her eyes. Her skin held the distinct beginnings of a flush.