The signs for Biggin Hill’s private airport flashed past before she decided to break the silence.

‘So, is it true your exhibition is centred around the Ingénue collection?’

‘Yes. What else did you hear?’

She shrugged. ‘That you’re holding the exhibition on February fourteenth.’

‘Oui, c’est vrais.’

‘Is that like you flipping two fingers at St Valentine?’

He frowned. ‘Why would you think that?’

Her choked laughter scraped her throat. ‘What else could it be? Surely you don’t expect me to think the day holds special meaning for you?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re “about as loveable as an arsenic-coated spike”.’ When he shot her a furious look, she held up her hand. ‘Don’t glare at me. I’m just quoting one of your loved-up girlfriends. Or should I say loved-out? She wasn’t too happy with being an ex-girlfriend, if I recall the article correctly.’

‘Don’t believe everything you read in your gutter press.’

‘Touché. But seriously? Valentine’s Day?

His shrug drew her attention to his powerful physique. ‘It was the most convenient date and suited all parties. If it adds a little je ne sais quoi to the occasion, all the better.’

‘Ah … ever the ruthless entrepreneur.’ Deep bitterness spiked her heart.

He swung into a hangar marked ‘Private’ and brought the powerful sports car to a stop at the steps of a large white, gold-trimmed aircraft.

Two men approached, one going directly to unpack the boot. The pilot stood at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, ready to usher them in.

Damion swung his door open, but before he stepped out, he turned to her. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Reiko. I believe in everything February the fourteenth stands for. I just haven’t found a woman who shares the same belief with no strings attached.’ His gaze dropped to her lips briefly before rising to pin her. ‘If and when I do, I will pursue her with the same relentless determination I pursue every other pleasure in my life. And I will let nothing stand in my way until she’s mine.’

REIKO TRIED TO DISMISS Damion’s words. In some ways she could see how the words could be construed as hot. She could certainly understand how any other woman would find it difficult to think straight after being the object of that delivery—especially with that low, gravelly accent thrown in for good measure. After all, hadn’t she fallen for the whole package of effortless charisma and sheer animal magnetism?

She desperately tried to stem the incredibly fiery sensation that rose in her belly whenever she remembered his gaze on her lips.

Damion’s words would never apply to her. He’d made that glaringly obvious when he’d walked away without a backward glance five years ago.

No, when Damion Fortier chose his mate, he would cast his net in the exclusive pool of privilege and prestige equal to his own, not in the damaged remnants of a brief, meaningless affair.

The aircraft landed and rolled into another hangar at Orly Airport. She jumped from her seat. Damion, who’d been on the phone for the whole flight, hung up and glanced at her. Again the look tugged on her senses, and she hissed in irritation at herself.

She had calls to make, people to contact if she was to establish a solid lead as to the whereabouts of the Femme sur Plage. Four years in this shaky economic climate was a long time for a painting to remain in one place for long—especially one as exclusively priceless as the Sylvain Fortier piece. If Damion, with his unlimited funds and excellent contacts, had been unable to locate it, then she’d have her work cut out.

Whom Damion would eventually choose as his Baroness was the last thing she should be thinking of.

Fishing a pen out of her handbag, she quickly scribbled down her address. ‘This is where I’ll be staying, should you need to contact me. Otherwise I’ll see you at the exhibit on Friday evening.’

He glanced at the piece of paper but made no move to take it. ‘This is where you stay when you’re in Paris?’ The slur in his tone was unmistakable.

‘Don’t tell me. You wouldn’t be caught dead in that neighbourhood?’

‘Oui, that is right. And neither will you.’

‘I always stay there. I like the area’s bohemian feel. You should try it some time. Maybe you’ll like it.’

‘Believe it or not, I’ve tried it and liked it. I lived there during my university days.’ He caught her slack-jawed look and smiled. ‘Before it became a drugs and gang hotspot. When was the last time you were there?’ he asked.

Recalling the last time she’d visited Paris, she felt a swell of pain rise through her. ‘Three years ago.’

A hooded look came over his eyes. ‘Were you alone?’

‘No.’ She’d been with her father. They’d had an amazing time. Going back to where she’d stayed with him would be painful. Of that she had no doubt.

Face the demons …

Damion rose to tower over her. ‘Well, you won’t be staying there. I won’t let you compromise our agreement simply because you want to feel bohemian.’

‘It’s a good thing you’re not the boss of me, then, isn’t it?’ she snapped.

‘Look out of the window, Reiko,’ he replied simply.

‘Why?’ Her head whipped to the closest window, her heart hammering. Expecting to find the plane surrounded by police, all she saw was another gleaming sports car and an immigration official ready to inspect their travel documents. Relief made her slightly dizzy. ‘Wh … what exactly am I supposed to be looking at?’

‘You’re not a French citizen, which means you need a special licence or a certificate of origin to bring any form of art into the country. I haven’t yet taken ownership of the Femme en Mer, so unless I vouch for you, or claim ownership of the painting, the authorities will have to be involved. Now, personally I don’t have a problem—’

‘Fine! We’ll do it your way.’ His smug smile made her teeth grind. ‘Did I mention that I think you’re a cold bastard?’

‘Your tone implied it exquisitely.’

‘Good, I’m so glad.’ Despite her snarky tone, panic began to claw at her insides. She had no doubt Damion meant to keep her close. Which meant he would be within hearing distance should she experience another of her nightmares, or worse. Carefully, she cleared her throat. ‘Do you intend to hold me prisoner the whole time I’m here?’

Their pilot came out and lowered the steps to the plane. Damion ushered her out. ‘Not at all. You’re a free agent. As long as you stay at my apartment, stay within the confines of the law and make every attempt to locate the painting.’

When he placed a hand in the small of her back to propel her forward, Reiko jumped out of reach. Beneath her clothes, her skin tingled. She averted her gaze from Damion’s frowning look.

‘Let’s not keep the nice officer waiting,’ she said hurriedly.

His frown remained in place. ‘It also goes without saying that I want you on your best behaviour. And, before you use another Scout salute, be warned that I saw your two-finger salute last night instead of the correct three.’

He stood so close she could see the faint shadow of his stubble, smell the heady scent of him. Hurriedly she went down the stairs. ‘How would you know? I find it impossible to picture you as a Scout.’

‘I wasn’t, but I had a crush on a Guide once upon a time.’

Stunned, she glanced at him as he shook hands with the official. The sheer magnificence of him made something kick in her chest, catching her breath for a second before releasing it. When Damion’s gaze caught hers, she struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

She couldn’t lower her guard around him. Even if what had happened five years ago hadn’t been enough of a lesson, she only had to think of his affair with Isadora Baptiste to remember she detested everything about his heartless attitude towards relationships.