The Darkest of Secrets (16 page)

‘It’s not the island,’ he said shortly. ‘I’d just like to wrap up this whole business quickly and get back to my real life.’ Except he wasn’t sure he could do that any more, or at least not easily. Not since Grace.

‘I wouldn’t mind a few more weeks lounging in the sun,’ Eric said, although Khalis knew his assistant had done precious little lounging since arriving on Alhaja. ‘Is there anything else for now?’

‘No—’ Khalis dropped the papers on his desk and raked a hand through his hair. ‘Yes,’ he amended. ‘I want you to find everything you can on Grace Turner.’

‘Everything?’ Eric asked dubiously. ‘You sure you want to go there?’

He gritted his teeth. ‘Yes.’

Eric gave him a considering look, then shrugged. ‘It’s your party,’ he said, and left the room. Resolutely, Khalis pulled the papers towards him. Grace had told him he could find out what he needed to know with one simple internet search. Well, he thought grimly, maybe now he’d take her up on that.

By the time Grace arrived back at her apartment in Paris’s Latin Quarter, she felt exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Khalis’s helicopter had taken her to Taormina, and then he’d arranged a private jet to take her directly to Paris. Even at the end, when he must have hated her, he was considerate. She almost wished he wasn’t. When he’d been arrogant and controlling it had been far easier to stay angry and to let that carry her. Then he softened into gentleness and she felt all tangled up inside, yearning and fear tying her heart into knots. Why couldn’t he make it easy for her to let go? Simple not to care? Yet nothing about her time with Khalis had been simple or easy.

Yes, it had, she corrected herself. It had been all too easy to fall in love with him.

Resolutely, Grace pushed the useless thought away. She had no space or freedom in her life for love. Khalis might have cracked open her heart, but she could close it again. Love led to pain. She knew that. She’d seen it with Loukas, when he’d left her alone on his island, trapped and miserable, half-mad with loneliness.

And as for Andrew.

No, she wouldn’t think about Andrew.

Slowly, each movement aching, she dropped her bag and kicked off her heels. She curled up on the sofa, wishing she could blank out her mind. Stop thinking, stop remembering. Not Loukas or Andrew, but Khalis. Khalis smiling at her, teasing her, making her laugh.

Frankly, that looks like something my five-year-old god-daughter might paint in Nursery.

Even now Grace’s mouth curved into a smile as tears stung her eyes. Khalis looking at her, heavy-lidded with sensual intent. Kissing her so softly, so sweetly. Finding ways to make her feel safe and treasured.

Now the tears spilled over and Grace buried her face in her hands. Had she made a mistake, not trusting him? If she’d told him what she’d done, would he have forgiven her? And wasn’t loving someone worth that risk?

She drew in a shuddering breath and other memories came to her. Khalis’s eyes narrowed, his mouth a hard, compressed line.

You’re very forgiving, much more forgiving than I am.

No, he wasn’t forgiving. And he wouldn’t forgive her. And even if she’d fallen in love with him, it didn’t change who he was. And who she couldn’t be.

CHAPTER NINE

G
RACE
transferred her untouched glass of champagne to her other hand and tried to focus on what the ageing socialite across from her was droning on about. She caught a word here and there and she thought she was making the appropriate noises of interest, but her entire body and brain were buzzing with the knowledge that Khalis would be here tonight. After two months, she would see him again.

Tension coiled through her body, twanging like a wire. She had had no contact with Khalis these last few months, although she’d exchanged a few emails with Eric, arranging for the art collection to be transferred. Khalis had, of course, obeyed all the legal procedures in authenticating the artwork in his father’s vault and turning it over to the proper authorities. Tonight was a gala celebrating the return of several important paintings to the Louvre, as well as Khalis’s generous donation of a Monet that had been one of the few paintings in his father’s collection that had not been stolen.

The party was being held in the Louvre’s impressive courtyard, the distinctive glass pyramids glinting in the last rays of the setting sun. It was early summer and the air was sun-warmed and fragrant. Grace took a sip of champagne to ease the dryness in her throat and glanced around the milling crowd for Khalis. He hadn’t arrived. She would know it if he had.

And when he did arrive, Grace asked herself yet again, what would she say to him? How would she act? Prudence required that she keep a professional distance, yet two months had only intensified her longing and regret and she was afraid she’d betray herself when she saw him again.

She attempted to turn her attention back to the socialite, yet within seconds it felt as if someone had suddenly turned a spotlight on her, even though nothing had noticeably changed. She felt a prickling between her shoulder blades, a tingling awareness creep through her entire body. He was here.

Barely aware of what she was saying, she excused herself from the conversation and turned away, trying to search the crowds discreetly. It didn’t take long; it was as if he were equipped with a tracking device to her heart, for she saw and felt him right away. He stood alone, his figure tall and proud, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Then that cold gaze fastened on her and Grace’s breath hitched. For an endless moment they stared at one another, and from across the crowded courtyard Grace could not discern his expression. She didn’t even know what the expression on her own face was, for both body and brain seemed to have frozen.

Then Khalis looked away, his gaze moving on without any real acknowledgement of her presence. Head held high, she turned away and walked towards another knot of guests, forced herself to listen to their idle chatter. What had she expected? That Khalis would run over and greet her? Kiss her? She wouldn’t even have wanted that. She
couldn’t
want that. Yet it still hurt, not the pain of disappointment, for Grace hadn’t really expected anything from him tonight, but the agony of remembered loss.

Somehow she made it through the next hour, listening and nodding, murmuring platitudes although she barely knew what she was saying. Her body ached with the knowledge of Khalis’s nearness and, even without looking, she was certain she knew exactly where he was. Amazing, and still alarming, to share this connection that they’d both acknowledged … and then she’d denied.

The evening dragged, every moment painfully slow as Grace instinctively tracked Khalis’s progress around the courtyard. He looked amazing in a dark suit and silver-grey tie, as lean and powerful and darkly attractive as ever, and just glimpsing him out of the corner of her eye reminded her how warm and satiny his skin had been, how complete she’d felt in his arms.

By the end of the social hour, and then another half hour of speeches, she felt ready for bed. Tension knotted in her shoulders and her head pulsed with the beginnings of one of the stress-related headaches she’d been getting ever since her divorce. The party had moved inside to the Pavillon Denon, and Grace stayed near the back of the gallery as the director of the museum praised Khalis’s civic service in restoring so many famous works of art to their rightful places. Her heart twisted like a wrung rag inside her when Khalis stepped to the podium and spoke eloquently about his duty ‘to redeem what has been forsaken, and find what has been lost’.

Pretty words, Grace thought with a sudden spike of spite, but he hadn’t been much interested in redemption when she’d been talking to him. When it came to his father, he’d been cold, hard and unforgiving.

And you were so afraid he’d be the same with you. That’s why you ran away like a frightened child.

Not that it mattered. The only child she could think of was Katerina. Just the thought of her daughter’s apple-round cheeks, her dark plaits and her gap-toothed smile made Grace blink fiercely. She had to forget about Khalis, for Katerina’s sake as well as her own.

The speeches over, Grace excused herself from the party. She saw Michel give her a sharp glance from across the room; she didn’t think she’d fooled him since she’d returned from Alhaja.

The rest of the museum was quiet and dark, and it felt strange to be wandering alone among all this priceless art. Of course, everything was wired to a central security system and there were guards at every exit, but Grace at least had the illusion of solitude.

She headed down the stairs, past the ancient statue of Winged Victory of Samothrace, when a voice caused her to still.

‘Leaving already?’

She half-turned, saw Khalis coming down the stairs to meet her. ‘I wanted some air.’ She needed some now, for the sight of him had stolen the breath right from her lungs.

He stopped a foot or so in front of her and in the dim lighting Grace could not quite read his expression. His eyes were narrowed, but whether in concern or anger or mere indifference she could not say. ‘Are you getting one of your headaches?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘You look tired.’

‘I am.’ She wondered why he cared, knew she wanted him to. ‘I should go.’ Still she didn’t move.

‘I haven’t forgotten you, Grace.’ His voice was pitched low, assured and so very sincere. She angled her head away from him, another wave of loss sweeping through her, nearly bringing her to her knees.

‘You should have.’

‘Have you forgotten me?’

‘No, of course not.’ She took a step away from him. They shouldn’t be here, having this conversation alone.

‘Of course not?’ Khalis repeated. He’d stepped closer to her, blocking her escape route down the stairs. She glanced back at the statue of Nike, armless and headless yet still magnificent, the only witness to this encounter. ‘That surprises me.’ She said nothing, unwilling to continue the conversation even as her gaze roved over him, drinking him in, memorising his features. God, she’d missed him. Even now, when he looked so intent and angry, she missed him. Wanted him. ‘The last time I saw you,’ he said, ‘you gave the distinct impression you wanted to forget me.’

‘I did want to,’ Grace answered. She couldn’t be anything but honest now; the sheer closeness and reality of him was too much for her to be able to prevaricate.
Lie.
‘But I couldn’t.’ He’d stepped closer, so close she could breathe the achingly familiar scent of him, feel his intoxicating heat. She closed her eyes. ‘Don’t—’

‘Don’t what? Don’t make you remember how good it was between us?’ Slowly, deliberately, he reached out one hand and traced the line of her cheek. His thumb touched the fullness of her mouth and Grace shuddered.

‘Please—’

‘We still have it, Grace. That connection between us. It’s still there.’

She opened her eyes, furious and afraid and despairing all at once. ‘Yes, it is, but it doesn’t matter.’

‘You keep saying that, but I don’t believe it.’

‘I told you—’

‘You didn’t tell me anything. I’m still waiting for that, Grace. Waiting—and wanting to understand.’ She just shook her head, unable to speak. ‘I want,’ he said, his teeth gritted, ‘to give you a second chance—’

And she’d wanted to believe in second chances, even if she couldn’t have one. ‘Don’t, Khalis.’

‘You still want me—’

‘Of course I do!’ she shouted, her nerves well and truly shattered. ‘I’m not denying it. So are you happy now? Satisfied?’

‘Not in the least.’ And, before she could protest or even think, he’d pulled her to him and his mouth came down hard and relentless and yet so very sweet on hers.

Grace gave in to the kiss for a blissful fraction of a second, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, her body pressed so wonderfully against his, before she jerked away, her chest heaving.
‘Don’t!’

Khalis was breathing as hard as she was, his face flushed, his eyes flashing fire. ‘Why did you walk away from me?’

Tears pricked her eyes and her head blazed with pain. Truth spilled from her lips. ‘Because I was afraid you’d hate me if I stayed.’ A sound of someone on the stair above her made Grace’s insides lurch in panic. She shook her head, unable to look at him. ‘Just leave me alone,’ she whispered.
‘Please.’

And then she fled down the stairs.

Back in her apartment, Grace peeled off her cocktail dress and took a long, hot shower, tried to banish the imprint of Khalis’s mouth on hers, the blaze of desire his touch had caused her. She couldn’t believe he’d still pursued her, still wanted her. She thought he’d hate her by now, and the fact that he didn’t made it so much harder to forget him.

After her shower, dressed in her most comfortable worn pyjamas, Grace pulled out the photo album from the top shelf of the bookcase in her bedroom. She tried not to look at this album too often because it hurt too much. Yet to-night she needed to look at the beloved pictures, remind herself just what she had lost—and still had to lose.

Katerina at birth, her face tiny and wrinkled and red. Six weeks old, fast asleep in her pram. Six months, one chubby fist in her mouth, her eyes the same brown as Grace’s own. A year, taking her first toddling steps. After that there were no photos except the ones Grace took when she saw her daughter once a month, in Athens. She gazed at these hungrily, as if she could fill in the many missing pieces of her daughter’s last four years. Loukas had arranged it perfectly, she thought not for the first time, too weary now to be bitter. She saw Katerina enough for the girl to remember her, but not enough to love her as a child loved her mother. As Grace loved her daughter.

A sharp, purposeful knock on the front door startled her out of her thoughts and quickly she closed the album and slid it back on its shelf. Her heart had begun beating with hard, heavy thuds for she knew who was knocking at her door.

‘Hello, Khalis.’ Colour slashed his cheekbones and he held his body tensely, like a predator waiting to spring. He looked, Grace thought with a spasm of hopeless longing, as wonderful as always.