The Darkest of Secrets (8 page)

‘I’m sorry. I’m not used to this.’

‘And here you told me you could swim.’

Impatiently, she shook her head, gesturing between them with one hand.
‘This.‘

And he knew—of course he knew—that she felt it, too. This connection, this energy between them. And, while it alarmed him, he had a feeling it
terrified
her. He saw that, felt it and, without thinking too much about what he was doing—or why—he slipped waist-deep into the water and strode towards her. She watched him approach with wide, wary eyes. He stopped a few feet away and gave her a little splash. She blinked, bewildered.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Having fun?’ Her mouth tightened and she looked quickly away. Intrigued, he asked softly, ‘Is there something wrong with that?’

‘No,’ she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. He splashed her again, gently, and to his relief he got a little smile, a sudden flash of fire in her eyes.

‘You’re asking for it, aren’t you?’

Desperately.
He waited, watched as she trailed her fingers in the water. She had beautiful fingers, long and slim with elegant rounded nails. His gaze was still fixed on them when she suddenly lifted her hand and hit the water hard with the flat of her palm, sending a wave of water crashing over him, leaving him blinking and spluttering. And laughing, because it was just about the last thing he’d expected.

He sluiced the water from his face and grinned at her. She smiled back, almost tremulously, as if her lips weren’t used to it. ‘Got you.’

‘Yes,’ he said, and his voice came out in a husky murmur. ‘You did.’ Even in that awful swimming costume, she was incredibly, infinitely desirable. And when she smiled he was lost. He felt his fears fall away when he looked at her, any alarm that this was all going too fast and too deep seemed ridiculous. He wanted this. He wanted her. He took a step towards her and she stilled, and then another step so he was close enough to feel her breath feather his face, see the pulse beating in her throat. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

It was the gentlest kind of kiss, his mouth barely brushing over hers. She didn’t move away, but she trembled. Her lips parted, but it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like surprise. He reached with one hand to cradle her face, his palm cupping the curve of her cheek, revelling in the satiny softness of her skin. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but it felt endless and yet no time at all. And then it was over.

With a ragged gasp she tore away, stared at him with eyes wide with shock and even anger.

‘Grace—’

He didn’t get the chance to say any more. As if she had the devil himself on her heels, she scrambled out of the pool, slipping on the wet tiles and landing hard on one knee before lurching upright and running back into the villa.

CHAPTER FIVE

S
TUPID.
Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot—

The litany of self-recrimination echoed remorselessly through her as Grace ran through the villa, pounded up the stairs and then into her room, slamming and locking the door behind her as if Khalis were actually chasing her.

She let out a shuddering breath and then turned from the door, tearing the swimming costume from her body before she went to the en suite bathroom and started the shower.

What had possessed her to go swimming? To splash him?
Flirt?
When he’d moved closer to her in the water she’d known—of course she’d known—what he intended to do. In that moment she’d wanted him to kiss her. And the feel of his lips on hers, his hand on her cheek, had been so unbearably, achingly wonderful—until realisation slammed into her and Katerina’s face swam in her vision, reminding her just how much she had to lose.

And not just Katerina, Grace thought with a surge of self-recrimination. What about herself? Her freedom? Her
soul
? Marriage to Loukas had nearly destroyed her. He’d levelled her identity, his words and actions a veritable emotional earthquake, and for years afterwards she’d felt blank, a cipher of a person. Working at Axis had helped restore some of her sense of self, yet she still felt as if she drifted through parts of life, had empty spaces and yawning silences where other people had companionship and joy. And perhaps she always would feel that way, as long as she didn’t have her daughter. But she’d at least keep herself, Grace thought fiercely. She’d keep her identity, her independence, her strength. She wouldn’t give those away to the first man who kissed her, even if his gentleness nearly undid her.

Grace stepped into the shower and let the hot water rush over her, wash away the memory of Khalis’s gentle touch. She felt that endless ache of loneliness deep inside, a well of emptiness she’d convinced herself she’d got used to. Preferred, even. Yet it had only taken one man—one touch—for her to realise just how lonely she really was. She might be strong and safe and independent, but a single kiss had made her achingly aware of the depths of her own unhappiness.

Swallowing hard, she turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower. Work. Work would help. It always did. Quickly she dressed, pulled her damp hair into another serviceable ponytail and then headed downstairs.

Eric had given her a temporary password for the lift’s security system and Grace used it, glancing around quickly in search of Khalis. He was nowhere to be found.

Squaring her shoulders, she entered the laboratory that Balkri Tannous had had built to verify the authenticity of the artworks, stolen or otherwise, he acquired on the black market. Grace had been reluctantly impressed by his thoroughness; the laboratory held all the necessary equipment for infrared photography, pigment analysis, dendrochronology and many of the other tests necessary to authenticate a work of art.

She opened her laptop, stared blankly at the catalogue she’d made of the vault’s inventory; she’d already checked most of it against the Art Loss Register. It would take another hour or two to finish, yet now she couldn’t summon the energy to do it. Instead she slipped off her stool and went back into the vault, past all the canvases in the main room, to the tiny little shrine in the back. She flicked on the lights and sat on the room’s one chair; clearly this room had been meant only for Balkri Tannous. She let out a shuddering breath as she stared at the painted wood panels.

The first one, of Leda and the Swan, she’d seen many times before. Not the original, of course, but very good copies. The original, for she didn’t really doubt this was the original, had been painted on three wooden panels. The panels had split apart—that had been documented four hundred years ago—but someone had very carefully repaired them. The damaged sections of the painting had been restored, although Grace could still see where the damage had occurred. Still, the painting was incredibly arresting. Leda stood naked and voluptuous, yet with her head bowed in virginal modesty. Her face was turned away as if she were resisting the advances of the sinuous swan, but she had a sensual little half-smile on her face, reminiscent of the Mona Lisa. Did she welcome Zeus’s attentions? Had she any idea of the heartbreak that lay ahead of her?

‘There you are.’

Grace tensed, even though she wasn’t really surprised that Khalis had found her. The overwhelming emotional response she’d felt when he kissed her had receded to a weary resignation that felt far more familiar. Safer, too. ‘Do you think she looks happy?’ she asked, nodding towards Leda.

Khalis studied the painting. ‘I think she’s not sure what she feels, or what she wants.’

Grace’s gaze remained fixed on Leda’s little half-smile, her face turned away from the swan. ‘I can’t become involved with you, in any way,’ she said quietly. ‘Not even a kiss.’

Khalis propped one shoulder against the doorway to the little room. ‘Can’t,’ he asked, ‘or won’t?’

‘Both.’

‘Why not?’

Another deep breath. ‘It’s unprofessional to be involved with a client—’

‘You didn’t sprint from the pool because it was unprofessional.’ Khalis cut her off affably enough, although she sensed the steel underneath. ‘How’s your knee?’

It ached abominably, but Grace had no intention of saying that, or explaining any more. ‘There’s no point in pressing the matter.’

‘You’re attracted to me, Grace.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Do you still not trust me?’ he asked quietly. ‘Is that it? Are you afraid—of me?’

She let out a little sigh and turned to face him. He looked so achingly beautiful just standing there, wearing faded jeans and a grey T-shirt that hugged the sculpted muscles of his chest. His ink-black hair was rumpled, his eyes narrowed even though he was smiling, a half-smile like Leda’s.

‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she said, and meant it. She might not trust him, but she didn’t fear him, either. She simply didn’t want to let him have the kind of power opening your body or heart to someone would give. And then, of course, there was Katerina. So many reasons not to get involved.

‘What, then?’ She just shook her head. ‘I know you’ve been hurt,’ he said quietly and she let out a sad little laugh. He was painting his own picture of her, she knew then, a happy little painting like one his god-daughter might make. Too bad he had the wrong paintbox.

‘And how do you know that?’ she asked.

‘It’s evident in everything you do and say—’

‘No, it isn’t.’ She rose from the chair, half-inclined to disabuse him of his fanciful notion that she’d been hurt. She
had
been hurt, but not the way he thought. She’d never been an innocent victim, as much as she wished things could be that simple. And she knew, to her own shame and weakness, that she wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t want him to look at her differently. With judgement rather than compassion, scorn instead of sympathy.

‘Why can’t you get involved then, Grace?’ Khalis asked. ‘It was just a kiss, after all.’ He’d moved to block the doorway, even though Grace hadn’t yet attempted to leave. His face looked harsh now, all hard angles and narrowed eyes, even though his body remained relaxed. A man of contradictions—or was it simply deception? Which was the real man, Grace wondered—the smiling man who’d rubbed her feet so gently, or the angry son who refused to grieve for the family he’d just lost? Or was he both, showing one face to the world and hiding another, just as she was?

It didn’t matter. She could not have anything more to do with Khalis Tannous except the barest of professional acquaintances. ‘It’s complicated, and I don’t feel like explaining it to you,’ she said shortly. ‘But if you’ve done any digging on the internet, you’ll be aware of the details.’

‘Is that an invitation?’

She shrugged. ‘Just a fact.’

‘I’m not some internet stalker,’ Khalis told her flatly. ‘I’d prefer to hear the truth from you, rather than some gossip website.’ She said nothing and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Grace nodded towards the exit he was still blocking.

‘I should get back to work.’

‘It’s after seven.’

‘Still. If I start running the preliminary tests now, you should have enough information to contact a legal authority in a day or two.’

‘Is that what you want?’ He gazed at her almost fiercely, and she felt a spasm of longing to walk into his arms, to tell him everything. To feel safe and desired all at once.

Ridiculous.
Dangerous.
To do such a thing would be to open herself up to all kinds of shame and pain, and it would certainly put an end to feeling safe or desired.

‘Of course it is,’ she said and made to walk past him. He didn’t move, so she had to squeeze past in the narrow doorway, her breasts brushing his chest, every point of contact seeming to sizzle and snap her nerve endings to life. She looked up at him, which was a mistake. His eyes blazed need and for an endless charged moment she thought he would kiss her again. He’d grab her and take her right there, with Leda watching with her half-smile. She wouldn’t resist, not in that moment. She wouldn’t be able to. But instead he stepped back and as she moved past he let out a shuddering breath. She kept walking.

Half an hour later he sent a dinner tray down to the lab. He’d included a snowy-white linen napkin, sterling silver cutlery, and even a carafe of wine and a crystal wine glass. His thoughtfulness made her ache. Did he realise how he was taking apart her defences with these little gestures? Could he possibly know how much they hurt, because they made her afraid and needy all at once?

She picked at the meal, alone in the sterile, windowless lab, feeling lonelier than ever and hating that she did. Then she determinedly pushed the tray away and turned back to her work.

She didn’t see him all the next day, although she felt his presence. At breakfast he’d left a newspaper by her plate, already turned to the Arts section. He’d even written a funny little comment next to one of the editorials, making her smile. She pushed the paper away and drank her coffee and ate her toast alone before heading back downstairs.

Work kept her from thinking too much about him, although he remained on the fringes of her mind, haunting her thoughts like a gentle ghost. She’d had Eric help her move the panels into the lab, and she started running a basic dendrochronology test on the wood. At noon the young woman—her name, Grace had learned, was Shayma—brought her sandwiches and coffee. The tray also held a narrow vase with a single calla lily. After Shayma had left Grace reached for the lily and brushed the fragrant petals against her lips. She closed her eyes, remembering how Loukas had sent her roses. She’d been so touched at the time, grieving her father’s death, needing someone’s attention and love. Only later did she wonder if the flowers had been a genuine expression of his affection, or just a rote seduction. Did it even matter when things had broken down, or what had been real? She’d learned her lesson. She’d learned it the hard way, which was why this had to stop.

She shoved the tray away and turned back to her work. She worked the rest of the day, through dinner, and went directly up to her room. Both exhausted and restless, she fell into an uneasy sleep.