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She blinked, surprised even as she felt the muscles in her neck cramp. ‘I have?’
‘Yes. It’s six o’clock in the evening.’
She shook her head, smiling a little, unable to staunch the ripple of pleasure she felt at seeing him. ‘I was completely absorbed.’
He smiled back. ‘So it would appear. I didn’t realise art appraisal was that fascinating.’
‘I’ve checked all the works against—’
‘No, no talk about art and theft or work. It’s time to relax.’
‘Relax?’ she repeated warily. Both Eric and Khalis seemed big on relaxing, yet she had no intention of letting down her guard, and especially not with this man. Last night’s headache episode had been bad enough. She didn’t intend to give him another chance to get close, to affect her.
‘Yes, relax,’ Khalis said. ‘The sun will set in another hour, and before it does I want to go for a swim.’
‘Please, don’t let me stop you.’
His mouth quirked in another smile. ‘I want you to go with me.’
Her heart seemed to fling itself against her ribs at the thought. ‘I don’t—’
‘Swim? I could teach you. We’ll start with the dog paddle.’ He mimed a child’s paddling stroke and Grace found herself smiling. Again.
‘I think I can manage to keep myself afloat, thanks very much.’ Strange, how light he made her feel. How happy. It was as dangerous and addictive as the physical response her body had to him. She shook her head. ‘I really should get this done—’
Khalis dropped his arms to his sides. ‘It’s not good to work without taking a break, especially considering the strength of your migraine last night. I let you work through lunch, but you really need to take some time off.’
‘Most employers don’t insist on their staff taking time off.’
‘I’m not most employers. Besides, you’re not actually my employee. I’m your client.’
‘Still—’
‘Anyone with sense knows that people work more effectively when they’re rested and relaxed. At least they know that in California.’ He held out one hand, his long lean fingers stretching so enticingly towards her. ‘Come on.’
She absolutely shouldn’t take his hand. Touch him. And she shouldn’t go for a swim. She shouldn’t even want to go for a swim, because she didn’t want to want anyone ever again. As for love, trust, desire.? Forget it. Forget them all.
And yet. And yet she remained motionless, hesitating, suspended with suppressed longing, because no matter what her brain told her about staying safe, strong and in control, her body and maybe even her heart said differently. They said, Yes. Please.
‘Do you have a swimming costume?’
Reluctantly she nodded. She had brought one, despite what she’d told Michel.
‘Well, then? What’s stopping you?’
You. Me. The physical temptation that the very idea of a swim with Khalis presented. The two of them, in the water and wearing very little.
And then there was the far more alarming emotional temptation … to draw closer to this man, to care about him when she couldn’t care about anyone. Never mind what restrictions her ex-husband had placed on her, her heart had far more stringent ones.
‘Grace.’ He said her name not as a question or a command, but as a statement. As if he knew her. And when he did that Grace felt as though she had no choice, and it both aggravated and amazed her. How could she fight this?
She reached out and took his hand. His fingers closed around hers with both strength and gentleness, and he glanced at her carefully, as if he needed to check she was OK. And, after the way she had yanked her hand away from his last night, he probably did.
Taking a breath, Grace met his questioning gaze—and nodded her assent.
Khalis felt an entirely triumphant thrill as he led her from the basement, up into the sunshine and fresh air. He felt as if he’d won a major victory, not against her, but for her. Something about Grace’s hidden vulnerability called out to him, made him want to offer her both protection and pleasure. He’d spent the better part of the day thinking about her, wondering what she was doing, thinking, feeling. Wondering about the man who had hurt her and how soft her lips would be if—when—he kissed her.
It had been a long time since he’d been in a relationship, even longer since a woman had aroused these kinds of protective feelings in him. Never before, if he were honest, at least not on a romantic, sexual level. The last woman who he’d been emotionally close to had been his sister. Jamilah.
And look what happened then.
Khalis resolutely pushed the thought away. It was just this island, these memories that were temporarily awakening his emotions.
This woman.
It would pass, Khalis told himself. He’d leave Alhaja and get back to his normal life soon enough. And in the meantime Grace provided a welcome distraction.
Except to think of her as a distraction was to think of her dismissively, as something disposable, and he knew he didn’t. Couldn’t. Already it had become something more, and he didn’t know whether to be alarmed, annoyed or amazed. Perhaps he was all three. But, for right now, all he wanted was a simple swim.
Up in the foyer, she stopped, pulled her hand away from his with firm purpose. ‘I need to change.’
‘Why don’t I meet you at the pool?’
‘All right.’
Fifteen minutes later a stiff and self-conscious Grace approached the pool area. He was sitting on the edge of the pool waiting for her, dangling his legs in the water, enjoying the last golden rays of sunshine. He took in her appearance in one swift and silent glance. Her swimming costume was appalling. Well, appalling might be too strong a word. It fitted, at least. But it was black and very modest, with a high neckline and a little skirt that covered her thighs. She looked like a grandmother. A very sexy grandmother, but still. Clearly she meant to hide her attractions. He smiled. Even a ridiculous swimming costume couldn’t make Grace Turner unattractive. Her long, slim legs remained on elegant display, and a swimming costume was, after all, a swimming costume. Her generous curves were also on enticing view.
She stiffened under his rather thorough inspection and then tilted her chin in that proud, defensive way he was coming to know so well. He stretched out his hand, which she ignored, instead moving gingerly to the steps that led into the shallow end.
‘The water’s warm,’ he offered.
‘Lovely.’ She dipped a toe in, then stood on the first step, up to her ankles, looking as if she were being tortured.
‘Lovely, you said?’ he teased, his voice rich with amusement, and she looked startled before giving him a very small smile.
‘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
STUPID. 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.
The next day followed the same pattern. She analysed the pigments used in both the Leonardos, and ate from trays brought down by Shayma. And thought about Khalis. She could feel his presence in every thoughtful touch, from the different flowers on her tray to the newspaper left on the breakfast table, to the subtle changes in the lab: better lighting, a more comfortable chair. How did he even know? She didn’t see him at all, though, and she realised she missed him.
An emotion, she knew, she didn’t want and couldn’t afford to feel. Over the last four years loneliness was a price she’d always been willing to pay for her freedom. Yet in just the space of a few days Khalis had opened up a sweet yearning inside her, a longing for a closeness she’d denied herself and half-forgotten. A longing that terrified her on so many levels.
That night she left the lab craving fresh air, and slipped out of the doors in the back of the entrance hall that led to the interior courtyard of the villa. She stopped by the pool, now still and empty, and realised by the flash of disappointment she felt that she’d been hoping to see him there. Amazing, how deceptive her own heart could be. She’d convinced herself she simply wanted some air but, really, she wanted Khalis.
She pressed her hands to her temples, as if she could will the want away. Think what you have to lose. Your daughter. The precious moments you have with her. One Saturday a month. Just twelve days a year.
She started walking down one of the twisting garden paths as fast as she could, as if she could outrun her thoughts. But they chased her, relentless in their power. Let a man close and not only will you lose your daughter, you’ll lose yourself. Khalis can’t be that different. And, even if he is … you aren’t.
Yet right now she wanted to be different. She craved the possibility of a loving, generous, equal relationship.
Impossible. Even if it existed, she couldn’t have it. She couldn’t risk it, and yet, for the sake of one man, one unbearably kind and gentle man, she was tempted to try. To throw it all away—and for what? A kiss? An affair? She could not believe she could be so weak. again.
Suddenly a pair of strong hands clamped around her shoulders and she let out a shocked yelp.
‘It’s just me.’ Khalis loomed in front of her, his smile gleaming in the moonlight. She could feel the heat radiating from his lithe body.
‘You startled me.’
‘So I see.’ He released her and stepped back. ‘I was out here walking as well, and you almost crashed into me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’
They stood there, a foot or so separating them, yet, considering the nature of her recent thoughts, it felt like an endless chasm. She wanted to walk into his arms and run away both at the same time. She was, Grace thought, an emotional schizophrenic. The sooner she got off this island the better.
‘Do you want to walk with me?’ Khalis asked and, after a charged pause, she nodded. Compromise. There was not room on the narrow little paths to walk side by side, so Khalis let her go first, wending her way among the fragrant foliage, the silver swathe the moon cut through the gardens their only guide.