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‘I sound heartless?’ Khalis gave a short laugh. ‘Good thing you never met my father.’
Grace knew she could not explain to Khalis why his opinion of his father disquieted her so much. She had heard rumours of Balkri Tannous, the bribes he took, the kind of shady business he conducted. Why was she, in her own twisted way, trying to defend him?
Because you still feel guilty. In need of forgiveness. Just like him.
‘How did you find out?’ she asked and Khalis did not pretend to misunderstand.
‘I was sixteen,’ he said quietly. ‘Home from school for the summer holidays. I went looking for my father, to tell him I’d won the mathematics prize that year.’ He lapsed into a silence and Grace knew he was remembering, saw the pain of that memory in the tautness of his face. ‘I found him in his study. He was on the telephone, and he waved for me to sit down. I couldn’t help but overhear him—not that he was trying to hide it. At first I didn’t understand. He said something about money, and asking for more, and I thought he was just talking about business. Then he said, “You know what to do if he resists. Make sure he feels it this time.” It sounded like something a school bully would say. I’d certainly heard such talk at school. But coming from my father—I couldn’t credit it. So much so that when he got off the telephone I asked him about it, almost as if it were a joke. “Papa,” I said, “it almost sounded like you were ordering someone to be beaten up!” My father gave me one hard look and then he said, “I was.”’
Khalis said nothing more. He’d pulled the Jeep onto a flat stretch of beach and killed the engine, so the only sound was the crash of waves onto the shore and the distant raucous cry of gulls. ‘And what then?’ Grace asked, for she knew there was more.
He lifted one shoulder in something close to a shrug. ‘I was shocked, of course. I don’t remember what I said—something stupid about it being wrong. My father came over to me and slapped my face. Hard.’ With a small smile he gestured to a tiny white scar on the corner of his mouth. ‘His ring.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Grace said quietly.
‘Oh, it’s not that terrible. I was sixteen, after all, almost a man. And he didn’t hit me again. But it was shocking to me because he’d never hit me before. I’d adored him, and he loved to be adored. Ammar had it much worse. My father didn’t pay much attention to me, although I always wanted him to. Until that day, when I realised just what kind of man he was.’
‘But you didn’t leave until you were twenty-one.’
Khalis’s mouth tightened before he gave a hard smile. ‘No. I made justifications for his activities, you see. Excuses. It was only the one time. The person he was dealing with was difficult or corrupt. So many absurd excuses because I didn’t have the courage to just leave.’
‘You were young,’ Grace said softly. ‘And that’s easy to do.’
‘For a while, perhaps, but then it’s just wilful blindness. Even when I didn’t want to, I started noticing things. The way the servants shrank from him, the telephone conversations he had. And then I started doing a bit of digging—I went through his desk once when he was away on business. He hadn’t even locked his office—too arrogant to think his family would nose about. I probably saw enough in that one afternoon to put him in prison.’ He shook his head. ‘He helped rig an election in an island country that was desperately poor. My father lined his pockets and the people got poorer.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘Nothing.’ Khalis practically spat the word. ‘I was nineteen, about to start Cambridge, and I knew I couldn’t manage on my own. So I just put it all back and tried to forget about it—for a little while at least. But I couldn’t forget. I’ll never forget.’ Khalis shook his head, his eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the sun, or perhaps just in memory.
Grace swallowed. ‘And so you left.’
‘Finally.’ The one word was harsh with self-recrimination. ‘I took his money to go to university first. I didn’t work up the courage to leave until I knew I could make a go of it on my own.’ His mouth twisted in condemnation of his own actions. ‘So I wasn’t really much better than he was.’
‘That’s rather harsh,’ Grace protested. ‘You weren’t responsible for your father’s actions.’
‘No. But doing nothing can be as damaging as the action itself.’
‘You were young—’
‘Not that young.’ He turned to her with a quick smile, his expression clearing although Grace still saw the storm clouds lurking in the depths of his agate eyes. ‘You’re very forgiving, much more forgiving than I am.’ Grace looked away. Yes, she tried to be forgiving because she knew how easy it was to fall. The only person she couldn’t forgive was herself. ‘We’ve talked about this enough,’ Khalis said. ‘I didn’t intend to spend the day with you raking up bitter memories. What is done, is done.’
‘Is it?’ Grace asked, her voice hoarse as she stared out to sea. ‘Or does it just go on and on?’
Khalis gazed at her for a moment. ‘It is done,’ he said quietly. ‘Whatever it is, Grace, it is done.’
She knew he didn’t know what he was talking about, what secrets she still hid, and yet even so she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that things could really be finished, sins truly forgiven. His father’s … and hers. She wanted to believe in a second chance even if she never got one. Silently she took his hand and let him lead her out of the Jeep.
They walked down the beach, Khalis’s hand still loosely linked with her own, until they came to a sheltered spot, the rocks providing protection from the relentless wind. Grace stopped in surprise at the sight of two gorgeous horses, a bay mare and a chestnut stallion, saddled and waiting, a groom holding their reins.
‘What—?’
‘I thought you might like to go riding.’
She shot him a sideways glance. ‘How do you even know if I ride?’
‘You mentioned a horse-mad phase,’ Khalis said with a smile. ‘That first night.’
‘So I did.’ She’d forgotten. She’d almost forgotten how to ride. She stared at the horses, reached out to stroke the bay’s satiny coat. ‘And I suppose you’ve been riding since the day you were born?’
‘Only since I was two. But it’s been a while.’
‘For me, too.’
‘We can take it slowly.’
Were they talking about riding, Grace wondered, or something else? It didn’t really matter. She was touched Khalis had thought of this, had remembered her offhand comment. And she wanted to ride. With a smiling nod she let the groom help her to mount. She was glad Khalis had told her to wear serviceable clothing.
Khalis mounted his own horse and smiled at Grace. ‘Ready?’
She nodded again, surprised and gratified by how much she enjoyed the feel of riding again, the wind at her back, the sun shining down. She nudged the horse into a canter and Khalis followed suit, the horses happy to trot down the length of the beach.
The breeze ruffled her hair and gulls cried raucously overhead. Grace felt a grin bloom all over her face. She’d forgotten how free she felt when she rode, how everything seemed to shrink to a point of a pin, the cares and fears and even the memories. Nothing mattered but this moment. Without even realising she was doing so, she urged her mount into a gallop. She heard Khalis laugh as he matched her pace.
‘Are we racing?’ he shouted to her, his words torn away on the wind.
‘I think we are,’ she called back and leaned low over her horse, her heart singing. It felt so good to be free.
The horses’ hooves churned up damp sand and her hair streamed out behind her as they raced down the beach. Grace saw a rocky inlet ahead and knew instinctively that it would be their finish line. Khalis pulled ahead and she urged her own mount onwards so they were neck and neck, both of them laughing. In the last moment Grace pulled ahead by half a length and the mare jumped neatly over the scattering of rocks that had comprised their impromptu finish line.
Laughing, she wheeled her mount around and brushed her hair from her eyes. ‘I hope you didn’t let me win.’
‘Never.’
Khalis looked so utterly at ease on his mount, his eyes flashing humour, his skin like burnished gold in the sunlight, that Grace suddenly felt quite dizzy with longing. She knew there was no way she’d won on her own merit, not when she hadn’t ridden in over a decade, and Khalis probably having grown up on a horse. Again it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this day, this one perfect golden day Khalis was giving her, a gift. ‘Liar,’ she said, smiling, and slipped off the horse. ‘But I’ll still take the victory. It felt so good to race like that. I’d forgotten how much I like riding.’
‘I’m glad you rediscovered it,’ Khalis said. He smiled as he brushed a tendril of hair away from her face and her stomach dipped in response to that casual touch. She stood there, blinking up at him, unable to move away. She might as well ask him out loud to touch her again. To kiss her.
He didn’t, though, just led their horses up the beach to where the groom was waiting; he must have driven there to meet them. The groom took control of the horses and Khalis reached for Grace’s hand. She let him lace his fingers with hers, reminded herself that just for today it was allowed. Today was separate from the rest of her life, alone on this island with a man she could so easily fall in love with.
The thought jolted her, made her hand tense in Khalis’s. She couldn’t fall in love, not with Khalis, not with anyone. She’d half-convinced herself that she could have this day—just one day—and she would walk away with no one the wiser, her heart intact. But to fall in love? That surely could only mean heartbreak … and discovery.
‘Come,’ Khalis said. ‘Our picnic is waiting.’
He led her to a secluded little cove surrounded by rocks, a blanket already spread across the sand and a basket waiting. Grace gave a soft laugh. ‘This took some planning.’
‘A little,’ he allowed. ‘It’s easy when you have staff.’
‘I can only imagine.’
He drew her down to the blanket and Grace tucked her legs underneath her. Khalis opened the basket and withdrew a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘A toast,’ he said, and popped the cork.
Grace accepted the glass, pushing away the reservations and regrets that still crouched in the corners of her mind. She wasn’t falling in love; she was stronger than that. She just wanted to enjoy this moment. This brief and fragile happiness.
‘What are we toasting?’ she asked.
‘To a perfect day,’ Khalis suggested.
‘To a perfect day,’ she echoed, and drank. As she lowered her glass she felt Khalis’s gaze rest heavily upon her. ‘One perfect day,’ she said, and she knew she was reminding herself as well as him.
Khalis watched Grace drink, enjoyed the sight of her looking happy and relaxed, her hair tousled and free, her face flushed with pleasure. He still saw the fear and sadness lurking in her eyes, and he longed to banish those shadows—not just for one day, but for ever. The fervent nature of his own thoughts didn’t alarm him any more, which surprised him. He was ready for this. Over the years he’d had a couple of serious relationships, yet he’d never found a woman who really reached him before. Who touched him and made him say and feel things he hadn’t to anyone else. Not until Grace.
From the moment he’d met her he’d been intrigued by her. But he felt more for her than a mere fascination. He admired her dedication to her career, her strength of purpose. He sensed, like him, she was a survivor. And he ached not just to touch her—although he certainly felt that—but to see her smile and hear her laugh.
Smiling, he reached over and plucked the glass from her fingers. ‘Ready to eat?’
‘OK.’
He fed her strawberries and slices of succulent melon, ripe juicy figs and the softest bread dipped in nutty olive oil. He loved watching her eat, loved to see her finally enjoying herself, the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes relaxing at last. He loved the sensuality of feeding her, of watching her lips part, her eyes widen, her pupils dilate. It felt quite unbearably erotic.
She finally shook her head, refusing the last lone strawberry, her lips still red from the juice. ‘You’re spoiling me.’
‘You deserve to be spoiled.’
The very air around them seemed to tense, freeze. Grace shook her head, her gaze sliding from his. ‘No, I don’t.’
Khalis had stretched out beside her on the blanket, one arm pillowing his head, and with the other he wound a tendril of soft blond hair around his finger. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked quietly.
She shook her head, hard enough for that silky tendril to slip from his finger. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
He wanted to tell her that it did matter, that everything about her mattered to him, but he swallowed down the words. She wasn’t ready to hear them, and perhaps he wasn’t ready to say them. Whatever existed between them now was too new and fragile to test it with brash proclamations. Like her, he wanted to enjoy this day. They had plenty of time to learn about each other—learn to trust and maybe even to love—after today. Today—this perfect day—was just the beginning.
Grace watched as Khalis reached for her hair again, winding one silky strand around his finger. He did it almost without thinking, the gesture so relaxed and sure, and yet that simple little touch rocked her to her very core. She shouldn’t even feel it—hair, after all, was made up of dead cells, with no nerves. Yet while the scientific part of her brain was reciting these dusty facts, her body blazed to life.
She felt it. Forget science, forget reality, she felt it. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide as she drank him in, his bronzed skin and grey-green eyes now crinkled at the corners as his sensual mouth curled into a knowing smile. Grace’s whole body tingled as awareness stole through her, a certain and lovely knowledge that he was going to kiss her.
He lowered his lips to hers slowly, one hand still fisted in her hair as his mouth came down on hers. Her hands slid along his sun-warmed shoulders to clench in the softness of his hair. He lifted his mouth from hers a fraction and his smile deepened; she could feel that smile. ‘You taste like strawberries.’
She smiled back. ‘So do you.’
He let out a little huff of laughter and lowered his head so his mouth claimed hers once more. Grace revelled in that kiss, in this moment, for surely nothing had never been so pure or perfect. Khalis kissed his way slowly along her jawline to the nape of her neck; she let out a sound that was something between a shudder and a laugh as his lips tickled that sensitive spot. He moved lower, to the neckline of her T-shirt, his tongue flicking along her skin, and he tugged it down to press a kiss against the vee between her breasts. Grace arched upwards, her body unfurling like a flower in the sun.
Khalis slid a hand along her waist, his seeking fingers lifting the hem of her T-shirt to touch the sensitized skin beneath. He kissed her again, deeply, and Grace pressed against him. Her own hands sought his skin, tugged up his shirt, slid along the warm, silky stretch of his bare back. She felt his hand slide down along her middle, his palm caressing the tender skin of her tummy.
Behind them a bird suddenly cawed raucously and Grace lurched upright, panic replacing desire. With her clothes in disarray, her hair mussed and her mouth swollen, she felt as if she’d been caught out. Trapped and shamed.
Khalis still reclined on one elbow, looking relaxed. He’d obviously noticed her overreaction, though he said nothing, just let his gaze sweep lazily over her.
‘I’m sorry—’ she began.
‘There’s no need to be sorry.’
She let out a shuddering breath. ‘I’m not … I haven’t …’
‘I know.’
He sounded so sure, and it made Grace flinch. He didn’t know. The assumptions he was making so easily and arrogantly were wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. ‘Actually,’ she told him, her voice low, ‘you don’t know.’
‘Then tell me.’
No. She tried for a smile. ‘We’ve spent enough time today talking about old memories.’
‘That’s a brush-off if I’ve ever heard one.’ He didn’t sound annoyed, just accepting or perhaps amused. He rolled to a sitting position and began packing the remains of their picnic. Was their perfect day over already?
‘We don’t have to go yet—’
He touched her heated cheek. ‘You’re getting sunburn. We’re very close to the coast of Africa, you know. The sun is incredibly hot.’
Silently Grace helped him pack up their things. She felt a confused welter of emotions: frustration that the afternoon had ended, as well as relief that it hadn’t gone too far. And over it all like a smothering blanket whose weight she’d become so unbearably used to, guilt. Always the guilt.
‘Cheer up.’ Chuckling softly, Khalis touched her cheek again, his fingers lingering on her skin. ‘Don’t look so disappointed, Grace. It’s only one day.’
Exactly, she wanted to say. Shout. One day—that was all she had. All she’d allow herself, and Khalis knew that. He’d said so himself—hadn’t he? Doubt suddenly pricked her. Had she assumed he understood because it was easier to do so? Easier to be blinded by your own desires, to justify and excuse and ignore. But if he didn’t understand. if he hadn’t accepted her silent, implied terms that today was all they would ever share … what did he want? What did he expect?
Whatever it was, she couldn’t give it to him, and a poignant sorrow swept over her as she realised for the first time she wanted to.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN Grace returned to her room she was surprised to find Shayma in attendance, along with an impressive array of clothes and beauty products. Grace stared at a tray of make-up and nail varnish in bewilderment.
‘What is all this …?’
Shayma smiled shyly. ‘Mr Tannous, he wishes me to help you prepare.’
‘Prepare?’ Grace turned to gaze at the half-dozen gowns spread out on the bed in bewilderment. ‘For what?’
‘He is taking you somewhere, I think?’
‘Taking me …’ Where on earth could he take her to? Not that it mattered; she couldn’t go anywhere. She couldn’t be seen in public with Khalis, or with any man. Not on a proper date, at least.
‘Are they not beautiful?’ Shayma said, lifting one of the gowns from the bed. Grace swallowed as she looked at it.
‘Gorgeous,’ she admitted. The dress was a body-hugging sheath in ivory silk, encrusted with seed pearls. It looked like a very sexy wedding gown.
‘And this one as well.’ Shayma lifted a dress in a blue so deep it looked black, the satin shimmering like moonlight on water.
‘Amazing.’ The dresses were all incredible, and she could not suppress the purely feminine longing to wear one. To have Khalis see her in one.
‘And shoes and jewels to match each one,’ Shayma told her happily.
Grace shook her head helplessly. She could not believe the trouble and expense Khalis had gone to. She could not believe how much she wanted to wear one of the gowns, and go on a date—a proper date—with him.
See how it happens? her conscience mocked her. Temptation creeps in, slithers and stalks. And before you know it you’re doing things you never, ever thought you’d do. And telling yourself it’s OK.
She knew the rules of her agreement with Loukas. No inappropriate behaviour. No dating. No men. It wasn’t fair or really even legal, but in the four years since her divorce she hadn’t really cared about the restrictions Loukas had placed upon her. Her heart had its own restrictions. Don’t trust. Don’t love. Don’t lose yourself. She hadn’t wanted any of it—until Khalis. Khalis made her long to feel close to someone again, to feel the fire of physical desire and the sweetness of shared joy. For the first time in four years she was tempted to let someone in. To trust him with her secrets.
Grace turned away from the sight of those tempting dresses. It was impossible, she reminded herself. Even if her contrary heart had changed, the conditions of her custody arrangement had not.
‘Miss …?’ Shayma asked hesitantly, and Grace turned back with an apologetic smile.
‘I’m sorry, Shayma. I can’t wear any of these dresses.’
Shayma stared at her in confused dismay. ‘You do not like them?’
‘No, I love them all. But I’m not. I can’t go out with Mr Tannous.’ Shayma looked more confused, and even worried. Grace patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll explain to him myself.’
She took a moment to brush her hair and steel herself before heading towards the part of the compound that housed Khalis’s study.
Khalis sat behind his desk, and he smiled as she came in. ‘I need to tell you—’
He held up one hand. ‘You’d like to thank me for the dresses, but you won’t go out with me tonight.’
Grace stopped short. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’d expect nothing less from you, Grace. Nothing about you is easy.’
She bristled; she couldn’t help it. ‘I’m not sure why you bother, then.’
‘I think you do. We share something unusual, something profound—don’t we?’ He didn’t sound remotely uncertain. Grace said nothing, but her silence didn’t seem to faze Khalis in the least. ‘I’ve never felt that before with any woman, Grace. And I don’t think you’ve felt it with any man.’ He paused, his gaze intent and serious. ‘Not even your ex-husband.’
She swallowed. Audibly. And still didn’t speak.
‘You fascinate me, Grace. You make me feel alive and open and happy.‘
Grace shook her head slowly. Did he know what his heartfelt confessions did to her? How hungry and heartbroken they made her feel? ‘I’m really not that fascinating.’
He smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps I’m easily fascinated, then.’
‘Perhaps you’re easily misguided.’
He arched an eyebrow, clearly surprised by this turn in the conversation. ‘Misguided? How?’
Her throat tightened around the words she couldn’t say. ‘You don’t really know me,’ she said softly.
‘I’m getting to know you. I want to know you.’ She shook her head again, unwilling to explain that she didn’t want him to get to know her. She didn’t want him to know. ‘Why won’t you go out with me tonight?’
‘As I’ve told you before, I can’t.’
‘Can’t,’ Khalis repeated musingly. His body remained relaxed, but his gaze was hard now, unyielding, and Grace knew she would bend beneath that assessing stare. She would break. ‘Are you afraid of your ex-husband?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Stop talking in riddles.’
Grace knew she’d prevaricated long enough. Khalis had been gentle, patient, kind. He deserved a little honesty. Just a little.
‘I have a daughter,’ she said quietly. ‘Katerina. She’s five years old.’
Khalis’s expression didn’t change, not really, beyond the slight flare of realisation in his eyes, turning them darker, more grey than green, like the ice that covered a lake. You had no idea how hard or thick it was until you stepped on it, let it take your full weight. And then heard the resounding crack in the air as it broke beneath you.
‘And?’ he finally asked softly.
‘My ex-husband has custody of her. I get to see her once a month.’
She could almost hear the creak of the ice, the cracks like spiderwebs splintering the solid ground beneath them. What Khalis had thought was solid ground. ‘Why is that?’ he asked, his tone carefully neutral.
She swallowed, words sticking in her throat, jagged shards of truth she could not dislodge. ‘It’s complicated,’ she whispered.
‘How complicated?’
‘He’s a very powerful and wealthy man,’ she explained, choosing each word with agonised care. ‘Our marriage was … troubled and … and our divorce acrimonious. He used his influence to win complete custody.’ Her throat closed up over those unsaid jagged shards so they cut her up inside, although surely they’d already done all their damage? She’d lived with the loss of her daughter and her own painful part in it for four years already. Yet it hurt more to tell Khalis now because she never spoke of it. Never to anyone she cared about. And she cared about Khalis. She’d tried not to, still wished she didn’t, but she couldn’t deny the truth he’d spoken. They did share something. She felt her mouth wobble and tried to look away.