The Darkest of Secrets (11 page)

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.’