Free The Darkest of Secrets by Kate Hewitt Page A

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,