The Darkest of Secrets Read Online Free Page A

is my speciality, Mr Tannous.’
    ‘Khalis.’ He sat behind the huge oak desk, steepling his fingers under his chin, clearly waiting for her to continue.
    ‘I have a PhD in seventeenth century da Vinci copies.’
    ‘Forgeries.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I don’t think you will be dealing with forgeries here.’
    A leap of excitement pulsed through her. Despite her alarm and anxiety about being in this place, she really did want to see what was in that vault. ‘If you’d like to show me what you wish to be appraised—’
    ‘How long have you been with Axis Art Insurers?’
    ‘Four years.’
    ‘You are, I must confess, very young to be so experienced.’
    Grace stifled a surge of annoyance. She was, unfortunately, used to clients—mainly men—casting doubt upon her abilities. Clearly Khalis Tannous was no different. ‘Monsieur Latour can vouch for my abilities, Mr Tannous—’
    ‘Khalis,’ he said softly.
    Awareness rippled over her in a shiver, like droplets of water on bare skin. She didn’t want to call him by his first name, as ridiculous as that seemed. Keeping formal would be one way of maintaining a necessary and professional distance. ‘If you’d prefer another appraiser, please simply say so. I will be happy to oblige you.’ Leaving this island—and all the memories it churned up—would be a personal relief, if a professional disappointment.
    He smiled, seeming so very relaxed. ‘Not at all, Ms Turner. I was simply making an observation.’
    ‘I see.’ She waited, wary, tense, trying to look as unconcerned as he did. He didn’t speak, and impatience bit at her. ‘So the collection …?’ she finally prompted.
    ‘Ah, yes. The collection.’ He turned to stare out of the window, his easy expression suddenly turning guarded, hooded. He seemed so urbane and assured, yet for just a moment he looked like a man in the grip of some terrible force, in the cast of an awful shadow. Then his face cleared and he turned back to her with a small smile. ‘My father had a private collection of art in the basement of this compound. A collection I knew nothing about.’ Grace refrained from comment. Tannous arched one eyebrow in gentle mockery. ‘You doubt me.’
    Of course she did. ‘I am not here to make judgements, Mr Tannous.’
    ‘Are you ever,’ he mused, ‘going to call me Khalis?’
    Not if she could help it. ‘I prefer work relationships to remain professional.’
    ‘And calling me by my first name is too intimate?’ There was a soft, seductive lilt to his voice that made that alarming awareness creep along Grace’s spine and curl her toes. The effect this man had on her—his voice, his smile, his body—was annoying. Unwanted. She smiled tightly.
    ‘ Intimate is not the word I would use. But if you feel as strongly about it as you seem to, then I’m happy to oblige you and call you Khalis.’ Her tongue seemed to tangle itself on his name, and her voice turned breathy. Grace inwardly flinched. She was making a fool of herself and yet, even so, she’d seen something flare in his eyes, like silver fire, when she said his name. Whatever she was feeling—this attraction, this magnetism—he felt it, too.
    Not that it mattered. Attraction, to her, was as suicidal as a moth to a flame. ‘May I see the paintings?’ she asked.
    ‘Of course. Perhaps that will explain things.’
    In one fluid movement Khalis rose from the desk and walked out of the study, clearly expecting Grace to follow him. She suppressed the bite of irritation she felt at his arrogant attitude—he didn’t even look back—only to skid to a surprised halt when she saw him holding the door open for her.
    He smiled down at her, and Grace had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been feeling. ‘After you,’ he murmured and, fighting a flush, she walked past him down the same corridor they had used earlier. ‘Where am I going?’ she asked tersely. She could feel Khalis walking behind her, heard the