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alluring than ever. He felt his libido stir insistently to life and took a sip of wine to distract himself. What was it about this woman that affected him so much—in so many ways?
    ‘Yes, you see the second painting is one art historians thought Leonardo never completed. It’s been no more than a rumour or even a dream.’ She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d seen with her own eyes. ‘Leda not with her lover the Swan, but with her children of that tragic union. Helen and Polydeuces, Castor and Clytemnestra.’ Abruptly she turned away from him, and with the sudden sweep of those sooty lashes Khalis knew she was hiding some deep and powerful emotion.
    ‘If he never completed it,’ he asked after a moment, ‘how do art historians even know about its possibility?’
    ‘He did several studies. He was fascinated by the myth of Leda.’ Her back was still to him, radiating tension once more. Khalis fought the urge to put his hand on her shoulders, draw her to him, although for a kiss or a hug of comfort he wasn’t even sure. He felt a powerful desire to do both. ‘He’s one of the few artists ever to have thought of painting Leda that way. As a mother, rather than a lover.’
    ‘You seem rather moved by the idea,’ he said quietly, and he felt the increase of tension in her lithe body like a jolt of electricity that wired them both.
    She drew in a breath that sounded only a little ragged and after a second’s pause, turned to him with a cool smile. ‘Of course I am. As I told you before, this is a major discovery.’
    Khalis said nothing, merely observed her. Her gaze was level, her face carefully expressionless. It was a look, he imagined, she cultivated often. A mask to hide the turbulent emotions seething beneath that placid surface. He recognised it because he had a similar technique himself. Except his mask went deeper than Grace’s, soul-deep. He felt nothing while her emotions remained close to the surface, reflected in her eyes, visible in the soft, trembling line of her mouth.
    ‘I didn’t mean the discovery,’ he said, ‘but rather the painting itself. This Leda.’
    ‘I can’t help but feel sorry for her, I suppose.’ She shrugged, one slender shoulder lifting, and Khalis’s gaze was irresistibly drawn to the movement, the shimmery fabric of her dress clinging lovingly to the swell of her breast. She noticed the direction of his gaze and, her eyes narrowed and mouth compressed, pushed past him. ‘You mentioned earlier you were starving. Shall we eat?’
    ‘Of course.’ He moved to the table and pulled out her chair. Grace hesitated, then walked swiftly towards him and sat down. Khalis inhaled the scent of her perfume or perhaps her shampoo; it smelled sweet and clean, like almonds. He gently pushed her chair in and moved to the other side of the table. Nothing Grace had said or done so far had deterred him or dampened his attraction; in fact, he found the enigmatic mix of strength and vulnerability she showed all the more intriguing—and alluring. And as for the emotions she stirred up in him. Khalis pushed these aside. The events of the last week had left him a little raw, that was all. It should come as no surprise that he was feeling a bit stupidly emotional. It would pass … even as his attraction to Grace Turner became stronger.
    Grace laid her napkin in her lap with trembling fingers. She could not believe how unnerved she was. She didn’t know if it was being on this wretched island, seeing those amazing paintings, or the proximity to Khalis Tannous. Probably—and unfortunately—all three.
    She could not deny this man played havoc with her peace of mind by the way he seemed to sense what she was thinking and feeling. The way his gaze lingered made her achingly aware of her own body, created a response in her she didn’t want or like.
    Desire. Need.
    She’d schooled herself not to feel either for so long. How could this one man shatter her defences