Secret Paradise (Kimani Romance) (7 page)

“Neither did I.”

“I shouldn’t let this happen.”

“Then blame me,” Nikki said, bold and impulsive. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Can I blame you for this?” Lucian asked as he untied her robe and pushed it from her shoulders. “And this?” He removed a strap from her nightie and slid it down until he captured one breast in his hand. “And this?” His mouth covered her breast, his tongue warm and wet against her taut nipple.

Nikki closed her eyes, her hands diving into his hair, wanting his tongue to explore every part of her. “Yes, blame me for everything.”

“I want to,” Lucian said, now letting his mouth slide down her throat. “But I can’t.”

“You can try.”

He lifted his face and offered her an indulgent smile. “Then what kind of man would that make me?”

“A man under a spell.”

He paused and Nikki felt the magic moment shatter. “Yes.” He drew away and a shadow fell over his eyes as he looked at her. “I was under a spell once by a sorceress who turned me into a beast.” He lifted up the strap of her nightie until she was fully clothed again. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Nikki grabbed his arm before he could turn from her. “One woman may have turned you into a beast, but let another turn you back into a man.”

A cynical grin touched his lips. “At what price?”

“No price.”

“There’s always a price.”

“We can figure that out later.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Let me see your scars.”

“Why? They are the stuff of nightmares.”

“I told you before that I’m used to nightmares.”

He removed his shirt. “Even living ones?” He turned his back to her.

Nikki recoiled at the hideous sight where dark, gnarled flesh met raw red and black skin. The scars covered his entire back and one arm. She bit back a gasp she didn’t want him to hear.

But he heard it, anyway, and quickly turned to her, his scarred arm reaching for her. She flinched just for a moment but it was enough. A faint light died in his eyes and his hand fell. He grabbed his shirt.

Nikki silently swore, guilt piercing through her like a shard of glass. “Lucian, I didn’t mean—”

“To recoil from my touch?” he said in a harsh voice. “How could you stop yourself?”

Nikki shook her head, her body trembling as her mind desperately searched for the right words to repair the damage she’d done. “Lucian, please. It wasn’t you. I just didn’t—”

“Don’t pity me, damn you.” He ground the words out between his teeth. “And don’t look at me like that! Like some wounded creature that needs to be soothed and coddled. Or like a child that needs to be rocked back to sleep after a bad dream. This is my reality, Nikki, and there’s no way to disguise it or pretty it up.” He picked up his drink and emptied its contents in one swallow, then slammed the glass down with such force, she was surprised it didn’t crack. “Good night.” He grabbed his cane and stormed away.

Nikki fell back into her chair as the weight of her misery descended on her, tightening her throat. She blew out the candles and in the darkness let her tears fall.

Chapter 8

L
ight danced along the blue water as Nikki lay on the sundeck of the yacht. She was glad for the bright sun, which gave her an excuse to wear the sunglasses that hid her red-rimmed eyes. She’d hardly slept last night, wishing she’d handled everything differently. Why had she flinched? She’d had his trust and lost it in an instant. It wasn’t that his scars had frightened or disgusted her, just that they still looked so painful, and she could feel the agony he must have been in. If only he’d allowed her to explain. But she still couldn’t deny that she’d handled it badly.

Monica wouldn’t have flinched. She would have steeled herself and made him feel like a king. Instead, she’d made him feel like a monster. How could she have regained his trust at that moment? She could have told him about her recurring nightmare that someone she loved was in danger and she was unable to save them. That she was always too late or they were just out of reach. At first those dreams featured just Monica. Then, when her niece, Starla, was born, she started showing up in her dreams, crying, with her arms outstretched to her aunty—begging for help she couldn’t give. Now even little Markos appeared in her dreams, and just like with the others, she was always too late and failed to help him. Like Callia, sometimes she woke up at night in tears, knowing that she’d awakened from a nightmare about her deepest fear, but still feeling like a failure. But she wasn’t sure if telling Lucian about her dreams and fears would have changed the hurt she’d caused him.

She’d failed him just as much as if he had been swept out to sea and had thrown a rope for her to catch. She’d missed and let it slip through her grasp, letting him drown. It was like a real-life version of her nightmare coming true. Would she always fail the people she cared for? At that moment she knew what she had to do. She would have to make up for her involuntary action through her work. She would design a spectacular room for him.

“You’re lost in thought,” Basilio said, setting his glass aside.

“Who can think in paradise?” Nikki said, not wanting to share her thoughts.

“Yes, you’re right. I find it hard myself sometimes.”

“That explains a lot,” Callia said, stretched out in the lounge chair next to Nikki.

He ignored her and pointed to several spots of land in the distance. “That’s Greece and over there’s Turkey.”

Nikki glanced at them, then looked back at Lucian’s island—remote and beautiful with its hidden secrets.

Basilio noticed her look. “It used to be called Smugglers’ Island. The name changed but the activity hasn’t.”

Nikki turned to him, stunned. “People still smuggle from here? What are you doing about it?”

“We leave it to the patrol. You don’t have to be worried. Lucian’s hired the best and none of our visitors have ever complained. But be careful going around at night, especially when you’re near the water. We have lots of security, but it’s still a large island and you could get lost.”

A large island with few visitors,
Nikki thought. But one woman had made an impact on its owner. “Tell me about Alana.”

Callia and Basilio stilled, thickening the silence in the air, until Basilio said, “Why?”

“Callia told me that Lucian was going to marry her and that she died.”

He shot Callia a glance.

“It’s true,” the girl said.

He shrugged. “Yes, but it wasn’t as straightforward as that.”

“How do you mean?” Nikki asked.

He sighed, uncomfortable. “I suppose you’ll find out eventually. Alana started the fire and then perished in it.”

Nikki stared at him, horrified. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“Because she’s evil,” Callia said.

“No, it’s not that simple,” Basilio said. “Before you can understand, let me give you some background.” He settled back into his lounge chair, as if part of him enjoyed the job of sharing the story. “Alana was the daughter of a top Ghanaian official he met in Switzerland. The moment he saw her, Lucian fell in love, but he didn’t know she had a dark side. She could be moody, temperamental and nasty to the servants and anyone who crossed her. Or who she
thought
crossed her. When Lucian discovered this and some other things about her, he broke off the engagement. So she got her revenge by setting the place on fire.”

Nikki shook her head. “That seems like a rather extreme action just for getting dumped.”

“I know, but if you’d met Alana, you’d know that is exactly something she would do.”

“There must have been more to the story for her to be so violently angry.”

“If there is, only Lucian knows. Alana liked drama. Some believe she poured accelerant around the house, then on herself, and torched both while Lucian watched. Others think she meant to burn only the house down and got caught in her own trap. Stories and rumors linger, but only Lucian knows the truth and he won’t discuss it with anyone. All we know is that her body was found, broken and charred, at the side of the house.” He sent Callia a hooded look. “One thing is certain. She’s definitely dead.”

“But it seems so vicious. Was she crazy?”

“I didn’t think so. I don’t think anyone did, but she must have been and we just discovered it too late.”

Callia shook her head. “She wasn’t crazy and she isn’t done yet.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Basilio said.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not real,” Callia countered. “She’s a—”

“The only mystery,” Basilio interrupted, “was how she got into the house.”

Nikki leaned forward. “You think someone on the staff might have helped her?”

“There’s no other way. The security system is stellar. The way she was able to make the place go up in flames took skill and cunning. She knew the layout of the entire house and had to have the time to set things up for the house to explode the way it did. Someone hid her and helped her into the house.”

“You think someone else wanted revenge?”

“No, I think Alana used someone who didn’t know what she was really planning to do. After the fire most of the staff left and those who returned have been loyal for years. We can vouch for everyone. I’m sure whoever helped her is long gone.”

“You say she was Ghanaian?” Nikki asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“Yesterday I found a beautiful head wrap in one of the rooms I was in.” Nikki described it for him.

“Yes,” Callia said, excited. “I saw it too. It looked just like the family colors.”

Basilio frowned. “That’s strange.”

“Family colors?” Nikki said, picking up on Callia’s words.

“Our father was from a royal family in Ghana and that particular pattern you described represents our lineage, but after he disappeared nearly twenty years ago, we haven’t had much to do with that side of the family,” Basilio explained. “I think that’s why Alana was able to captivate Lucian so much. Deep inside he was still desperate to connect to that part of his heritage. I think she used that against him.”

“Have you been to Ghana?”

“Once,” Basilio said with a careless twist of his wrist. “Lucian’s several years older than me, so he remembers it and our father more than I do. We never lived there but I remember one visit we took to see family. I admit I’m not that interested in going back. Our parents met as university students in Canada. They were both foreign students—she from Greece and he from Ghana. He was working on his Ph.D. in civil engineering, while our mother was completing her master’s in archeology. They fell in love, moved to the United States and settled in Oregon. Dad traveled a lot. Then one day he didn’t come back. When he left, Lucian and I took our mother’s surname and nicknames. I was originally christened Basil. Mom preferred Basilio and so do I.”

“What about Lucian?”

“I think Dad used to call him Lucas. My mother was always correcting him. ‘It’s Lucian, not Lucas. He was named in honor of my grandfather,’ she’d tell him. I’m not sure how much he listened. Anyway, my mother’s family is enough for me. We have lots of relatives on that side. All I remember was that our father disappeared like a puff of smoke. Then one day our mother told us he was dead. I was too young to remember much, but for Lucian…it hurt him. I remember my father being a serious man who used to stay to himself. I don’t remember ever sitting on his lap, or him being part of any of our family gatherings.

“But after he left, my mother remarried, and that’s the man who I considered to be my father. By then Lucian was already out of the house, making money and doing his best to forget him. There’s no reminder of our Ghanaian roots anywhere in his home. Lucian doesn’t want to remember Dad or Alana. So it’s unusual that you should have found that piece of material out of nowhere.”

“So you don’t think your father’s disappearance was suspicious?”

“No. Fathers leave.”

“I think there might be a connection,” Callia said.

“And you have a wild imagination,” Basilio said. “You think that all Ghanaians know each other?”

“No, I just—”

“What’s done is done. What happened was unfortunate, but my brother is safe now. It was just a crazy woman out for revenge, nothing more. Whoever helped her probably thought she wanted to reconcile with my brother or something. I’m sure it was a harmless mistake. Alana could be very persuasive.”

“Where were you when this happened?” Nikki asked.

Basilio hesitated. “I was away. Lucian sent me to the mainland to take care of some work.”

“No,” Callia said with a fierce shake of her head. “Uncle Lucian sent us away because he knew she would come.”

“You don’t know that,” Basilio said in a harsh tone.

“Yes, I do. No one was in the house. No one else talked about escaping the fire. That means that everyone was sent away. Uncle was all alone.”

“But you didn’t know that then.”

“I knew something wasn’t right. I wanted to go back, but you didn’t let me.”

“But you went back, anyway,” Basilio said. “And Lucian still blames me for that.”

“I swear I don’t know how it happened. I went to sleep and then woke up in the house.”

“He suspects someone drugged us and took Callia back.”

“Us?” said Nikki.

“Yes, I have a shaky memory of that night.” Basilio turned away to look at the sea, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “There’s no use looking back. Alana was the cause of the fire and she’s gone for good. Now there’s nothing to worry about.”

Nikki wanted to believe him, but the look on Callia’s face made her question his blasé attitude. She sensed there was more to the story than he was telling her. But she didn’t want to spoil the day.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said.

“I know I am,” Basilio said with a broad smile. “Let’s go below deck and get some lunch.”

Lunch was a welcomed diversion that consisted of a Greek salad;
imam bayildi
, or stuffed eggplant; and tomato pilaf—the fresh tomatoes lending a lovely pink hue to the rice—which were accompanied by more greens, yogurt cucumber sauce and smoked fish in almond sauce. One look at the appetizing feast wiped away Nikki’s nagging thoughts. After the filling meal, Nikki returned to the sundeck and closed her eyes. But when she did, she saw Lucian’s face, and behind him a fire roared.