The Best Man's Guarded Heart

Well, tough. He would remain convinced that Sofia was marrying Christos for his name and wealth until it was proved otherwise. And as for Grace Chapman... She seemed to know a lot about him. Was she really here just to organise the wedding flowers? Or did she perhaps hope for romance with the best man?

And that wasn’t his vanity speaking. He had a constant stream of women eager to date him—to date a Petrakis, date a billionaire. To date him for all the superficial reasons he hated. But it suited him, because no woman was ever getting close to knowing the real him again. And no way was he getting entangled with the chief bridesmaid when tradition dictated that they would see each other in the future.

He picked up her suitcase and said once again, ‘I’ll show you to your room.’

Her phone rang. She checked the screen and turned away. ‘Hi, Matt.’ A long giggle followed. ‘Of course I miss you.’

As he took her bags up into the villa he gritted his teeth at how happy she sounded. When was the last time someone had answered his call with such warmth and tenderness? And then anger surged through his veins. Was she already in a relationship? If so, why the hell was she allowing the chemistry between them to smoulder on?

* * *

‘I love you too.’

Grace hung up from Matt and stretched her neck back, easing the tension in her muscles a fraction.

She rolled her shoulders and took in once again the quiet serenity of her surroundings. Then she steeled herself. She walked into the villa and entered a large living room, seeing walls whitewashed in gentle curves, a recessed fireplace. The stillness of the room and its simple refined beauty, from the huge white sofas on white marble floors to the handcrafted teak furniture, were at odds with the sense of injustice raging in her heart.

Andreas had no right to make such horrible assumptions about Sofia. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Was Andreas just like her father? Cold and cynical? A man so obsessed with becoming wealthy he was blind to the magic of love and loyalty?

Whatever the truth, Sofia and Christos could not arrive to find the best man and chief bridesmaid at loggerheads. She and Andreas would have to learn to get on.

She found him in the kitchen, propped against the countertop, peeling an orange. She placed his jacket on the back of a chair. Unconsciously, she let her hand linger for a few moments on the soft wool, until she realised what she was doing.

Long elegant fingers expertly spiralled the peel off the orange, but he didn’t glance downwards once to watch his progress—instead he studied her.

She placed a bottle of champagne on the counter. In response to his frown she explained, ‘It’s a thank-you for having me to stay.’

She had thought it might be an appropriate gift, given the upcoming celebrations, but was rapidly revising that idea. She twisted the bracelet at her wrist, her fingers reaching for the two charms that sat at its centre. The tension in her body eased a fraction when she squeezed the silver metal with her thumb and forefinger.

‘I think we need to talk.’

He gave a tight nod and walked over to a cupboard. He opened the door on an array of crystal glasses. ‘What can I get you to drink? Wine? Beer?’

Not thirsty, she was about to refuse, but then realised that she should accept his offer as a small step forward towards developing some form of entente cordiale between them.

‘I have a long day tomorrow, so I’d like fruit juice, if that’s okay.’

He gestured for her to sit on one of the stools beneath the counter, but instead she leaned against the wall, next to an old-fashioned dresser filled with colourful ceramics which, though at odds with the sleek lines of Andreas’s modern kitchen, grounded the room with their reminder of history and other lives lived.

She jumped when her phone rang again. She grabbed it off the dresser. It was Lizzie. She let the call go to her voicemail, but that didn’t stop Andreas giving her a critical stare.

The cold apple juice was sharp and refreshing, and thankfully helped her refocus on the task at hand. ‘So, can we talk?’

He lifted his own glass of water and took a drink, his eyes never leaving her. ‘What about?’

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at his icy tone. ‘Sofia’s my best friend. This wedding means the world to her. I don’t want anything...or anybody...to upset her.’

‘Meaning me?’

She met his gaze and a wave of protectiveness for her friend had her returning his intimidating stare with conviction. ‘Yes. Sofia is marrying Christos because she loves him—not for any other reason.’

‘So you said before.’

His flippancy irked her and she asked sharply, ‘Why have you agreed to host the wedding here, to be best man, if you don’t approve?’

He held her gaze with a steady coolness, but his jaw tightened in irritation. ‘When Christos asked me to be his best man I told him my concerns. But I believe in family loyalty, so of course I agreed. It would not have been honourable to do otherwise. And as for this island—we spent our childhood summers here, and we always vowed that we would marry in the island chapel one day. I’m not going to deny Christos that wish, no matter what my misgivings are.’

He stared at her hard, as though defying her to ask any more questions. But there was something in his expression that was puzzling her. Was it a hint of wounded pride? Why did she feel as though she was missing some significant point in this conversation? Sofia had mentioned that Andreas had once been briefly married. Was he remembering his own marriage? Or was she just reading this all wrong? Grace had formed the impression from Sofia that he had easily moved on from that marriage to a string of other relationships.

She walked towards him and stopped a little distance away. She forced herself to look into his eyes. Her heart pounded at the hard cynicism she found there. ‘I can understand why you might have some concerns. But Sofia is an incredible person and I truly believe they will be extremely happy together. They were made for one another. For their sake I would like us to get on.’

He moved away from the countertop. Beneath his open-necked shirt, golden skin peppered with dark hair was visible. He took a step closer to her. Her breath caught as she inhaled his scent—a sensual muskiness with hints of spice and lemon. She stared at the broadness of his shoulders beneath the slim-fitting white shirt, the narrowness of his hips in the dark tuxedo trousers, the long length of his legs.

He stepped even closer, towering over her, those light green eyes burnished with gold scorching into hers. He leaned down towards her ear and in a low growl asked, ‘Tell me...will your boyfriend be joining you for the wedding?’

His voice rumbled through her body. She didn’t know whether to run away from the dark danger that everything about this man screamed or just give in and lean into the heat and invisible pull of his powerful body.

She stepped back. Again he pinned her to the spot with his demanding stare.

‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Then who’s Matt?’

‘Matt? Matt’s my brother.’

For a moment he considered her suspiciously, as though searching for the truth. Then abruptly he turned away.

‘I understand from Christos that you wish to use the workshops down by the island jetty to prepare the flowers? Tomorrow my gardener Ioannis will show you the way. If you need to travel to any of the other islands Ioannis will take you. My housekeeper Eleni will take care of your meals. Your bedroom is upstairs—the third room to the right. I have left your luggage there.’

Rebelliousness surged through her at his dismissive tone. ‘And what about you, Andreas? Will you have a partner at the wedding this weekend?’

He turned and considered her. ‘No. I’ll be on my own. The way I like it. And, to answer your earlier question, I can see no reason why we cannot get on with one another. I will go along with Christos’s wishes...but please don’t expect me to embrace this wedding with the same enthusiasm as you. My days of believing in romance and love are long gone.’

He threw the uneaten orange into the bin, muttered, ‘Kalinichta...goodnight...’ and walked out of the room.

Grace collapsed against the wall, suddenly exhausted. She closed her eyes and prayed that tomorrow would go more smoothly. That the deliveries would arrive on time. That in the cold light of the day her senseless attraction to Andreas would diminish.

Because Andreas Petrakis was as far removed from her ideal man as Attila the Hun.

CHAPTER TWO

ANDREAS SLOWED THE pace of his morning swim for the last hundred metres into the shore and trailed his eye up the cliff-face and the numerous terraces built into it.

In only three days’ time the island would be overrun with the hundreds of guests who were to be ferried out to the island from Athens. There would be polite avoiding of his eye, curious studying of him to see if he gave any sign of remembering his own vows of commitment, and how his marriage had ended within twelve short months.

He hoped Christos knew what he was doing. That he knew Sofia as well as he said he did. Andreas did not want to see his brother hurt. Or his family humiliated and disappointed again.

He had spent the past month, since Christos had announced his engagement, avoiding any involvement in the wedding preparations. He would respect his brother’s decision and play the dutiful best man. Get along with the chief bridesmaid as best he could. But he’d keep his distance from her. To do otherwise, no matter how tempting, would be foolhardy.

There was undoubtedly a spark of attraction between them, but she was an out-and-out romantic and he had no business getting involved with a woman who believed in fairy-tale endings. Not when he knew that love was nothing but a fantasy. Anyway, the best man should never get involved with the chief bridesmaid. It was never a good idea in the long run.

On the warm sand at the base of the cliff he grabbed his towel and made his way back up the steep steps to the villa. He had rushed into marriage, like Christos. In the intense whirlwind of infatuation he had thought he had found love. But through her lies and betrayal his ex-wife had hardened his heart for ever. He would never trust again. He had always believed in marriage, in having children. But now those were the long forgotten dreams of an innocent.

Close to the top of his climb, he came to a stop on the final steps. Laden down with files and paperwork, her hair tied up into a high ponytail, bouncing from side to side, Grace rushed down the path towards him. She was dressed in a white lace blouse, pink shorts and trainers, and the sight of her bare legs had his abdominals tensing with frustration.

She spotted him and slowed, her eyes quickly flicking over him. Heat filled her cheeks before she looked away.

‘Kalimera—good morning, Grace.’

She ventured another quick gaze at him and nodded. This time her eyes held his.

The morning sun highlighted the honey and caramel tones in her hair, emphasising the mesmerising violet colour of her eyes. Eyes that could do funny things to a man’s resolve if he wasn’t careful.

Invisible strings of mutual attraction tugged tight. He wanted to step closer, to cradle the delicate exposed lines of her neck, draw her mouth up towards his...

The beads of seawater that had been slowly following a lazy path down his body now felt electrified on his unbearably sensitive skin. He felt alive to a world of sensual possibilities.

She made a few attempts to talk, all the while shuffling the files in her arms, her eyes darting to and from him.

Why was she so jumpy? ‘Is everything okay?’

Her head moved almost imperceptibly from side to side, as though she was trying to weigh up how she was going to reply. She bit down on her lip, exposing the not quite perfect alignment of her front teeth, with one tooth slightly overlapping the other. Why did he find that imperfection so appealing?

Eventually she said in a rush, ‘Ioannis just called. The flowers are already down at the jetty. Apparently they were delivered before dawn. The delivery company were supposed to call me. I was meant to inspect them before they left... And, worse still, they were supposed to carry them as far as the workshops for me.’

The workshops sat on a steep hill overlooking the cove—she would need some help. ‘Ask Ioannis to help you.’

‘He had to go to Naxos to collect the caterers and the wedding planner and her team. A florist from Naxos was supposed to be coming with them, to assist me today, but she just called to say that she’s sick.’

Thee mou! Did Grace know what she was doing? A missed flight, a missed delivery, and now a sick member of staff. ‘Get Ioannis and the wedding planner’s team to help you when they arrive.’

‘I can’t leave the flowers out in this heat. I have to get them into the cool of the workshops straight away.’

Why hadn’t he opted to stay in Athens for the duration of the wedding preparations? Because you love your brother. And as his work in London has prevented him from travelling until Thursday you promised to be here in case there were any issues.

But he had urgent business to deal with too. He didn’t have time for this. His instinct about Grace needing babysitting hadn’t been far off the mark after all.

‘Do you usually face so many problems?’

She considered him for a brief moment, her anxiety fading to be replaced by a sharp intelligence. ‘There are always unforeseen problems with the flowers for any wedding. It’s my job to deal with them as quickly as I can.’ She paused, and although her cheeks grew even more enflamed she considered him with a quiet dignity. ‘I’m sure you must experience unexpected problems all the time in your work...and will therefore understand why I need to ask for your help.’

‘My help?’ He had a mountain of work to do. He didn’t have time to act as some florist’s assistant.

She inhaled a deep breath and answered, ‘I appreciate you’re probably very busy, but if you could give me half an hour I’d be grateful.’

She awaited his response with a spirited stare of defiance, challenging him to say no. Despite himself he admired her feistiness.

Against all logic and his pledges to keep a wide berth around the chief bridesmaid he found himself saying, ‘I’ll give you half an hour. No more. First I must get changed and reschedule a call.’

* * *

Light-headed, Grace turned away as Andreas climbed the path up to the villa, her heart pirouetting with humiliation...and something else she didn’t want to think about.

He must think she was completely incompetent.

The ground beneath her no longer felt solid. Had she sat in the sun for too long earlier, whilst finalising her plans for the reception flowers out on the terrace? She came to a stop and gulped down some air.

Who was she trying to kid? This had nothing to do with too much sun. Rather too much of Andreas Petrakis. Too much of his near naked body. Too much of seeing the seawater that had fallen in droplets along the hard muscles of his chest, down over a perfectly defined six-pack until they’d reached the turquoise swimming shorts that sat low on his narrow hips.

She had been right last night. He was a Greek god. His sleeked back hair had emphasised the prominence of his cheekbones, the arrow-straightness of his nose, the enticing fullness of his mouth. And he had a long-limbed muscular body the likes of which she had only ever seen cast in marble whilst on a school tour to the British Museum. Sofia and she had circled those statues, giddy with teenage fascination.

She would not turn around and take one final glimpse. No way.

Oh, what the heck?

His back was a vast golden expanse of taut muscle, from broad powerful shoulders down to those narrow hips. And she could not help but notice the firm muscles of his bottom and the long, athletic shape of his legs as he easily climbed the steep path back towards the villa.

The goofy grin on her mouth faded. Okay, so he was gorgeous, and he did very peculiar things to her heart. But she had to dig one big hole and bury that attraction. She was here to do a job. She had to act professionally. Even if the gods were determinedly working against her right now in a bid to make her appear completely clueless.

Early this morning she had thrown open her balcony doors to dazzling sunshine and the stunning vista of faraway islands floating on the azure Aegean Sea. A light breeze had curled around her like a welcoming hug to the Cyclades Islands. Only the tinkle of goat bells had been carried on the air.

That paradise she had awoken to had given her a renewed determination that she was going to enjoy every second of this trip, which was to be the start of the life of adventure she had craved for so many years. After years of being held hostage to her father’s control and manipulation she was determined to be free. Free to love every second of every day, to fill her life with fun and exhilaration. Free to accomplish all her own ambitions and prove that she did have worth.

All of which meant that tangling with her arrogant playboy host was the last thing she should be doing. Her priority had to be the flowers. If this project went wrong she could kiss her fledgling career goodbye. And, God forgive her for her pride, she wanted to prove to Andreas that she wasn’t a bumbling idiot—contrary to all current evidence.

Set into the cliff-face above the small harbour, the workshops mirrored the sugar cube style of the main house. Inside, the cool double-height rooms with their exposed roof beams and roughly plastered walls would be perfect for storing and assembling the flowers.

Grace quickly moved about the first workshop on the row, sweeping dust off benches and pulling two into the centre of the room for her to work at. Outside again, she raced down to the harbour jetty, grabbed a stack of flower buckets, and ran back up to the workshops. Within minutes her legs were burning because of the steep incline.

Back inside the workshop, she dropped the buckets to the floor and exhaled heavily. What had she taken on? How on earth was she going to strip and trim over a thousand stems of peonies and lisianthus by herself?

She gave herself a shake and scanned the room. There was no tap. What was she going to do about water? She ran into the adjoining room and almost cried in relief when she saw a sink in the far corner. She twisted the tap. The gush of water restored some calm.

Twice more she ran down to the jetty to collect the remaining buckets, and the box she had packed personally, which contained all her essential tools: knives, scissors, pruners and a vast assortment of tapes, wires and cord twine.

By the time Andreas appeared at the workshop door she was not only hot and sweaty but also covered in wet patches from the sloshing water as she carried endless buckets of water from the adjoining room back into her temporary workshop.

He, in contrast, was his usual effortlessly cool and elegant self, wearing faded denim jeans that hung low on his hips and a slim-fitting sea-green polo shirt. Muscular biceps, washboard abs... How good would it be to walk into his arms and feel the athletic strength of his body?

For a few seconds every ounce of energy drained from her and she wondered how she didn’t crumble to the workshop floor in a mess of crushing attraction.

Pointedly he glanced at his exquisite platinum watch.

Inwardly she groaned at her lack of focus.

She rushed to the door and pointed down towards the jetty. The pale wooden structure sitting over the teal-blue sea was the perfect romantic setting for the arrival of the wedding guests on Saturday.

‘The flowers are all packed in those large rectangular boxes, stacked together. We need to get those inside now. The other boxes can wait until later.’

She was about to pass him when he placed his hand on her forearm. ‘I’ll collect the boxes—you stay here and continue with the work you were doing.’

She swallowed hard, her whole body on alert at the pleasurable sensation of his large hand wrapped around her arm. ‘We don’t have time.’

His eyes moved downwards and lingered on her chest.

Grace followed his gaze. And almost passed out. Her wet blouse was transparent, and clinging to her crimson-trimmed bra.

His lip curled upwards in one corner and for a moment she got a glimpse of how lethal he would be if he decided to seduce her.

‘Perhaps it might be better if you stay inside for a while; Ioannis and the wedding team are due to arrive soon.’

Mortified, she twisted away, grabbed some buckets and pointedly turned and nodded in the direction of his watch. ‘You’d better get going as your half an hour is ticking away. I reckon you’ll struggle to get all of the boxes in by then.’

A smirk grew on his lips. ‘I’ll try not to break into too much of a sweat...’ He paused as his eyes rested on where her wet blouse was sticking to her skin. ‘Although it does have its attractions.’

Lightning bolts of lust fired through her body. He noted her wide-eyed reaction and his smirk grew even larger. She twisted around and fled next door. She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

When she returned with the filled buckets he was gone.

Andreas returned time and time again with the long rectangular flower boxes, and each time Grace heard his footsteps approach she hightailed it into the adjoining room. Only when she realised that he had moved on to carrying in the assortment of different-sized boxes that contained the other essentials did she speak. But despite her assurances that it wasn’t necessary for him to bring them in, he continued to do so.

The buckets filled and flower food added, she went about stripping and trimming the stems. With bated breath she opened the first box of peonies and found light pink Sarah Bernhardt, and in the next box the ivory-white Duchesse de Nemours. Both were as big and utterly beautiful as she had hoped, and on track to open to their full blowsy glory for Saturday.

At last something was going right for her.

For a moment she leaned down and inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, closing her eyes in pleasure. She might have to stay up all night to get the prep work done, but she would manage. The flowers had to be perfect for Sofia.

She had the first box completed when Andreas brought the final boxes in. Unfairly, apart from a faint sheen of perspiration on his tanned skin, he didn’t appear the least bit ruffled by all the dragging and hauling.

Hitting the timer on her smartphone, she twisted it around to show him the display. ‘Thirty-six minutes, fourteen seconds.’

His mouth twitched for a few seconds before he flashed his watch at her and tapped one of the dials. ‘Nineteen minutes and forty-three seconds to carry in the flowers, which was all you specified. So I win.’

‘I didn’t know we were competing.’

Those green eyes flashed with way too much smugness for her liking. ‘Why did you time me then?’

‘Oh, just curiosity.’ Keen to change the subject, she added, ‘I’m really grateful for your help—thank you.’

He shrugged in response and turned his attention to the remaining stack of flower boxes, and then to the already trimmed peonies, sitting in their buckets of water. ‘Why so many roses?’

‘They’re not roses.’

He contemplated the flowers dubiously.

She twisted the stem she was working on and held it out towards him. ‘They’re peonies. I thought you would have known, being Greek, as apparently they are called after Paean, who healed Hades’s wounds. It’s thought that they have healing properties. It’s also believed that they represent a happy life...and a happy marriage.’

To that he raised a sceptical eyebrow.

With her floral shears, Grace snipped an inch diagonally off the end of the stem. ‘Let me guess...you’re not the type to buy flowers?’