Why on earth had he agreed to host the wedding in the first place?

It was getting more complicated by the day … and bringing back the humiliating memories he had spent the past two years burying.

Yes, he had vaguely agreed to Grace’s early arrival—but he hadn’t expected her to be so elated about the wedding, or so distractingly beautiful. Her excitement brought home just how much he hated the prospect of this wedding. And, unbelievably, this was her first time abroad on her own. He didn’t have the time to babysit her. Having her on the island was a headache he didn’t need right now. Unfortunately she had other ideas.

‘This view is absolutely stunning.’ She didn’t turn to him when she spoke, but continued to gaze towards the lights of Naxos in the distance. The sky was a never-ending celestial ocean of stars. Beneath them, far below the cliff-face, the Aegean Sea crashed onto the shore.

She gave a light shiver and rubbed her hands against her bare arms. A silver bracelet jangled at her wrist. He instinctively shrugged off his jacket. When he held it out for her to put it on she jerked back in surprise. In the darkness he could just about see the violet-blue depths of her eyes. Eyes that threatened to swallow his soul.

The Best Man’s Guarded Heart
Katrina Cudmore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A city-loving book addict, peony obsessive KATRINA CUDMORE lives in Cork, Ireland, with her husband, four active children and a very daft dog. A psychology graduate, with a MSc in Human Resources, Katrina spent many years working in multinational companies and can’t believe she is lucky enough now to have a job that involves daydreaming about love and handsome men! You can visit Katrina at www.katrinacudmore.com.

To Fin, your unwavering support and love has made this book possible.

You are my life.

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

SOFIA’S VOICEMAIL. AGAIN. Grace Chapman gave her smartphone’s contact photo of her best friend a death stare and muttered, ‘You can hide, Sofia, but I’ll find you.’

Grace loved Sofia to bits; during the madness of the past few years she’d been her rock of cheerful good sense. But every now and again, when life got too intense, Sofia lost the plot big-time. Like today. Yes, Grace might have missed her flight and ended up arriving in Athens seven hours late. But she’d had everything under control. Until Sofia had obviously panicked and called in the big guns: the Petrakis family. Which meant that instead of catching the last ferry of the day at Piraeus port, as she had hoped, Grace was now stuck in the VIP lounge of Athens airport, awaiting the arrival of Sofia’s soon-to-be father-in-law. A man who brought the word intimidating to a whole new level of meaning.

Sofia would have thought she was helping; but in truth she had totally messed up Grace’s already tight schedule. There was no way, now, that she would make it to Sofia’s wedding venue, Kasas Island, in time for the flower delivery in the morning.

She wasn’t going to panic.

Okay, she was panicking.

Less than three days to prepare and organise the flowers for the Greek society wedding of the year.

Three days that would determine the success or failure of her dream to establish her name as a leading wedding floral designer. Three days to prove that she wasn’t ‘a clueless dreamer’.

This morning, full of enthusiasm, she had thought she could take on the world. Now she just felt embarrassed and out of her depth.

She pushed the untouched champagne flute the lounge hostess had presented to her further away. Her stomach felt as though it was off doing a moon walk without her.

The lounge door swept open. And her stomach headed into orbit at the prospect of being at the receiving end of Mr Petrakis’s surly manner.

But standing at the far end of the airport lounge was not the older man she had expected. Instead, penetrating eyes scanned the room and came to a land on her. Long tanned fingers shot upwards. His eyes continued to bore into hers. With a quick tug, he unravelled his bow tie, leaving it to hang lose.

Her smile wavered. She took in the chiselled bone structure, the confidence of his stride as he walked towards her, the perfection of his tuxedo. The tousled disarray of his dark brown hair that made him look as though he had just climbed out of bed.

‘Miss Chapman?’

His voice was smooth and refined. If Central Casting was ever looking for a new Bond he would be a shoo-in. Her already racing heart galloped even faster.

Her seat was low and he seemed impossibly tall and menacing as he stood over her.

Clumsily she clambered out of it and tugged down on the hem of her yellow sundress, which suddenly felt too short and casual in the presence of his designer tux and expensive cologne. She was a low-budget package tourist to his first-class sophistication.

His eyes ran leisurely over the length of her body. Her insides melted. A thick dark eyebrow rose as he waited for her to speak, but for the first time in her life no meaningful words jangled in her brain. Instead it was a wasteland of inappropriate thoughts of lust for the man who stood before her.

Just above his left eyebrow a sickle-shaped scar became more prominent as his frown deepened. She balled her hands, worried that she’d give in to temptation and reach out and run her thumb against it.

After another excruciating few seconds of silence she eventually managed to garble out, ‘Yes... Yes, I’m Grace Chapman. I was expecting Mr Petrakis. The airport ground staff told me he had asked that I stay here until he arrived.’

With a quick nod he answered, ‘Yes I did.’

‘Oh.’ It slowly dawned on her who he was. ‘Oh! You must be Andreas... Christos’s brother. I thought it was your father who had sent the message. He and I met in London last month, at Christos and Sofia’s engagement party.’ Grace held out her hand. ‘You’re the best man, I believe?’

He paused for a second before smooth warm skin enclosed her hand. His handshake was firm, the dominant clasp of a powerful man who liked to get his own way.

In her flat sandals she had to arch her neck to meet his stare. Piercing green eyes framed by long dark eyelashes studied her, and his head was thrown back at an arrogant tilt. The apple really hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Dark stubble lined smooth golden skin.

‘And I believe you’re to be the chief bridesmaid?’

She ignored the coolness of his tone and let her enthusiasm for the upcoming wedding take over. ‘Yes—and also the wedding floral designer. Sofia and I have been best friends for years. It’s a shame you missed the engagement party—we had such fun.’

He gave an indifferent shrug and then his mouth curled derisively. ‘You missed your flight.’

Her heart leapt at his reproachful tone. About to explain why, she stopped. He really didn’t look as if he was in the mood to hear about delayed trains. Instead she said, ‘Yes, unfortunately. Now my priority is to get to Kasas as soon as possible.’

‘You’ve missed the last ferry.’

She forced herself not to say something terse and gave a polite smile. ‘Yes, I know.’ Her smile wobbled. Don’t say anything. Remain calm. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so arrogant. Her good intentions lasted all of one second. ‘My flight did arrive in time for me to catch the ferry. I had a taxi waiting.’

His mouth thinned. ‘And tomorrow the sun will rise in the west...’

Well, really! Frustration hummed in her ears. ‘I had an hour.’

He scowled at her, making no effort to conceal his growing irritation. ‘Christos realised you would miss the ferry so he called me and asked that I collect you.’

Her frustration gave way to embarrassment. His superior attitude might be rubbing her up the wrong way, but she had to face the fact that his night had obviously ended abruptly because of her.

She gestured to his tux and said, ‘I hope I didn’t disturb your night out.’

Something flashed in the depths of his eyes. Was it annoyance or some other memory? Had he been with someone? Sofia had said he had a reputation for being a playboy. Maybe she had been right about that tousled hair. It was still relatively early...but then what did she know about the bedroom habits of playboys? None of her exes had ever come close to being as dangerously lethal as the man standing before her.

‘No doubt Sofia panicked and got Christos to call you. She’s worried I’ll get lost. It’s my first time in Greece. In fact it’s my first time being abroad on my own.’

Those dark eyebrows narrowed. He studied her incredulously. An awkward silence followed.

She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I suppose you spend your days travelling...what with your business and everything?’

He tilted his head and gazed at her suspiciously. ‘Have you been doing your homework on me?’

‘No!’ Her cheeks grew hot and she cringed to think he might assume she was blushing out of guilt. ‘Of course not. I only know what Sofia told me...that you are Christos’s older brother.’

The eldest son of the wealthy and powerful Petrakis family, in fact, who had gone on to amass his own fortune in construction and property.

As he continued to gaze at her sceptically she added, ‘I’ve only met Christos a few times, but from the moment I met him I knew that he and Sofia were perfect for one another. I’m so happy for Sofia. And her dad is equally thrilled that she’s marrying a fellow Greek.’

Uncomfortable at the way he studied her, and trying to ignore just how gauche she felt in front of this much too silent and urbane man, she decided to change the subject to something that puzzled her. She gestured towards the other waiting travellers, and frowned when she saw that the other two women in the room, both much more elegantly groomed for the VIP lounge than she was, were staring at Andreas with obvious appreciation.

‘How did you know who I was?’

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a phone. After a few quick swipes he handed it to her. A photo of her and Sofia pulling silly faces at the camera popped up on the screen. Christos had taken the photo last weekend, after Sofia’s hen party in London...they’d both had one too many mojitos. Grace gave a squeal of despair.

For the briefest of moments a faint hint of amusement lifted his mouth upwards, but it faded and he said with a note of exasperation, ‘Christos is flooding my email with photos of Sofia.’

Confused by his tone, she decided to ignore it and handed Andreas back his phone. ‘That’s so cute. They’re so in love. Sofia tells me that Kasas is incredibly romantic. She truly appreciates you hosting the wedding there.’

He deposited the phone back in his pocket and folded his arms. The side of his upper lip curled upwards. Lord, he had a beautiful mouth. Wide, with lips that were much too full. A mouth that promised endless sleepless nights.

She gave herself a mental shake. She had enough on her plate with the wedding flowers. Getting distracted by this Greek god standing in front of her was definitely not a good idea.

He gestured to her chair. ‘Please—take a seat. I think we should discuss your stay on Kasas.’

Puzzled, she sat back down and wished once again that she had worn a longer dress as her hem rode up the length of her legs. When she glanced up, Andreas was sitting opposite her, his eyes trained on her bare legs. When their eyes met she saw a hint of appreciation. But then he inhaled a deep breath and moved forward to lean his elbows on his thighs, the wool of his trousers stretching over hard muscle.

‘I had intended taking you to Kasas tonight—’

She could not help but interrupt as relief flooded her veins. ‘That would be fantastic. The flowers and all the other supplies are being delivered early tomorrow morning, and I need to be there to—’

His hand slashed down through the air to halt her interruption with his own. ‘Yes, but considering that you’ve never been to Greece before why don’t I arrange for the wedding planner to organise the flowers? You can spend the next few days travelling. Kasas is isolated. It would be much more enjoyable for you to explore Greece instead. As I’m returning to the island for the rest of the week, you are welcome to use my apartment and the services of my chauffeur here in Athens.’

Her mouth dropped open. Was he being serious?

‘But I’m the florist for the wedding.’ Through her confusion a horrible thought occurred. ‘Christos did tell you that I would be arriving early to create all the floral arrangements, didn’t he? This has been planned for weeks.’

‘He may have mentioned it...amongst all the chaos of the other wedding plans. I hadn’t appreciated that you would be staying for so long.’

Heat flared even more brightly on her cheeks. He clearly wasn’t keen on her staying on the island. And he obviously had no idea or appreciation for the work and skill involved in flower design.

Memories of her father’s sneering comments about her making a living by ‘playing with flowers’ had her saying in the politest voice she could muster, ‘I appreciate your offer, but tomorrow morning I have over a thousand flowers being delivered to the island. It’s essential that I’m there to coordinate their arrival. I take my job very seriously, Mr Petrakis. That’s why I’ve spent the past month planning the designs, sourcing the flowers and organising support florists from nearby islands. I’m not going to walk away from my commitments now to go on holiday.’

His jaw tightened and he fixed her with an intense stare. ‘My island is secluded. There is only my villa. No shops or bars to entertain you.’

She could not help but give a light laugh. ‘I’m not here for shopping or the nightlife.’

‘I’m concerned that you will be bored in the evenings, when the wedding planner and her team have left the island. Apart from my married housekeeper and a gardener, who live in a separate villa, there will be no other people around.’

His eyes, filled with a masculine heat, held hers and a surge of tense energy passed between them.

He came a little closer and in a low growl added, ‘It will only be you and me.’

For a crazy moment something primal, something beyond comprehension, crackled in the air between them. Heat flared in every cell of her body. Her breath caught as a wave of longing...of desire...rippled through her.

His eyes grew darker as he held her stare, and a slash of heat appeared on his cheeks.

He looked away abruptly, his jaw tightening as he cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be working late each evening, so I won’t be available to entertain you.’

Grace blinked. And blinked again. She felt dizzy with the desire to move towards him, to inhabit his space, to inhale his scent, to feel the heat of his body. What was happening to her?

For the past month she had been so excited about this trip—at the prospect of finally establishing her name as a florist, of finding her freedom. And now her bubble of happiness had truly burst.

Should she take up his offer? The prospect of spending nights alone with him in the seclusion of his island with virtually no one else around was daunting. A strange tug of war of deep attraction and irritation was raging between them...and she wanted to run away from it. And, after years of dealing with her father’s unforgiving attitude, did she honestly want to spend time with a man who would be happier if she wasn’t there?

But this wedding was about celebrating Sofia and Christos’s love. She wasn’t going to let Andreas Petrakis stand in the way of her making sure they had the perfect flowers to represent that love and commitment. There was no way he was stopping her from creating Sofia’s bouquet—which she intended to do by weaving all her love for her best friend into the design. And she had to remember the importance of this wedding in establishing her career.

So she gave him a brief smile and tried to inject a brusque, no-argument tone to her voice. ‘Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine with my own company. I’m here to ensure that the flowers are spectacular on the wedding day, so I’ll be extremely busy and certainly won’t get in your way. And please don’t worry about me missing out. I plan on touring Greece once the wedding is over.’

With that she stood, lifted her weekend bag up and grabbed her heavy pull-along suitcase.

‘Now, if it’s okay with you, I would like to leave.’

* * *

Grace was standing at the edge of the clifftop path that led from the helipad down to Andreas’s villa, her weekend bag at her feet. As he neared her the helicopter lifted off to return to Athens, and her hands rushed down to capture the billowing material of her dress as it rose up to expose even more inches of her legs—legs that he had spent the past hour trying not to stare at.

They weren’t the longest legs he had ever seen, but there was something about those toned but full thighs and cute dimpled knees that had him fantasising about her in incredibly inappropriate ways. Even as he had stared out into the night sky as they had been flown here images of his fingers trailing along the smooth creamy skin of her thighs had plagued him.

They had barely spoken on the journey, and her quietness surprised him. At the airport she had seemed such an overexcited chatterbox. Had his welcome been too brusque? After all, it wasn’t her fault that earlier that night at a charity gala ball in the Hotel Grande Bretagne he had been only too aware of the other guests’ deliberate avoidance of discussing Christos’s upcoming wedding with him. And then Christos had rung to explain that the chief bridesmaid had missed her flight. Asked would he mind rescuing her.

Why on earth had he agreed to host the wedding in the first place? It was getting more complicated by the day...and bringing back humiliating memories he had spent the past two years burying.

Yes, he had vaguely agreed to Grace Chapman’s early arrival, but he hadn’t expected her to be so elated about the wedding or so distractingly beautiful. Her excitement had brought home just how much he hated the prospect of this wedding. And, unbelievably, this was her first time abroad on her own. He didn’t have time to babysit her—not with the serious issues complicating the construction of his new resort on the Cayman Islands. He urgently needed to resolve them to stop further haemorrhaging of the project’s finances. Having her on the island was a headache he didn’t need right now.

Unfortunately she had other ideas.

‘This view is absolutely stunning.’

She didn’t turn to him when she spoke, but continued to gaze towards the lights of Naxos in the distance. The sky was a never-ending celestial ocean of stars. Beneath them, far below the cliff-face, the Aegean Sea crashed onto the shore.

She gave a light shiver and rubbed her hands against her bare arms. A silver bracelet jangled at her wrist. He instinctively shrugged off his jacket. When he held it out for her to put on she jerked back in surprise. In the darkness he could just about see the violet-blue depths of her eyes. Eyes that had swallowed his soul for a foolish few seconds at the airport.

Initially she looked as though she would refuse his offer, but then she gave a nod of acceptance. She turned around and pushed her arms into the sleeves. When he pulled it up to her slim shoulders she moved at the same time to sweep up the long length of her golden blonde hair trapped beneath the jacket. Her hair fell against his hands like the gentle weight of silk, her floral scent carried with it. His gut tightened. And when she turned those huge eyes to him they were full of questions, of awareness of the chemistry sizzling between them. He itched to touch the smooth line of her jaw, to run his thumb over the sensual plumpness of her lips.

He took a step away.

She twisted back towards the sea, her shoulders sagging faintly before she went to pick up her weekend bag, but he whipped it up, along with her suitcase.

‘The path down to the villa is well lit, but still be careful—it’s steep. Ela. Come. I will lead the way.’

On the way down the path he paused a number of times, to allow her to catch up and to ensure that she was following him safely. As they rounded the corner that opened up the villa to their view he heard her gasp. He turned in alarm. Grace stood staring at the villa, its walls bathed in the light from the terraces.

‘What a stunning building—it’s like a stack of sugar cubes perched on the mountainside! How absolutely beautiful.’

Memories of the last woman he had brought here stirred at her words. He pushed them away. ‘Thank you. I’ll show you to your room as it’s getting late. In the morning you can look around the villa and the gardens.’

Instead of following him Grace moved to the furthest reaches of one of the terraces and leaned on the balustrade.

‘Now I understand why Christos was so eager to marry here. It’s an idyllic wedding location. Sofia showed me some photos, but I had no idea it was so lovely. I can just imagine how incredible it will look on the night of the wedding, when everyone is dancing out here on the terrace, candles lit...’

It was time to move her on. ‘As I said, I’ll show you to your bedroom and then you can join me for something to eat.’

She stepped more fully into the light of the terrace, as though she didn’t want to speak from the shadows. His jacket hung loose on her, almost reaching down to the hem of her dress.

‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry.’ She wrapped the jacket around her body, folding her arms over it to secure it closed. ‘You’re not excited about the wedding?’

He paused as he calculated his best response. Time to put his cards on the table. ‘I’m concerned that they are rushing into this. They barely know one another. How long have they been together? Four months? The whole thing is unwise.’

‘But they are really happy. I’ve never seen a couple so in love...so right for one another. It truly was love at first sight for them both.’

The gentle wistfulness in her voice had him clenching his fists.

‘Really? Love at first sight?’

‘Yes—why not?’

Her idealism made him want to be cruel, to shake her out of her romantic bubble. ‘Lust at first sight, maybe.’

Silence followed his words and they stared at each other, the truth of his words, as applied to them, hanging in the space between them.

He forced himself to continue. ‘It takes a long time to get to know another person—if you ever can. People aren’t what they seem.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘My brother is an exceptionally wealthy man.’

She studied him with a mixed expression of disappointment and hurt. ‘That means nothing to Sofia, trust me.’

For a brief moment he hated himself for his cynicism, for causing that wounded expression. But then he remembered how he had been played for a fool before, and he asked with a bitter laugh, ‘Do you seriously believe that?’

Hard resolution entered her eyes. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ She walked back to him, anger clear in her quick pace, in the way she glared at him.

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?’

‘On occasion I have.’ A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth in reaction to her quizzical glance. ‘Okay, I admit that I let my PA organise the details.’

She tried to ignore how good it was to see those eyes sparkle with humour. ‘Now, that’s just cheating...I hope you at least specify what type of flowers you want to send?’

He seemed baffled at the idea. ‘No—why should I?’

‘Because each flower represents something. When you send a flower you are sending a message with it.’

He looked horrified at that prospect. ‘Like what?’

Amused, she decided to make the most of him being on the back foot in this conversation. ‘Well, new beginnings are symbolised by daffodils...a secret love is represented by gardenias...’ She paused for effect before continuing, ‘True love is shown by forget-me-nots, and sensuality by jasmine.’

Their eyes met and tension pulsed in the air. But then he broke his gaze away. ‘How about, Thanks for a good night, but this is nothing serious?’

Her heart sank. ‘A yellow rose is used for friendship, if that’s what you’re trying to say. But maybe it would be better not to send anything on those occasions.’

Unable to bear the way his gaze had fastened on her again, she bent her head and trimmed the foliage on the stem with quick cuts, a constant mantra sounding in her brain: Stay away from him; he’s a sure-fire path to heartbreak.

He eventually spoke. ‘Perhaps. But I still don’t understand why so many flowers are needed for one wedding.’

So often she had heard the same incredulous question from grooms-to-be, who struggled to understand the volume of flowers needed to create a visual impact and how important flowers were for setting the mood and tone of the wedding day. She was used to talking them through her plans, and always keen to make them comfortable and happy with her designs, but with Andreas she felt even more compelled to spell out the intricacies of wedding floral design and the attention to detail required. She wanted it to be clear to him that she was not playing with flowers. That her presence on his island was essential.

‘Eight hundred peonies. Two hundred lisianthus, to be precise. Along with the bridal party bouquets, and the flower displays that will be needed outside the chapel and on the terrace, each reception table will have a centrepiece of five vases with five peonies in each, so with twenty tables—’

‘That adds up to five hundred flowers.’

‘Exactly. Today I have to trim, cut and place all the stems in water. Tomorrow the stems will need to be cut again and placed in fresh water. On Friday fifty potted bay trees and storm lanterns will be delivered, to be placed along the walkway between the jetty and the chapel, and on the main terrace for the reception and the dancing.’

He surveyed the boxes of flowers yet to be opened and then looked over to the large pile of other unopened boxes. His gaze narrowed. ‘What’s in the other boxes?’

She had gone over her stock list so often she had no problem in recalling all the items she had ordered. ‘One hundred glass vases for the centrepieces, two hundred votive candles, fifty lantern candles and thirty pillar candles. Flower foam, more string, wire, ribbon... The list goes on. They all need to be unloaded today, ready to be prepped tomorrow. And I also have to finalise my designs.’

He checked his watch and frowned. ‘I have to get back to my conference calls. Is there anyone else who can help you with all this?’

‘I’ll manage.’ Even if it meant she would be working late into the night. ‘Two more florists will be joining me tomorrow, but I need to get all the basic prep done today or I’ll run out of time.’

His eyes drifted over the now crowded room. ‘I have to admit that I hadn’t realised the volume of work involved.’

A smile tugged at her lips. ‘Perhaps now you understand why I need to be here and not touring the nightclubs of Athens.’

He gave a gracious nod in response, his eyes softening in amusement. ‘Yes, but that’s not to say that I don’t think it’s all crazy.’

With that he left the room, and Grace stood stock-still for the longest while, her heart colliding against her chest at being on the receiving end of his beautiful smile.

* * *

Six hours later Andreas made his way back down to the workshops. Eleni, although tied up in an argument with the catering team over the use of her beloved pots and pans, had whispered to him that Grace had not appeared for lunch, and gestured in appeal towards a tray of food.

Never able to say no to his indomitable housekeeper, who had him wrapped around her little finger, Andreas approached the workshops now in frustration at yet another disruption to his day. But he had to admit to concern for Grace at the huge amount of work she had to tackle alone, and to a grudging respect for her determination and energy in doing so.

Inside the first workshop the tiled floor was akin to a woodland scene, with green leaves and cuttings scattered everywhere. In the middle, armed with a sweeping brush, Grace was corralling the leaves into one giant pile, her face a cloud of tension.

A quick glance about the room told him she was making slow progress. She needed help. And unfortunately he was the only person available.

‘Eleni’s concerned that you missed lunch.’

She jerked around at his voice.

He dropped the tray on the edge of a workbench.

‘That’s very kind of her.’ She paused as she grabbed a nearby dustpan and composting bag. ‘Please thank her for me but tell her not to worry—I can fend for myself.’

The composting bag full, Grace tied it and placed it in a corner. He, meanwhile, had taken over the scooping of the leaves.

She moved next to him, her bare legs inches from where he crouched down. If he reached out, his fingers could follow a lazy path over her creamy skin. He could learn at what point her eyes would glaze over as his fingers traced her sensitive spots. The desire to pull her down onto the mound of leaves and kiss that beautiful mouth raged inside him.

‘There’s no need for you to help.’

She sounded weary.

He stood. His gut tightened when he saw the exhaustion in her eyes. ‘You need a break. Have some lunch. I’ll finish here.’

She hesitated, but then walked over to the tray. The deep aroma of Greek coffee filled the workshop but she immediately went back to work, carrying a fresh box over to the table. In between opening the box and sorting through the flowers she hurriedly gulped down some coffee and took quick, small bites of a triangular-shaped parcel of spinach and feta cheese pie—spanakopita.

He gathered up the tray, ignoring her confused expression, and took it to a bench outside. When Grace joined him he said, ‘You shouldn’t work and eat at the same time.’

‘I’m too busy.’

‘Let’s make a deal. If you agree to take a ten-minute break, I’ll stay a while and unpack some of the supplies for you.’

She stared at him suspiciously. ‘Are you sure?’

He needed to make clear his reasons for doing this. ‘You’re my guest—it’s my duty to take care of you.’

She paused for a moment and considered his words before giving a faint nod. ‘I’d appreciate your help, but I must warn you that it might prove to be a tedious job because the suppliers haven’t labelled the boxes. I need you to find the glass vases for me first, as I have to prep them today. There’s a box-cutter you can use on the table next to the boxes.’

He went back inside and started opening boxes. She rejoined him within five minutes. A five-minute break that had included her answering a phone call from someone called Lizzie.

A begrudging respect for her work ethic toyed with his annoyance that she hadn’t adhered to her side of the bargain. He wasn’t used to people going against his orders.

They both worked in silence, but the air was charged with an uncomfortable tension.

Eventually she spoke. ‘What were these workshops originally used for?’

Sadness tugged in his chest at her question. He swallowed hard before he spoke. ‘My uncle was a ceramicist and he built these workshops for his work.’

She rested her hands on the workbench and leaned forward. ‘I noticed some ceramic pieces in your house—are they your uncle’s?’

‘Yes. He created them in these workshops; there’s a kiln in the end room.’

‘They’re beautiful.’

Thrown by the admiration and excitement in her voice, he pressed his thumb against the sharp blade of the box cutter. ‘He died two years ago.’

For a long while the only sound was the whistle of the light sea breeze as it swirled into the workshop.

She walked around the bench to where he was working. ‘I’m sorry.’

He glanced away from the tender sincerity in her eyes. It tugged much too painfully at the empty pit in his stomach.

‘What was he like?’

The centre of my world.

He went back to work, barely registering the rows of candles inside the box he had just opened.

‘He was quiet, thoughtful. He loved this island. When I was a small boy the island belonged to my grandparents. They used it as their summer retreat. My uncle lived here permanently. Christos and I used to spend our summers here, free to explore without anyone telling us what to do and when to be home. That freedom was paradise. We’d swim and climb all day, and at night we’d grill fish on the beach with our uncle. He would tell us stories late into the night, trying his best to scare us with tales of sea monsters.’

‘There’s a gorgeous ceramic pot in the living room, with images of sea monsters and children...did he create that?’

He was taken aback that she had already noticed his single most treasured possession, and it was a while before he answered. ‘Yes, the children are Christos and me.’

‘What wonderful memories you both must have.’

He turned away from the beguiling softness in her violet eyes. He closed the lid of the box, still having been unable to locate the vases. It was strange to talk to someone about his uncle. Usually he closed off any conversation about him, but being here, in one of his workshops, with this quietly spoken empathetic woman, had him wanting to speak about him.

‘He always encouraged me to follow my dreams, even when they were unconventional or high risk. He even funded my first ever property acquisition when I was nineteen. Thankfully I was able to pay him back with interest within a year. He believed in me, trusted me when others didn’t.’

Her thumb rubbed against the corner of a box. He noticed that her nails, cut short, were varnish-free. A plaster was wrapped around her index finger and he had to stop himself from taking it in his hand.

She inhaled before she spoke. ‘You were lucky to have someone like that in your life.’

Taken aback by the loneliness in her voice, he could only agree. ‘Yes.’

She gave him a sad smile. ‘Kasas is a very special place...you’re lucky to have a house somewhere so magical.’

Old memories came back with a vengeance. ‘Some people would hate it.’

‘Hate this island? I think it’s the most beautiful place I have ever visited.’

Andreas watched her, disarmed by the passion in her voice. He wanted to believe everything she said was heartfelt and genuine. That he wasn’t being manipulated by a woman again. But cold logic told him not to buy any of it.

It was time to move this conversation on. It was getting way too personal.

‘The vases aren’t here.’

Her mouth dropped open and she visibly paled. ‘They have to be.’

‘I’ve double-checked each box—they’re not.’

She gave a low groan and rushed over to the boxes, while frantically pushing buttons on her phone. As she ransacked the boxes she spoke to someone called Jan.

Andreas walked away and into the adjoining room. Once again he tried to ignore the loneliness crowding his chest at being in these workshops for the first time since his uncle had died.

A few minutes later Grace followed him into the end room, where the kiln was located. She stopped at the doorway and clenched her phone tight in her palm. Her paleness had now been replaced by a slash of red on her cheeks.

She spoke in a low voice, her eyes wary. ‘The vases were never despatched by the suppliers in Amsterdam; they won’t get here before Saturday.’

He had guessed as much. He gestured to the vast array of white porcelain pots on the bench beside the kiln. ‘You can use these instead.’

Her eyes grew wide and she went and picked one up. And then another. Her fingers traced over the smooth delicate ceramic. ‘Are you sure?’

‘He had moved back to working predominantly with porcelain in the year before he died. I’ve never known what to do with all his work, I didn’t want to sell it...’ Unexpected emotion cut off the rest of what he had been about to say.

Soft violet eyes held his. ‘This can’t be easy for you.’

He glanced away. ‘He would like it that his work is being used for Christos’s wedding.’

With that he walked back to the main workshop, wanting to put some distance between him and this woman who kept unbalancing his equilibrium. Frustration rolled through him. What was it about Grace that made him break all his own rules?

He had another ten minutes before he had to leave. There were a few small boxes yet to open.

He unwrapped a small rectangular parcel first, and found inside, wrapped in a soft cloth, a pair of silver sandals. ‘These are unusual florist’s supplies.’

‘My sandals!’ She dropped the flowers she was working on and took the slender sexy heels from him.

Imagining Grace’s enticing legs in the sandals, he felt his blood pressure skyrocket. In need of distraction, he went back to opening the next box.

‘The shop didn’t have them in my size so I had them delivered here...’ Her voice trailed off and then she said in a low, desperate voice, ‘Don’t open that box.’

But she was too late. His fingers were already looped around two pale pink silk straps. He lifted the material to reveal a sheer lace bustier.

With an expression of absolute mortification Grace stared at the bustier, and then down at the scrap of erotic pink lace still left in the box, sitting on a bed of black tissue paper. Odds on it was the matching panties. Red-hot blood coursed through his body.

‘Yours, I take it?’

For a moment her mouth opened and closed, but then she grabbed the bustier and the box and walked away.

She kept her back to him as she bundled the bustier back into its box. ‘It’s for the wedding, but I’m not sure I’ll wear it.’

Time for him to leave—before he burst a blood vessel. ‘I have afternoon calls I have to get back to.’ He made it as far as the door before he turned back. ‘Grace?’

She turned around towards him.

‘Wear it.’

He walked away as her lips parted in surprise. He had never wanted to grab a woman and kiss her senseless more in all his life.

CHAPTER THREE

GRACE REACHED FOR the bell clapper, feeling the ladder wobbling beneath her.

‘What in the name of the devil are you doing?’

She jerked at the sound of Andreas’s irate voice beneath her and the precarious ladder swayed wildly. A startled yelp from deep within her shot out into the evening air, but mercifully the ladder was steadied before it toppled to the ground.

She dared a quick glance down. A livid Andreas was gripping the side bars, one foot on the bottom rung.

She swallowed hard, uncertain as to what was more daunting: this fury, or the heat in his eyes earlier when he had lifted up her bustier. Heat that had ignited a yearning in her that had left her breathless and just plain exasperated. They didn’t even particularly like each other. Why, then, did she feel as though she was about to combust any time she came into contact with him?

‘I’ve decided that the chapel needs some extra decoration in addition to what I’d planned, so I’m making a garland that will hang from the bell tower down to the ground. I need to measure the exact length.’

‘Aman! You are breaking my nerves! You shouldn’t be doing this alone; the flagstones are too uneven.’

He was right, but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘I’m fine—it’s a quick job.’ To prove her point she knotted twine around the bell clapper and then dropped the twine spool to the ground before climbing down the ladder. She avoided looking at him and instead pulled the twine out to the angle she wanted the garland positioned at on the wedding day. Cutting it to the desired length, she ignored his infuriated expression. ‘I need to climb back up and untie the other end.’

He gave an exasperated sigh and scaled the ladder himself, dropping the twine when he’d untied it. Back on the ground, he unlocked the extension ladder she had borrowed from Ioannis and collapsed it down.

Then he studied her with incensed eyes, his mouth a thin line. ‘Don’t try that again.’

Of course she would. But she wasn’t going to get into an argument with him. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

His gaze narrowed. The uncomfortable sensation that he could see right through her had her grabbing the twine off the ground and asking, ‘Is it okay if I use some of the rosemary and bay growing on the terraces for the garland?’

He considered the long length of twine sceptically. ‘Is it really necessary? I thought you were under pressure timewise?’

She was, but it was these final touches that would make her work stand apart. ‘I’ll find the time.’ She paused and gestured around her. ‘I want the flowers to do justice to this setting.’

Set on a rocky promenade beyond the golden sandy beach, the tiny whitewashed chapel with its blue dome had a dramatic backdrop of endless deep blue seas and skies.

His jaw hardened even more, and she winced to think about the pressure his poor teeth must be under.

‘My guess is that Sofia would prefer her bridesmaid not to be in a plaster cast on her wedding day for the sake of a few flowers.’

Wow, that was a low blow. ‘If you’ll excuse me? I need to finalise my plans for the chapel’s bespoke floral arrangements—or, as you call them, “a few flowers”.’

His mouth twisted at her barbed comment. ‘It will be dark soon.’

‘I won’t be long.’ When he didn’t move, she added, ‘You don’t need to wait for me.’

‘And have you getting lost on the way back? No, thanks. I don’t want to have to spend a second night rescuing you.’

With that he turned and went and sat on the low whitewashed wall that surrounded the chapel terrace.

Behind him the deep blue sea met the purple evening sky; it was a postcard-perfect image of the Greek Islands but for the scowling man who dominated the frame.

* * *

Grace circled the terrace outside the chapel, all the while taking notes, scribbling into her notebook. Every now and again she would glance in his direction and throw him a dirty glare. Which he was just fine with. Because he was in a pretty dirty mood himself. In every sense.

All afternoon he had been plagued with images of her wearing that sexy lingerie. The bustier hugging her small waist, lifting her breasts to a height and plumpness that demanded a man taste them. Those skimpy panties moulded to her pert bottom... Hell, he couldn’t go there again. His call to the Cayman Island planners had been a washout as a result.

She had already put in a twelve-hour day, with less than five minutes taken for lunch. Did it really matter this much what the flowers looked like? Did anyone even notice the flowers on a wedding day?

‘Why does this wedding mean so much to you?’

She turned to him in surprise, her notebook falling to her side. The long length of her golden ponytail curled over one shoulder and his fingers tingled in remembrance of its softness and her delicate sensual scent last night. His gut tightened. Those legs were once again driving him crazy with images of the chief bridesmaid that he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of.

He dated some of the most beautiful women in Athens. Why was he so drawn to this out-of-bounds woman?

Eventually she walked over and sat on the wall beside him. She left a significant gap between them.

‘I first met Sofia in our local playground when we were both four. A boy had pushed me off the top of the fire pole. Sofia marched right over and kicked him in the shin before helping me up.’ She gave an amused shrug. ‘We’ve never looked back since then. We went to the same primary and secondary school...and we were supposed to go to university together...’ She paused and gave a small sigh. ‘But that didn’t work out for me. After years of coming to school concerts with me, and wet Saturday afternoons standing at the side of a freezing cold soccer pitch, I owe Sofia big-time.’

‘I don’t understand? Why were you going to school concerts together for years?’

Her lips twisted for a moment before she distractedly rubbed a hand along the smooth skin of her calf. ‘My parents weren’t always available, so I used to go to Matt’s football matches and my younger sister Lizzie’s school events. Sofia used to come to keep me company. Even though she could have been off doing something much more entertaining than listening to a school orchestra murdering some piece of music.’

He considered what she’d said. Maybe Christos was marrying a good woman.

As though to emphasise that point, Grace studied him coolly. ‘Christos is a very lucky man. He’s marrying an incredible woman—smart and loving.’

‘It sounds like he is.’

A small note of triumph registered in her eyes. ‘So, can we agree that we will do everything to make this wedding as special a day as possible for them?’

He wanted to say yes, but the word just wouldn’t come. He still feared that Christos might regret his haste in years to come. As he did. So instead he said, ‘You’re one of life’s hopeless romantics, aren’t you?’

Those astounding violet eyes narrowed and she leaned away from him as she considered his words. ‘Romantic, yes—hopeless, no. I’m not ashamed to admit that I believe in love...in marriage. I see it all the time in my work, and with Sofia and Christos. It’s the most wonderful thing that exists.’

‘Have you ever been in love?’

Her shoulders jerked at his question. ‘No.’

‘But you want to be?’

An unconscious smile broke on her lips, and her eyes shone with dreams. ‘Yes. And I’m greedy...I want it all. I want love at first sight, the whirlwind, the marriage, the children, the growing old together. The perfect man.’

He’d once thought life was that simple. In exasperation, he demanded, ‘The perfect man...? What on earth is that?’

‘A man who will sweep me off my feet, who will make life fun and exciting. A man who believes in love too. In kindness and tenderness.’

For a moment she eyed what must be his appalled expression, given the angry frown that had popped up on her brow. And then, as though his reaction had unlocked something inside of her, she let go with all barrels firing.

‘A man who’s intelligent, honourable, loyal...and great in bed.’

He tried not to laugh at how disconcerted she seemed by her own last statement. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Wow, that’s some guy. But I hate to break it to you...that’s not reality. Love is complex and messy and full of disappointment. Not like the fairy tale and the X-rated Prince Charming you’ve just described. Do you really believe someone like that exists?’

Solemn eyes met his. ‘I hope so.’ Then a hint of fear, maybe doubt, clouded her eyes. For a few moments they sat in silence, until she asked, ‘How about you?’

For a while he just stared at her—at the high, slanting cheekbones, the freckle-sized birthmark just below her right ear, surprised by her naivety...by her optimism. In truth, a part of him was wildly envious of that.

‘As I said last night, I have no interest in love—in relationships full-stop.’

‘Why?’

Even if he’d wanted to, even if he’d trusted Grace he wouldn’t be able to find adequate words to describe the mess his marriage had descended into.

‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

Disappointment filled her eyes. But then she gave him a sympathetic smile and he instantly realised that she already knew about his marriage. Christos must have said something. Just how much did she know? Anger flared inside him. He did not want her sympathy. He did not need the humiliation of her pity.

She shifted on the wall and gazed at him uncertainly. ‘Sofia mentioned that you were once married...’

He didn’t respond, but raised a questioning eyebrow instead, waiting for her to continue.

She gestured towards the chapel. ‘Having the ceremony in the same chapel...’ She trailed off.

His heart sank. He really didn’t want to talk about this. ‘I didn’t marry here.’

‘Oh.’ Clearly flustered by his answer, she muttered, ‘Sorry, I assumed you had. After what you said last night about Christos and you always wanting to marry here.’

With an impatient sigh, he answered, ‘My ex wanted to get married in Athens.’

She digested this for some time before she asked, ‘Did you mind not marrying here?’

At the time he had minded. But his ex had been determined from day one that theirs would be the society wedding of the year in Athens, and had used his uncle’s recent death to persuade him not to marry on the island. She had insisted that he would find it too upsetting to be surrounded by reminders of him on their wedding day.

It had all been lies. In the bitter arguments after he had confronted her with the photos of her with her lover she had admitted as much. His one consolation from the entire debacle was that at least the island wasn’t tainted with memories of the worst decision of his life. His biggest failure.

He waited for a few minutes before he spoke, afraid of the anger that might spill out otherwise. ‘It doesn’t matter; it’s in the past.’