Читать книгу The Best Man's Guarded Heart - Katrina Cudmore - Страница 9

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.