Читать книгу The Best Man's Guarded Heart - Katrina Cudmore - Страница 7
ОглавлениеSOFIA’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.
