The Best Man's Guarded Heart (5 page)

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

G
RACE
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.'

‘I'm sorry your marriage didn't work out. It must have been a difficult time,' she said quietly.

Disconcerted, Andreas could only stare at her. Was she really the first person who had said such a thing to him? Everyone else had been caught up in outrage at his ex's behaviour, or too embarrassed to say anything. No one—probably in the face of his anger and defiance—had dared to acknowledge just how difficult it had been for him.

His pride demanded that he just shrug off her comments, and he was about to do so when she gave him a glance of understanding that totally disarmed him.

Reluctantly he acknowledged, ‘It
was
difficult.'

‘You never know—you might find happiness in the future with someone else.'

Not her too
. ‘Please tell me that you're not one of those women who believe they can change a man...make him fall in love.'

At first she stared at him with a stunned expression, but then her eyes grew hard and cold. ‘Andreas, I've had a lifetime's worth of arguments and fights, endless disappointments at failing to get a man to love me. The idea of getting into a relationship with a man who doesn't believe in love or have the capacity to love—for whatever reason—would be my idea of hell. And, trust me, I'm no martyr.'

What was she talking about? Had some guy messed her around?

He tried to remain calm when he spoke again. ‘Who were you fighting with?'

Her shoulders dropped and she ran a hand tiredly down over her face. With a heavy sigh, she said, ‘How about we get a drink.'

* * *

A little while later they sat outside on the main terrace of the villa, with the setting sun disappearing behind the horizon in a blaze of fiery pinks on the purple sky. Along with white wine, Andreas had brought to the table a supper of cheese pie—
tiropita
—freshly baked by Eleni that afternoon, and a bowl of Greek salad.

The filo pastry and salty feta cheese of the
tiropita
melted in her mouth, but she was unable to eat more than a few bites in the silence that had settled between them since returning from the chapel.

Her gaze met his and her stomach clenched at the thought of having to recount her past. She took a sip of wine and pushed back into her chair, squeezing her hands tight in her lap. This trip was supposed to be the start of her new life. She didn't want to remember the past. But she wanted to explain why she would never try to force a man to love her. That despite the attraction between them, and Andreas's obvious thoughts to the contrary, she wanted nothing from him.

‘When I was seventeen my mum left us. My brother Matt was twelve, my sister Lizzie fourteen. I was due to go to university that year, but I couldn't leave Matt and Lizzie.'