The Best Man's Guarded Heart (7 page)

‘Are you meditating or asleep?'

He leapt in his seat and let out a curse.

Grace gave a much too sexy giggle in response to his shock.

His disorientation became even more intense when he realised she was freshly showered, her hair still damp, tied up into a messy knot. She had changed into a short-sleeved denim dress that stopped a few inches above her knee and had enticing buttons running the length of it. The top three buttons were undone to reveal the cleavage he had just been fantasising about.

He had allowed physical attraction to override his common sense once before; he wouldn't let it happen again. He would need to keep this conversation short and snappy.

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Neither. I was cursing whoever decided that speeches at weddings were a good idea.'

‘Have you finished it?'

To that he gave a light laugh, but inside his stomach recoiled. He gestured to the paperwork piled on his desk. ‘I need to deal with this first.' He didn't bother to mention his many failed attempts at writing a speech over the past few weeks.

‘The wedding is in two days' time—shouldn't you start?'

‘I'll get around to it at some point. If I have to, I'll just wing it on the day.'

‘You can't
wing
it
!'

‘Why not?'

‘Are you kidding me? With
your
views on love and marriage, you might well say something totally inappropriate.' She paused and shook her head frantically, her hands flying upwards in disbelief. ‘Like offering your condolences rather than congratulations. The best man's speech is too important—you can't just
wing
it
.'

‘Grace, I've presented to thousands at industry conferences worldwide, in a multitude of languages. I think I can handle a wedding speech.'

‘Have you given one before?'

‘Several times.'

She eyed him for a few seconds. ‘Were they before your divorce?'

‘What if they were?'

‘Well, I'm guessing that your views might be very different now.'

He knew only too well that they were. ‘Look, I'm busy now, but I'll pull something together later tonight or tomorrow.'

At that, Grace walked over to his desk and from behind her back brought forward a book, which she dropped onto a set of architectural drawings for a new office block in Melbourne.

He picked it up. She had to be joking. ‘Are you being serious?
The Best Man's Survival Manual
.'

She gave him a triumphant smile. ‘The wedding planner gave it to me. Apparently she always carries one for emergencies.'

He threw her a disparaging glance. ‘The next time I meet with the team at the disaster recovery charity I sponsor, I'll have to check that they carry one at all times.'

She gave him an even brighter smile. ‘Hah, very funny. Now, how about I help you pull it together?'

He gestured once again to his desk. ‘I'm busy. And I have an urgent conference call in two hours I need to prepare for.'

‘Twenty minutes—no more. I promise.'

‘Grace, I have to warn you I'm on to you, I overheard your conversation with the wedding planner earlier. I know your technique. You're not going to wear me down by refusing to go away.'

‘I'm not!'

She was, but now was not the time to get into that argument. He wanted to get back to his work. ‘Why are you doing this?' he asked.

Her laughter died and she sat down on the seat opposite his desk. The indigo denim made her violet eyes shine brighter than ever. ‘You helped me with the flowers—I'd like to help you in return.'

‘I don't need help.'

‘Fine. Wing your speech for me now, and if it's up to scratch then I'll leave you alone.'

He knew she wasn't going to leave without a fight—and anyway he never had been able to resist a dare.

He flew through his introduction and then launched into some witty anecdotes about Christos, one of which even had Grace snorting with laughter. But then he dried up. And died spectacularly. He didn't know what else to say. How could he celebrate marriage and love when he didn't believe in either?

He glanced at Grace and then away again—away from the sympathy in her eyes.

‘I shouldn't have agreed to be best man.'

‘I think it's admirable that you did. It means the world to Christos.'

Guilt churned inside him. He couldn't let Christos down. But right now he wanted to forget the speech, in fact forget the whole wedding.

With a raised eyebrow he deftly changed the subject. ‘Christos rang earlier. Sofia and he are delighted we're getting on so well.'

To that she gave a guilty smile. ‘Sofia rang me last night. What was I going to say? That you're against the wedding...? That I'm way behind with the flowers? That we disagree on just about everything?'

‘Not everything. Apparently you think I'm hot.'

* * *

It took a few seconds for Grace to compute what Andreas had just said. ‘What?
No!
Oh, I'm going to kill Sofia when she gets here. We were just messing around on the phone... She kept asking me what I thought of you. I only said it as a joke, to get her off my back. She's always trying to set me up with unsuitable guys.'

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘So I'm unsuitable now?'

‘Of course you are. You don't believe in love, commitment, marriage. Need I go on?'

‘Hey, but I'm hot—what more do you need?'

Oh, this was excruciating—especially as part of her agreed with him. But if she was going to remain sane for the next few days she couldn't go there.

‘It was a joke.' For a second she pressed the palm of her hand against the raging heat on her cheeks. Time to change the subject. ‘Back to the speech. Twenty minutes and we'll pull it together. Are you on?'

He considered her for a while and she willed him not to move the conversation back to whether she thought he was hot or not. At first a grin played at the corners of his mouth, but then he cleared his throat, contemplated the messy pile of paper on his desk and shook his head wryly. ‘You've been here ten minutes already—you have ten minutes left.'

‘Fine. Okay, it was a great start, but now you need to praise Sofia and then finish on your hopes for them as a couple. Let's focus on the last point first: your hopes for them. What
do
you wish for them?'

‘I don't know...to be happy-ever-after?'

‘Too much of a cliché. Think harder.'

Andreas gave her an exasperated stare and stood up. He walked to the window overlooking the terrace and the Aegean beyond. He rolled his shoulders before he turned to her.

‘I spent my lunchtime with my lawyer, agreeing to pay off my ex who's now claiming rights to this island.'

She fidgeted in her seat when his eyes bored into her.

‘I could have fought her in the courts, but that would have stopped me giving Christos his wedding present: ownership of half of this island. So forgive me for being a little cynical about marriage. Right now I'm not in the mood to think of anything other than romantic clichés, even knowing that they are unrealistic and unobtainable and the preserve of dreamers.'

Bewildered by the sudden change in his mood, she stood and walked towards him. ‘Is that a dig at me?'

Irritation fired in his eyes. ‘No, but you can take it as one if you want.'

They stared at each other, angry and frustrated, breathing heavily...and then their anger turned from annoyance to a simmering heat, and the atmosphere in the room grew thick with want and desire.

He crossed the few steps that separated them and yanked her into his arms, muttering words she didn't understand. Her body collided with his and before she could react his mouth was on hers. A hand on the back of her neck held her prisoner, while the other wrapped tight around her waist. For a brief second she tried to pull away, but then she became lost in the heady sensation of his mouth on hers, the intoxicating sweep of his tongue, the pleasure of his hand caressing her back. She wrapped her arms about his neck, deepening the kiss, her body instinctively moving against his hardness.

But then he suddenly pulled away and stepped back, and she stood there, dazed, her lips bruised, her body aching.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw flexed tight. ‘I'm sorry. That wasn't a good idea.'

No man should be able to kiss like that
. Her thoughts ran in several directions all at once, bringing little sense. Why had he kissed her? What must he be like in bed if his kisses were so scorching? Why? Why?
Why?

‘Are you still in love with your ex?'

‘What?'

He glared at her as though it was the most insane question ever, but to her it was the only thing that made sense of his anger and cynical views.

‘Is that why you were so upset about the divorce?'

‘No, I'm not still in love with my ex. And I'm not upset about my divorce—I'm angry about it.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I was blind for much too long as to how incompatible my ex and I were.'

‘Incompatible in what way?'

‘My ex wanted very different things in life to me. She only pretended to want what I did in order to marry me. She was more attracted to what I had than who I was.'

‘You mean she married you for your money?'

‘Yes. And I was too foolish to see it. Within weeks she was refusing to live here on the island, to spend time with my family. Her social life in Athens was more important.'

‘Did you love her when you got married?'

His jaw worked, and he inhaled a deep breath before meeting her eye. ‘At the time I thought it was love, but I came to realise that I'd mistaken physical attraction and passion for love.'

‘Oh.' Every square inch of her skin was scarlet at this point. She should leave. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Don't be sorry. Just learn from it... Love and marriage can be hell on earth.'

‘God, Andreas, don't for one second think that I don't know that. I spent my entire childhood witnessing my dad's toxic take on marriage. I know there are bad marriages. But I also know there are wonderful ones. Sofia's parents' marriage, my grandparents'... Now Christos and Sofia's. Marriages that are loving partnerships of trust and respect. Marriages that aren't about judgement and criticism.'

‘How can you be so idealistic?'

‘Because I believe in love—that the right man is out there for me.'

‘Waiting to whisk you away.'

‘Yes. And I don't care if you think it's idealistic. To me it's a very real dream. I want a life partner. I want love. I want a man who thinks I'm the coolest thing ever. And I'm not going to settle for anything else.'

She could see a hundred thoughts flickering in the depths of his eyes: puzzlement, incredulity, a hint of tenderness. But then he walked back to his desk, shaking his head. Once he had sat down, he checked his watch.

‘Our twenty minutes is up.' The sternness in his voice was matched by the harsh expression on his face; the faint scar above his eyebrow was once again more visible as he frowned. A scar to match the toughness in his soul...

A toughness she would have to feign herself. ‘So it is. If you want any further help let me know. And for what it's worth I think you should remember how you felt about love prior to your marriage and include that in your speech.'

When he gave a noncommittal shrug and turned his attention back to his computer screen, she inhaled a deep breath.

‘The pre-wedding dinner tomorrow night in Athens...?' she asked.

‘My helicopter will collect us at five.'

Grace left the room and walked back towards the workshops, her heart thumping in her chest. That kiss... That kiss had been wonderful and sexy...and it had landed her in a whole heap of trouble.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE
FOLLOWING
DAY
raucous noise spilt through the villa: shouts from the kitchen, the sound of hammering out on the terrace. Andreas sent a final few emails to his office in Athens and shut down his computer; there was little point in trying to get any work done in this mayhem. Anyway, he had worked until three in the morning, resolving the Cayman Islands issues—he needed a break... And, okay, he'd admit it to himself: he wanted to see Grace.

Outside, a crew were fixing lights on to the temporary stage that had been erected on the terrace the day before. He hadn't seen Grace all day, and knew he had no business going in search of her now. It was asking for trouble. But kissing her last night had been unbelievable. For the first time in ages he had lost himself totally in the physical joy of holding a woman, tasting her rather than mentally working out what it was she wanted from him.

He approached the workshops with an eagerness that confounded but exhilarated him. Inside, he felt his enthusiasm waver when two strangers stared back at him. When they finally found their voices one of the women told him that Grace was down on the jetty, helping with the unloading of more supplies. Frustration that she was not alone had him turning abruptly away.

Back outside, he spotted her—lost amongst the potted trees crowding the jetty, which now resembled a small forest. The delivery boat was out in the harbour, sailing back towards Naxos.

As he neared the jetty Grace came towards him unsteadily, carrying one of the potted trees. He went to take it from her but she drew back.

‘It's fine—it's not as heavy as it looks; the planter is made from lightweight fibreglass.'

She kept on walking and he called to her. ‘Where are you taking it?'

She stopped at the end of the jetty and dropped the white sugar-cube-shaped planter down. ‘I want to place the planters and the storm lamps at intervals between here and the chapel.'

Andreas glanced back at the endless planters and storm lamps crowding the jetty. ‘Have you any help?'

She rushed back down the jetty and picked up another planter. ‘The other florists are finishing off the final prep work and will come and help in a little while.'

She was all business, and barely gave him a glance. He tried not to let it get to him.

‘If you take care of the storm lamps, I'll position the planters,' he said.

For a moment she hesitated, as though she was about to refuse his offer, but then she gave a brief nod.

‘Thank you.' Picking up the two nearest storm lanterns, she rushed off the jetty, saying, ‘The planters were supposed to be delivered this morning but have only just arrived. The other florists have to leave by five as they have to prepare the flowers for another wedding on Naxos tomorrow.'

In silence they worked together: Grace dropping the storm lamps ten metres apart and he placing the planters in between.

As they moved up onto the path, where it cut along the cliff towards the chapel, her silence and her habit of rushing away from him at every opportunity put him further and further on edge.

They walked back towards the jetty again and he could take no more. He called to her as she walked in front of him. ‘Is everything okay?'

She kept on walking, but through the thin material of her pale pink tee shirt he saw her shoulders tense.

‘If it's about last night, I apologise.'

She stopped abruptly and swung around to him. ‘Apologise?'

‘For kissing you. I didn't mean to upset you.'

‘You didn't upset me, but it can't happen again.'

She said it with such certainty he was sorely tempted to take her in his arms and test her resolve. But she was right. They were playing with fire.

For the next trip back up the cliff-face Grace insisted on carrying a planter, as she was now way ahead with laying the lanterns. The other florists had joined them, and it had been agreed that he and Grace would carry the planters out as far as the chapel and work backwards from there.

Again silence fell between them. The planter balanced on her hip, she walked before him. He tried hard not to stare at how her cut-off faded denim shorts showed the perfection of her bottom.

He caught up with her when she stopped to move the planter from one hip to the other. Her eyes scanned along the coastline and then she briefly closed her eyes and lifted her face to the afternoon sun.

When she opened her eyes she said quietly, ‘Why have you decided to give Christos half the island? It's incredibly generous.'

‘Not generous; just the right thing to do. My uncle should have left it to us both, but he was too stubborn.'

‘What happened?'

He gestured for them to continue walking. For a while he didn't speak as an internal argument raged inside him.

Don't answer.
You need to distance yourself from her.

But I want to explain. I want her to understand some of the mess that is my life.
Why we will never share the same dreams for the future.

‘When my grandfather died the family business was left to my father and this island to my uncle. My father has very traditional ideas and he believed that Kasas should also have been left to him as the eldest son. The two brothers fought and didn't speak for years. My father forbade us ever to speak to our uncle again; he wasn't pleased when I disobeyed him. Christos was about to follow my lead, but he gave in when my mother pleaded with him not to do so. For my loyalty, my uncle decided to leave the island to me.'

‘But that wasn't fair on Christos.'

‘I know. My uncle, usually calm and logical about everything, simply refused to listen to reason. He was a proud man, and in his eyes Christos had chosen my father over him; chosen to side with my father's greed.'

She shifted the planter back to her other hip before asking, ‘And now? How do you get on with your father?'

He gave a chortle at the hint of caution in her voice. ‘I take it that he left an impression on you when you met him at the engagement party?'

She shrugged uncertainly. ‘He likes to speak his mind.'

That was the understatement of the year. His father was opinionated and brash on a good day. His father's angry words about the dishonour brought to the family name echoed in his mind. His grip on the planter tightened as anger and guilt swirled in his chest.

‘It's not the easiest of relationships; we're very different. When I was younger I tried to work in the family business, but my father is almost impossible to work with. He'd refuse to delegate authority, question every decision and often reverse them. When all the issues blew up over the inheritance I left.'

‘Do you ever regret that?'

‘For the upset it caused my mother? Yes. But otherwise, no. I've succeeded on my own terms. Even if at times I've paid the price.'

Grace slowed her pace. ‘What do you mean?'

The turmoil and self-doubt of the past few years came back to him in sharp relief. ‘The global recession hit my company hard.'

‘And succeeding on your own... Was that to prove to him just how capable you are? That you don't need him to be successful?'

‘I guess we have that in common...'

She nodded, and for a moment their eyes connected.

‘It's not easy, hating a person you love—is it?' he asked.

She came to a stop and readjusted the planter in her hands. At first she frowned, but then she gave a small exhalation of breath. ‘I never thought of it like that; but that's exactly how I feel. There's so much I hate about my father's behaviour, but deep down a part of me—reluctant as it is—loves him. I don't understand it, and it would be so much easier if I didn't... Love is such a strange thing, isn't it?'

‘Strange, dangerous and unpredictable.'

Her lips pursed and she shook her head crossly. ‘Sometimes, but for most it's the one true wonder of being alive.'

Aman!
Had she no sense? ‘Still dreaming of your prince and happy-ever-after?'

A storm brewed in her violet eyes and her lips drew into a firm line. She glared at him. ‘Yes—and when he comes along I'll send you a postcard.'

With that she flounced away and he followed, amusement tugging at his lips even while he tried to ignore the jealousy curling in his stomach at the thought of her with another man.

The chapel was close now, but the planter was starting to weigh heavily in his arms. In a few long strides he caught up with her. ‘Do you want to stop for a break?'

Despite the sheen of perspiration on her skin, she shook her head defiantly. ‘No.'

‘You're persistent, aren't you?'

She stared at him belligerently. ‘You sound surprised. Why wouldn't I be?'

He gave a light shrug. ‘Most of the women I know aren't too keen on hard physical work.'

‘From what I hear, you don't hang around long enough to find out. Maybe those women have a lot more going for them than you give them credit for.' With that she stalked away, and dropped the first planter at the bottom of the chapel terrace.

He dumped his ten metres away. ‘So what do you suggest? That I stay and give them all hope of a relationship?'

‘No, because you're obviously incapable of having one. I don't want any women getting hurt. But maybe you shouldn't make assumptions about them.'

How sheltered a life had she lived? She'd obviously had the good fortune never to encounter the sycophants he had. ‘Are you
really
that innocent, Grace?'

Those violet eyes flared with anger. ‘You know what, Andreas? Maybe I am. But I prefer to see the good in human nature.'

Those photographs he had been sent two years ago had shown him the truth about human nature.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, he answered, ‘And
that's
where we will always differ.'

* * *

Why had someone so beautiful on the outside but so cynical at heart been sent into her life? The gods were truly having a laugh at her expense.

Grace twisted away from him, her blood boiling. She was tired and hungry, stressed about tomorrow, and plagued with an attraction to the six-foot-two, dark and sexy sceptic walking behind her.

If only it was that straightforward.

Though she hated to admit it, and even though Andreas was so disparaging about love and the motives of women, at his core he was a good man. He'd shown care towards her on numerous occasions; he clearly loved his family despite the differences between him and his father. It was as if he wore his scepticism as an armour.

But she had meant it when she'd said that she would never try to change a man. She wanted a man to fall in love with her with no games involved—no persuasion, no pretending she was something she wasn't. More than anything she wanted a relationship based on honesty and respect.

Her phone rang in her pocket and, pulling it out, she answered Matt's call, glad to have a distraction from the pain lancing through at the memory that her mum hadn't even bothered to leave a note when she had walked out on them.

Though Matt professed that nothing was wrong, and that he'd just called to say hi, she immediately knew he was upset. With Matt she always had to draw him out gradually. They were back at the chapel with the next set of planters when she finally hung up on the call.

She dropped her planter onto the path and was about to pass Andreas when he placed a hand on her arm.

His eyes soft and concerned, he stepped closer. His hand moved up to lie gently on her upper arm. ‘Are you okay? You seem tired?'

She wanted to say no, she wasn't okay. That she wanted him to hold her. To tell her everything would be okay. That Matt and Lizzie would do well in life. That tomorrow was going to be okay.

Instead she glanced at the time on her phone and then towards the jetty and the remaining planters. ‘I'm not going to be able to go to the pre-wedding reception tonight...I still have so much to do.'

‘Ioannis will be back from Naxos soon. He can take over the positioning of the planters.'

‘It's not just the planters. I have a lot of other prep work that needs to be completed. Sofia is arriving here at eleven tomorrow, and I want to spend time with her. I need to have all the flowers ready in the workshop by then, for the local florists to position just before the ceremony begins.'

‘I'll stay and help.'

‘No! Absolutely not.'

But before she knew what was happening Andreas was on his phone. He spoke in Greek, but she understood his greeting to Christos.

Wearing denim jeans and a white polo shirt, now smeared with earth from the planters, he stood watching her as he spoke, his dark hair glistening under the sun, his voice a low and rapid flow of passionate sounds incomprehensible to her.

Her insides melted as his eyes roamed up and down her body. Something dark and dangerous was building in them as the call continued.

When he'd hung up, he gestured for them to start walking again. ‘I spoke to Christos and explained that you were tied up with preparations. He told Sofia and she asked him to send her love. They both insisted that I should stay and help. And they agreed that I should take you out to dinner later.'

‘They did not!'

‘Call them if you don't believe me.'

He was calling her bluff. Well, she'd show him. ‘Fine—I will.'

A few minutes later she hung up on her call to Sofia. Though disappointed that Grace would miss tonight, Sofia had been more concerned that Grace was putting herself under too much pressure. And, though Sofia had tried her best to disguise it, Grace had heard the fear in her voice that the flowers mightn't be ready for tomorrow.

After spending an age reassuring Sofia that she had everything under control, Grace hadn't even bothered to get into an argument about Andreas staying on with her.