The Forbidden Prince (16 page)

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?'