The Best Man's Guarded Heart (6 page)

‘Why?'

Memories of standing outside her mother's isolated cottage in Scotland, trying to build up the courage to knock, swamped her. The humiliation of begging her mum to allow Matt and Lizzie to go and live with her only for her to refuse.

‘My father...'

This was so hard. Should she say nothing? What
could
she say about her father? Would Andreas even understand? After all he was a driven businessman too. Was he as motivated by money and power as her father? Had that ambition caused his marriage to collapse? Despondency washed over her at the thought that that might have been the case. She suddenly had to know if he was like her father.

‘What's the most important thing in your life?'

He considered her warily. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘I'll explain in a little while.'

For a moment she thought he wouldn't give her an answer. Then, ‘Without a doubt my family: Christos, my mother.' He paused before he added, ‘My father.'

She searched his eyes but he looked away. Though she had only met his father once, at the engagement party, she had quickly formed the impression that he was impatient and brusque—the type of man who would proudly boast that he didn't suffer fools gladly, with no comprehension of just how foolish and shortsighted that comment was.

In a quiet voice she asked, ‘Don't you get on? You and your father?'

‘It's not the easiest of relationships.'

Why was he so closed? He told her so little about himself. But then maybe he would understand if he too had a difficult relationship with his father.

‘With my father, his business is the only thing that matters. Family never features in his priorities. After my mother left, it was down to me to care for Matt and Lizzie. He didn't care. Though we could barely afford it, he wanted to send them away to boarding school. They were both devastated after my mum left. They needed love and comforting, not some impersonal school.'

Apart from Sofia, she had never confided any of this to another person. Vulnerability and embarrassment sat in her throat like a double-vice grip and she studied the terrace table, bewildered by just how upset she felt. Questioning the sense in telling him all of this. Inadequacy washed over her—so ferocious she thought she might drown.

‘Are you okay?'

She peeped up and nodded. Her heart slammed to a stop when she saw the gentleness in his eyes.

‘You gave up university to stay with your brother and sister; that's very admirable.'

She swallowed against the emotion lodged in her throat and said, ‘I thought that I might be able to get my dad to love Matt and Lizzie, to see how much they needed him. But I just couldn't get through to him. I spent years trying to make things perfect, until I realised that there was no point. After that my objective was to get them to university...away from him. Matt started university this year; Lizzie's in her third year. They're both happy and settled.'

‘And what about you?'

‘I left home last year, at the same time as Matt. I'm hoping I'll be able to buy an apartment soon—one that can be a home for us all. I've always dreamt of being a florist, and for the past few years, while I've studied floristry at night, I've worked with a wedding floral designer at the weekends. Since I left home I've worked as a florist full-time. After this wedding I'm going freelance as a wedding floral designer, and at some point hopefully I'll be able to open my own flower shop too.'

‘Why floristry?'

Was that a note of disapproval in his voice? Compared to his success, her dreams must seem so insignificant.

She glanced at him sharply and asked, ‘Why do you ask?'

‘Out of curiosity...' He considered her for a while, and then with a grin he added, ‘And I reckon the best man and the chief bridesmaid should know a little about each other.'

Grace eyed him suspiciously. ‘Have we just taken a step forward in peace negotiations?'

He flashed her a wicked grin that almost had her falling off her chair. ‘Perhaps. And, for the record, my question wasn't a criticism.'

‘Sorry—it's just that you sounded like my dad. He thinks a career in floristry is a dead end.'

‘Why would he say that?'

‘Because there's little monetary gain to be made in it as a career—certainly not the sort of wealth
he
admires anyway. I worked in my father's business when I left school. He wanted me to stay and take over the logistics department. He even offered to give me a percentage share in the firm to stay.'

‘You weren't tempted by his offer?'

‘Not for a minute. It was just his way of trying to keep me in his control.'

He looked into the distance and scowled. ‘Emotional blackmail.'

She felt something unlock within her at knowing that he understood. ‘Yes.'

He gazed at her for a while and an invisible bond stretched between them.

He broke his gaze. ‘So, why floristry?'

‘I love everything about flowers—their scent, texture, colours. It's challenging to create a beautiful bouquet or a centrepiece, but so much fun too, especially for weddings, which are such happy affairs.'

‘I'm impressed that you've taken on
this
wedding. I'm guessing it's a big project for someone relatively new to the business?'

Her doubts and fears about messing up came charging back and she didn't know how to respond as her heart thudded in her chest. She gave a shrug that belied the butterflies soaring in her belly. ‘I'm aiming high...I just hope I don't crash back down to earth in a blaze of bad publicity.'

‘That won't happen—not with the amount of prep and planning you've done.'

‘I hope so. It's really important to me that my flowers do justice to Sofia and Christos's love and the vows they will be taking.'

‘Why did you choose to specialise in weddings? I would have thought they are particularly demanding?'

‘They are—but I love pushing myself to design something new and unique for each couple and the time pressures involved. People in love are full of wonder and optimism, and they are usually thrilled with the work you do... What better clients could anyone wish for? I had years of my father's hardness and cynicism. I want to do something that's fun and positive now. I want to live in a world where people care about one another, where there is kindness and respect. Does that sound crazy to you?'

He contemplated her words thoughtfully before eventually saying, ‘Perhaps, but it's a nice dream. And to me it sounds like you already show a lot of kindness and care towards your siblings.'

‘I try to be there for them as much as I can.'

‘Is that why you've never travelled alone before?'

‘Up to now I could never go without them. We couldn't afford to travel much, but when we did it was all three of us together—sometimes Sofia came too.'

‘They call and text you a lot. Do you still feel responsible for them?'

It wasn't something she had thought about before. ‘I suppose I do.'

‘Maybe you need to let them go a little in order to focus on your own future.'

Everything in Grace recoiled at what he said. She didn't want to talk about this. She had a duty to them.

She pushed away the uneasy thought that he was possibly right.

‘It's not as easy as that.'

* * *

Grace stood quickly and began to clear their plates. She kept her eyes low, refusing to look at him.

‘I didn't mean to upset you.'

She studied him cautiously. ‘It's okay.' She eyed him again for a moment before giving a heavy sigh. ‘Anyway, you're not the only one who might say the wrong thing sometimes. I'm sorry if my enthusiasm for the wedding is over the top at times. I should realise not everyone is a wedding freak like I am.'

For a moment he considered challenging her on the fact that what he'd said might not be the wrong thing to point out, but her guarded expression told him to back off. So instead he said, with a smile, ‘Wedding freak—that's a new term for me.'

She lowered the dishes in her hands to the table again. ‘Thank you for your help today.'

Genuine gratitude shone from her eyes and he was taken aback at how good it felt to be appreciated, to know that he had helped. When had he stopped helping others? Closed himself off from the world?

He was thankfully pulled out of the uncomfortable realisation when she spoke again. ‘I realise you must be very busy with your work. I'm sorry if I caused any disruption.'

He tipped back in his chair and scratched the back of his head ruefully. ‘I must admit that the contents of that last box affected my concentration all afternoon.'

She gave a nervous smile and hurriedly picked up the dishes again. ‘I'm going in to get a sweater. Is it okay if I get some coffee at the same time?'

‘Use the kitchen as you wish.'

‘Would you like one too?'

He nodded his acceptance and as she walked away he turned in his chair, his eyes sweeping over the sway of her hips, the pertness of her bottom. She had changed when they'd got back from the chapel, into jeans and a close-fitting baby blue tee shirt that showed the curves of her full, high breasts to perfection.

Damn it, but he was deeply attracted to her. He wanted to hold her and feel those soft lips under his, to touch the plumpness of her bottom, run his thumb along the outline of her breasts.

Aman!
This was madness.

Grace wanted love and fairy-tale endings. He couldn't give her either. Being burnt in love, humiliated, was an experience he was never going to repeat. Anyway, this woman who had selflessly raised her siblings and opened up to him so honestly tonight, exposing her tender and honourable nature, deserved more than a short, superficial affair.

He glanced at his watch. She had been gone for well over ten minutes. Was everything okay? Had he upset her more than he'd thought?

He stood and walked out of the alcove in which the terrace table sat, heading towards the kitchen.

In the shadows of the curve of the alcove wall he ran straight into her, their bodies colliding hard. She jerked backwards and he grabbed hold of her as she stumbled. She trembled beneath his fingers.

Disquiet coursed through him. ‘Are you okay? Has something happened?'

‘I'm fine. I just can't find my sweater. I thought I'd left it in the kitchen this morning.'

She spoke in a low, breathless whisper, and he stepped even closer to her and lowered his head. This close, he could feel the heat of her body. The darkness enveloped them, heightening his awareness of her, of the heat of her body, her sweet floral scent, the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingers, the delicate curve of her arm. He wanted to pull her towards him, to feel her body crushed against his.

His voice was ragged when he spoke. ‘Eleni probably moved it...you can borrow one of mine instead.'

She swayed slightly towards him, as though she too was overwhelmed by the need to get closer. He leaned forward in response, their bodies doing a private dance in which neither of them had any say.

He heard her inhale, quickly and deeply. ‘No. It's fine. I should just go to bed. I'm feeling tired.'

The thought of Grace and bed had him closing his eyes in despair. He should step away. Now. But with her hair still swept up in that ponytail the delicate column of her neck proved too much of a temptation, and his fingers moved up to caress her soft exposed skin.

She gave a tiny moan and arched her neck. ‘I really should go to bed.'

‘Yes, you should.'

But neither of them moved.

This couldn't go on. If they didn't say goodnight soon he was going to kiss her.

Desire clogged his brain, but he managed to force out some words. ‘We need to be careful.'

‘Yes, of course.' She said the right thing, but her low, breathless whisper spoke of nothing but attraction and yearning.

Regret seeped into his bones but he forced himself to say, ‘We need to remember that we have years of meeting again because of our ties with Christos and Sofia.'

There was a pause as she registered what he was saying. ‘Okay.' She inhaled a shaky breath and took a slight step backwards. ‘All the more reason why we need to learn to get on.'

‘Yes, and not complicate things between us.'

She cleared her throat and stepped even further back. ‘That's sensible.'

He forced himself to be blunt. ‘I'm not interested in a relationship; I can't offer you anything.'

She jerked ever so slightly, and for a moment a wounded expression flickered in her eyes, pulled at her mouth. But it was quickly replaced with a proud anger.

‘I don't want anything from you.'

He took a step back himself and inhaled a deep breath. ‘
Kalinichta
. Goodnight, Grace.'

For a few seconds she didn't move, but then she gave a quick nod and turned away.

He leaned back against the alcove wall with a groan. Yes, it was sensible not to complicate things. But sometimes
sensible
hadn't a hope in hell of stopping things getting out of control.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE
FOLLOWING
AFTERNOON
, alone in the workshop, Grace's back ached and her stomach constantly rumbled in protest at not having been fed since dawn. But at least now she was working in the silence of siesta time, which was a welcome reprieve after the frantic pace of the morning.

She plucked up some more rosemary and bay stems and wrapped florist's wire around their base to form a neat and fragrant bundle.

Footsteps approached, at first faint, but then she heard that distinctive stride, with its quick double heel tap on every second step. For a moment they faltered outside, but then quickly climbed the stone steps up to the workshop.

She ducked her head and busied herself with another bundle of herbs, cross with the giddy anticipation that exploded in every cell of her body. She was
not
going to blush. She was
not
going to remember how close they had come to kissing last night and how she had later tossed and turned, tormented with images of beads of seawater dripping down over his taut golden stomach and disappearing beneath his turquoise shorts as they had yesterday morning.

‘You're alone.'

Dressed in slim light grey trousers and an open-neck white shirt, his suit jacket thrown over one shoulder, Andreas stood in the doorway, a hand on his narrow hip.

Why did her heart have to go bananas every time she saw him?

‘The other florists have returned to Naxos with the wedding team for siesta. They'll be back later this afternoon.'

This was a detail she stupidly hadn't factored into her plans.

She inhaled a deep breath and decided to change the subject. ‘You look like you're going somewhere.'

‘I'm returning, in fact. I had a lunch date on Naxos.'

Her head shot up as Sofia's description of Andreas's busy love-life echoed. She gave a wobbly smile, her chest weighed down with disappointment. ‘I hope it was enjoyable.'

His gaze narrowed and he walked towards her bench. She wound wire around a new bunch of herbs but almost strangled them in the process. When he didn't speak she eventually looked up at him, frustration now singing in her veins, along with a stomach-clenching sense of dejection.

Dark, serious eyes met hers. ‘It was with my lawyer.'

‘Oh.' Heat exploded in her cheeks.

She exhaled in relief when he walked away, but tensed when he went to stand in front of her project plans and designs for the wedding day, which she had hung on the wall earlier in order to brief the other florists. She should have taken them down again.

His back still to her, he asked, ‘Aren't you having a break? Lunch? A siesta?'

The idea of lying in a darkened room with him had her glancing away from the messy sexiness of his hair, from the mesmerising triangle of the broad width of his shoulders and his narrow hips. ‘I can't. I'm already hours behind with my timetable.'

He continued to stare at the plans and her stomach did a nervous roll. What if he didn't like them? Goosebumps of vulnerability popped up on her skin.

When he moved she quickly gazed back at the sad-looking herbs and began to unwind the wire. Maybe she'd be able to rescue them; it wasn't their fault, after all, that she had no sense.

He placed his jacket down on the end of the bench. ‘Show me what to do.'

No!
He couldn't stay. Her already shot nerves couldn't take it. Nor her pride. ‘There's no need.'

‘One thing you need to learn about me Grace, is that I don't say things lightly. And I don't make an offer twice.'

‘That's two things.'

At first he frowned, but then a grin broke on his lips. His eyes danced mischievously, defying her to say no again to his offer.

Oh, what the heck? She needed all the help she could get.

She gestured to the bench behind her. ‘I'm working on the garland for the chapel that I measured out last night. At this bench I'm assembling bunches of herbs, which I will then attach to the twine roping.'

She cut a length of the wire and showed him the required length, to which he nodded.

Then she picked up the herbs and said, ‘Take three stems each of rosemary and bay and create a bunch by wrapping the wire around the bottom of the stem.'

He messed up the first bunch, tying the wire too loosely, but within a short few minutes he had picked up on the technique needed.

They worked in silence and she forced herself to breathe normally. Well, as normally as her adrenaline-soaked body would allow. This was all so strange. Andreas Petrakis, one of the most powerful men in Greece, was standing before her, tying bunches of herbs.

‘Why are you so nervous?'

‘I'm not!'

He gave her a lazy, incredulous stare.

‘I'm not nervous—why should I be?'

He gave a light shrug and went back to work.

‘I want this to be right for Sofia.'

For a moment she paused as anxiety steamrollered up through her body, blocking her lungs and throat. She swallowed hard to push the anxiety back down into her tummy, where it nowadays permanently resided.

‘But, let's face it, most of Greek society are coming to this wedding—along with various well-connected friends of Sofia and Christos from England. If I mess this up I can kiss my career ambitions goodbye. I'll never be taken seriously as a floral designer.'

He gestured towards the long line of sketches and plans on the wall. ‘You have this under control. Of course you're not going to mess up. You're worrying unnecessarily—relax a little.'

Tiredness and frustration rolled through her. ‘That's easy for you to say, with
your
success and
your
background.'

Taken aback by her own words, she inhaled deeply. Andreas stared at her, clearly annoyed.

She closed her eyes for a second, abhorring her own behaviour. ‘I'm sorry, that was uncalled for.'

‘Then why say it?'

His tone said he wasn't about to accept her apology quickly.

Embarrassment and a growing sense of panic that she didn't have things under control had her saying in a rush, ‘Because sometimes I feel so damn inadequate.'

For the longest while they stood in silence. His eyes fixed on hers until humiliation had her glancing away.

‘Why inadequate?'

His tone was gentle and she gazed back in surprise. Something unlocked in her at the concern in his eyes, and she spoke in a rush, with all the insecurities tied down inside her for so long launching out of her like heat-seeking missiles.

‘I left school early...didn't go to university. I'm not from a particularly wealthy background...I don't understand a lot of the nuances of social behaviour with those who are. I've probably bitten off more than I can chew with this wedding. And as I'm also the chief bridesmaid I'll hear directly any unpleasant comments people make about the flowers.'

For a moment she paused, and then she threw up her hands. A sprig of rosemary from the bundle in her hand worked loose and arced through the air. ‘I've no idea why I just told you all of that...but, trust me, I know just how pathetic it sounds. There's no need for you to say anything.'

‘You're wrong. There's a lot I need to say.'

She blanched at his grave tone. What had she done? Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut?

‘You're a talented and committed florist, and a good friend determined to give her best friend an incredible wedding day. So what if you didn't go to university? You were caring for your family. And, believe me, coming from a wealthy background doesn't guarantee any advantage for getting through life.'

He leaned forward on the workbench and moved closer to her, his eyes swallowing her up.

‘Why do you think you're inadequate? Why do you think people would pass comment on the flowers?'

His voice was low and calm. Its quiet strength made her feel even more vulnerable and exposed. She was used to arguments and threats. Not this gentleness.

With a flippant shrug she said, ‘Maybe I've been hanging around my father too long.'

‘Meaning...?'

She gritted her teeth. ‘My father trusts no one—including me. At work and at home he questioned everything I did, every decision I took. When I was younger I tried to stand up to him, but he would only take it out on Matt and Lizzie...grounding them, dragging them from their beds late at night because we hadn't tidied the house to his satisfaction. Calling them a useless waste of space.'

Andreas picked up a bunch of herbs from the table and plucked at the leaves. The sweetness of rosemary infused the air. His tone was anything but sweet when he spoke, ‘Was there nowhere you could go? Why did you stay?'

She winced at his questions. Anger and guilt had her saying bitterly, ‘Do you honestly think I would have stayed if I'd had a choice? I was
seventeen
, Andreas. I had no money... Even when I started working there was no way I was going to be able to support myself and Matt and Lizzie. I only took the job with my dad because he offered the best pay. Of course it was his way of controlling me, but I thought I would be able to save enough to move out. But rental costs just kept increasing. We have an aunt who lives in Newcastle, in the North of England, but she has her own family to care for. Anyway, Matt and Lizzie loved their school and their friends. I couldn't take them away from all that.'

He leaned even further over the workbench, resting his hand lightly on hers. When she started his hand enclosed hers, preventing her from jerking away. ‘I wasn't blaming you. And you need to realise that you're
not
inadequate.'

She gave him a weak smile and tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

He scrutinised her with a playful but determined focus. ‘Say it for me—that you're not inadequate.'

‘Andreas, please...'

‘
Say
it.'

Though she squirmed and shook her head in exasperation she eventually gave in. ‘Okay, I'll say it. I'm...' She cleared her throat as her chest tightened painfully, thick with emotions she didn't understand. ‘I'm not inadequate.'

He gave a satisfied nod. His eyes, deep green pools, flickered with gold, held hers, and her heart thumped frantically.

‘Shall I tell you what you
are
?
Ise poli glikos
. You are very sweet, you're loyal, determined and kind, and...very beautiful. A woman with an incredible future in front of her.'

They were the nicest words anyone had ever said to her. And she was totally unable to handle them. Flummoxed, she blushed deeply and said quietly, ‘I hope so.'

‘And you don't need any man or romance to complete you.'

He was wrong. She
did
need love and romance. Only love would ease the gut-wrenching loneliness that was slowly eating away at her. But she could never explain that to a man so against everything she craved.

‘Perhaps, but even you have to admit that it would make life a lot more fun.'

He gave her a light look of warning. ‘Be careful what you wish for.'

They worked in silence for the next half an hour, the pile of bunched herbs between them growing ever larger. Grace tried to maintain a veneer of outward calm, but inside she was a turmoil of emotions: disbelief yet toe-tingling pleasure that he had called her beautiful, regret that he was so against love.

In the end he downed tools with a heavy sigh. ‘I can't stand here listening to your stomach rumble any longer. I'm going to get you some food.' He paused to grab his jacket and muttered, almost to himself, ‘And then I must tackle my best man's speech.'

Once he had left she carried the completed bunches to the other table and began attaching them to the doubled-up rope twine, creating lush foliage into which she would later place peonies encased in water tubes.

Her hands trembled. He was right. She needed food. And she needed her head examined for saying what she had. So much for staying away from each other. The man was in charge of a multinational empire. He didn't have time to be listening to her.

And yet, even though it had been hard to say what she had, it had felt right. It had been strangely freeing to see his absolute acceptance of what she'd said. None of the doubtful looks or the disinterest that had greeted her in the past when she tried to speak to other family members about her problems with her dad.

* * *

Later that evening, Andreas cursed when he reviewed the most recent budget estimates for his Cayman Islands development. The delay in planning was costing them dearly. He would have to bang some heads together to get the outstanding issues resolved. A conference call was scheduled for tonight, with all the key stakeholders. The call would not end until he was satisfied that every single issue was ironed out.

He'd need to have his wits about him for the meeting; the local contractor they were partnering with had a habit of promising the world but delivering very little substantive progress. But this damn wedding was sucking away all his usual focus. For the past few hours he'd had the distraction of the wedding planner and her team outside his window, arguing about the positioning of the reception tables. Then Grace had arrived and she and the planner had locked horns over where the flower displays would be positioned.

Grace.
He had to stop thinking about her. Why was she getting under his skin so much? Earlier, she had spoken with such searing honesty he had wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. He was losing his mind.

He propped his elbows on the desk and with his eyes closed massaged his temples. His neck felt like a steel rod.

He made a low groan at the base of his throat when memories of last night returned. Her light floral scent...her skin soft and inviting when he had cradled her neck... What would it be like to trail his hand down further, unbutton her blouse, touch the enticing swell of her high and rounded breasts?