The Best Man's Guarded Heart

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.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_82822dd5-49b2-51c9-ae0c-237dc236954f)

ANDREAS SLOWED THE pace of his morning swim for the last hundred metres into the shore and trailed his eye up the cliff-face and the numerous terraces built into it.

In only three days’ time the island would be overrun with the hundreds of guests who were to be ferried out to the island from Athens. There would be polite avoiding of his eye, curious studying of him to see if he gave any sign of remembering his own vows of commitment, and how his marriage had ended within twelve short months.

He hoped Christos knew what he was doing. That he knew Sofia as well as he said he did. Andreas did not want to see his brother hurt. Or his family humiliated and disappointed again.

He had spent the past month, since Christos had announced his engagement, avoiding any involvement in the wedding preparations. He would respect his brother’s decision and play the dutiful best man. Get along with the chief bridesmaid as best he could. But he’d keep his distance from her. To do otherwise, no matter how tempting, would be foolhardy.

There was undoubtedly a spark of attraction between them, but she was an out-and-out romantic and he had no business getting involved with a woman who believed in fairy-tale endings. Not when he knew that love was nothing but a fantasy. Anyway, the best man should never get involved with the chief bridesmaid. It was never a good idea in the long run.

On the warm sand at the base of the cliff he grabbed his towel and made his way back up the steep steps to the villa. He had rushed into marriage, like Christos. In the intense whirlwind of infatuation he had thought he had found love. But through her lies and betrayal his ex-wife had hardened his heart for ever. He would never trust again. He had always believed in marriage, in having children. But now those were the long forgotten dreams of an innocent.

Close to the top of his climb, he came to a stop on the final steps. Laden down with files and paperwork, her hair tied up into a high ponytail, bouncing from side to side, Grace rushed down the path towards him. She was dressed in a white lace blouse, pink shorts and trainers, and the sight of her bare legs had his abdominals tensing with frustration.

She spotted him and slowed, her eyes quickly flicking over him. Heat filled her cheeks before she looked away.

‘Kalimera—good morning, Grace.’

She ventured another quick gaze at him and nodded. This time her eyes held his.

The morning sun highlighted the honey and caramel tones in her hair, emphasising the mesmerising violet colour of her eyes. Eyes that could do funny things to a man’s resolve if he wasn’t careful.