The Best Man's Guarded Heart. Katrina Cudmore

world of sensual possibilities.

      She made a few attempts to talk, all the while shuffling the files in her arms, her eyes darting to and from him.

      Why was she so jumpy? ‘Is everything okay?’

      Her head moved almost imperceptibly from side to side, as though she was trying to weigh up how she was going to reply. She bit down on her lip, exposing the not quite perfect alignment of her front teeth, with one tooth slightly overlapping the other. Why did he find that imperfection so appealing?

      Eventually she said in a rush, ‘Ioannis just called. The flowers are already down at the jetty. Apparently they were delivered before dawn. The delivery company were supposed to call me. I was meant to inspect them before they left… And, worse still, they were supposed to carry them as far as the workshops for me.’

      The workshops sat on a steep hill overlooking the cove—she would need some help. ‘Ask Ioannis to help you.’

      ‘He had to go to Naxos to collect the caterers and the wedding planner and her team. A florist from Naxos was supposed to be coming with them, to assist me today, but she just called to say that she’s sick.’

      Thee mou! Did Grace know what she was doing? A missed flight, a missed delivery, and now a sick member of staff. ‘Get Ioannis and the wedding planner’s team to help you when they arrive.’

      ‘I can’t leave the flowers out in this heat. I have to get them into the cool of the workshops straight away.’

      Why hadn’t he opted to stay in Athens for the duration of the wedding preparations? Because you love your brother. And as his work in London has prevented him from travelling until Thursday you promised to be here in case there were any issues.

      But he had urgent business to deal with too. He didn’t have time for this. His instinct about Grace needing babysitting hadn’t been far off the mark after all.

      ‘Do you usually face so many problems?’

      She considered him for a brief moment, her anxiety fading to be replaced by a sharp intelligence. ‘There are always unforeseen problems with the flowers for any wedding. It’s my job to deal with them as quickly as I can.’ She paused, and although her cheeks grew even more enflamed she considered him with a quiet dignity. ‘I’m sure you must experience unexpected problems all the time in your work…and will therefore understand why I need to ask for your help.’

      ‘My help?’ He had a mountain of work to do. He didn’t have time to act as some florist’s assistant.

      She inhaled a deep breath and answered, ‘I appreciate you’re probably very busy, but if you could give me half an hour I’d be grateful.’

      She awaited his response with a spirited stare of defiance, challenging him to say no. Despite himself he admired her feistiness.

      Against all logic and his pledges to keep a wide berth around the chief bridesmaid he found himself saying, ‘I’ll give you half an hour. No more. First I must get changed and reschedule a call.’

      Light-headed, Grace turned away as Andreas climbed the path up to the villa, her heart pirouetting with humiliation…and something else she didn’t want to think about.

      He must think she was completely incompetent.

      The ground beneath her no longer felt solid. Had she sat in the sun for too long earlier, whilst finalising her plans for the reception flowers out on the terrace? She came to a stop and gulped down some air.

      Who was she trying to kid? This had nothing to do with too much sun. Rather too much of Andreas Petrakis. Too much of his near naked body. Too much of seeing the seawater that had fallen in droplets along the hard muscles of his chest, down over a perfectly defined six-pack until they’d reached the turquoise swimming shorts that sat low on his narrow hips.

      She had been right last night. He was a Greek god. His sleeked back hair had emphasised the prominence of his cheekbones, the arrow-straightness of his nose, the enticing fullness of his mouth. And he had a long-limbed muscular body the likes of which she had only ever seen cast in marble whilst on a school tour to the British Museum. Sofia and she had circled those statues, giddy with teenage fascination.

      She would not turn around and take one final glimpse. No way.

      Oh, what the heck?

      His back was a vast golden expanse of taut muscle, from broad powerful shoulders down to those narrow hips. And she could not help but notice the firm muscles of his bottom and the long, athletic shape of his legs as he easily climbed the steep path back towards the villa.

      The goofy grin on her mouth faded. Okay, so he was gorgeous, and he did very peculiar things to her heart. But she had to dig one big hole and bury that attraction. She was here to do a job. She had to act professionally. Even if the gods were determinedly working against her right now in a bid to make her appear completely clueless.

      Early this morning she had thrown open her balcony doors to dazzling sunshine and the stunning vista of faraway islands floating on the azure Aegean Sea. A light breeze had curled around her like a welcoming hug to the Cyclades Islands. Only the tinkle of goat bells had been carried on the air.

      That paradise she had awoken to had given her a renewed determination that she was going to enjoy every second of this trip, which was to be the start of the life of adventure she had craved for so many years. After years of being held hostage to her father’s control and manipulation she was determined to be free. Free to love every second of every day, to fill her life with fun and exhilaration. Free to accomplish all her own ambitions and prove that she did have worth.

      All of which meant that tangling with her arrogant playboy host was the last thing she should be doing. Her priority had to be the flowers. If this project went wrong she could kiss her fledgling career goodbye. And, God forgive her for her pride, she wanted to prove to Andreas that she wasn’t a bumbling idiot—contrary to all current evidence.

      Set into the cliff-face above the small harbour, the workshops mirrored the sugar cube style of the main house. Inside, the cool double-height rooms with their exposed roof beams and roughly plastered walls would be perfect for storing and assembling the flowers.

      Grace quickly moved about the first workshop on the row, sweeping dust off benches and pulling two into the centre of the room for her to work at. Outside again, she raced down to the harbour jetty, grabbed a stack of flower buckets, and ran back up to the workshops. Within minutes her legs were burning because of the steep incline.

      Back inside the workshop, she dropped the buckets to the floor and exhaled heavily. What had she taken on? How on earth was she going to strip and trim over a thousand stems of peonies and lisianthus by herself?

      She gave herself a shake and scanned the room. There was no tap. What was she going to do about water? She ran into the adjoining room and almost cried in relief when she saw a sink in the far corner. She twisted the tap. The gush of water restored some calm.

      Twice more she ran down to the jetty to collect the remaining buckets, and the box she had packed personally, which contained all her essential tools: knives, scissors, pruners and a vast assortment of tapes, wires and cord twine.

      By the time Andreas appeared at the workshop door she was not only hot and sweaty but also covered in wet patches from the sloshing water as she carried endless buckets of water from the adjoining room back into her temporary workshop.

      He, in contrast, was his usual effortlessly cool and elegant self, wearing faded denim jeans that hung low on his hips and a slim-fitting sea-green polo shirt. Muscular biceps, washboard abs… How good would it be to walk into his arms and feel the athletic strength of his body?

      For a few seconds every ounce of energy drained from her and she wondered how she didn’t crumble to the workshop floor in a mess of crushing attraction.

      Pointedly he glanced at his exquisite platinum