Three days that would determine the success or failure of her dream to establish her name as a leading wedding floral designer. Three days to prove that she wasn’t ‘a clueless dreamer’.
This morning, full of enthusiasm, she had thought she could take on the world. Now she just felt embarrassed and out of her depth.
She pushed the untouched champagne flute the lounge hostess had presented to her further away. Her stomach felt as though it was off doing a moon walk without her.
The lounge door swept open. And her stomach headed into orbit at the prospect of being at the receiving end of Mr Petrakis’s surly manner.
But standing at the far end of the airport lounge was not the older man she had expected. Instead, penetrating eyes scanned the room and came to a land on her. Long tanned fingers shot upwards. His eyes continued to bore into hers. With a quick tug, he unravelled his bow tie, leaving it to hang lose.
Her smile wavered. She took in the chiselled bone structure, the confidence of his stride as he walked towards her, the perfection of his tuxedo. The tousled disarray of his dark brown hair that made him look as though he had just climbed out of bed.
‘Miss Chapman?’
His voice was smooth and refined. If Central Casting was ever looking for a new Bond he would be a shoo-in. Her already racing heart galloped even faster.
Her seat was low and he seemed impossibly tall and menacing as he stood over her.
Clumsily she clambered out of it and tugged down on the hem of her yellow sundress, which suddenly felt too short and casual in the presence of his designer tux and expensive cologne. She was a low-budget package tourist to his first-class sophistication.
His eyes ran leisurely over the length of her body. Her insides melted. A thick dark eyebrow rose as he waited for her to speak, but for the first time in her life no meaningful words jangled in her brain. Instead it was a wasteland of inappropriate thoughts of lust for the man who stood before her.
Just above his left eyebrow a sickle-shaped scar became more prominent as his frown deepened. She balled her hands, worried that she’d give in to temptation and reach out and run her thumb against it.
After another excruciating few seconds of silence she eventually managed to garble out, ‘Yes… Yes, I’m Grace Chapman. I was expecting Mr Petrakis. The airport ground staff told me he had asked that I stay here until he arrived.’
With a quick nod he answered, ‘Yes I did.’
‘Oh.’ It slowly dawned on her who he was. ‘Oh! You must be Andreas… Christos’s brother. I thought it was your father who had sent the message. He and I met in London last month, at Christos and Sofia’s engagement party.’ Grace held out her hand. ‘You’re the best man, I believe?’
He paused for a second before smooth warm skin enclosed her hand. His handshake was firm, the dominant clasp of a powerful man who liked to get his own way.
In her flat sandals she had to arch her neck to meet his stare. Piercing green eyes framed by long dark eyelashes studied her, and his head was thrown back at an arrogant tilt. The apple really hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Dark stubble lined smooth golden skin.
‘And I believe you’re to be the chief bridesmaid?’
She ignored the coolness of his tone and let her enthusiasm for the upcoming wedding take over. ‘Yes—and also the wedding floral designer. Sofia and I have been best friends for years. It’s a shame you missed the engagement party—we had such fun.’
He gave an indifferent shrug and then his mouth curled derisively. ‘You missed your flight.’
Her heart leapt at his reproachful tone. About to explain why, she stopped. He really didn’t look as if he was in the mood to hear about delayed trains. Instead she said, ‘Yes, unfortunately. Now my priority is to get to Kasas as soon as possible.’
‘You’ve missed the last ferry.’
She forced herself not to say something terse and gave a polite smile. ‘Yes, I know.’ Her smile wobbled. Don’t say anything. Remain calm. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so arrogant. Her good intentions lasted all of one second. ‘My flight did arrive in time for me to catch the ferry. I had a taxi waiting.’
His mouth thinned. ‘And tomorrow the sun will rise in the west…’
Well, really! Frustration hummed in her ears. ‘I had an hour.’
He scowled at her, making no effort to conceal his growing irritation. ‘Christos realised you would miss the ferry so he called me and asked that I collect you.’
Her frustration gave way to embarrassment. His superior attitude might be rubbing her up the wrong way, but she had to face the fact that his night had obviously ended abruptly because of her.
She gestured to his tux and said, ‘I hope I didn’t disturb your night out.’
Something flashed in the depths of his eyes. Was it annoyance or some other memory? Had he been with someone? Sofia had said he had a reputation for being a playboy. Maybe she had been right about that tousled hair. It was still relatively early…but then what did she know about the bedroom habits of playboys? None of her exes had ever come close to being as dangerously lethal as the man standing before her.
‘No doubt Sofia panicked and got Christos to call you. She’s worried I’ll get lost. It’s my first time in Greece. In fact it’s my first time being abroad on my own.’
Those dark eyebrows narrowed. He studied her incredulously. An awkward silence followed.
She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I suppose you spend your days travelling…what with your business and everything?’
He tilted his head and gazed at her suspiciously. ‘Have you been doing your homework on me?’
‘No!’ Her cheeks grew hot and she cringed to think he might assume she was blushing out of guilt. ‘Of course not. I only know what Sofia told me…that you are Christos’s older brother.’
The eldest son of the wealthy and powerful Petrakis family, in fact, who had gone on to amass his own fortune in construction and property.
As he continued to gaze at her sceptically she added, ‘I’ve only met Christos a few times, but from the moment I met him I knew that he and Sofia were perfect for one another. I’m so happy for Sofia. And her dad is equally thrilled that she’s marrying a fellow Greek.’
Uncomfortable at the way he studied her, and trying to ignore just how gauche she felt in front of this much too silent and urbane man, she decided to change the subject to something that puzzled her. She gestured towards the other waiting travellers, and frowned when she saw that the other two women in the room, both much more elegantly groomed for the VIP lounge than she was, were staring at Andreas with obvious appreciation.
‘How did you know who I was?’
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a phone. After a few quick swipes he handed it to her. A photo of her and Sofia pulling silly faces at the camera popped up on the screen. Christos had taken the photo last weekend, after Sofia’s hen party in London…they’d both had one too many mojitos. Grace gave a squeal of despair.
For the briefest of moments a faint hint of amusement lifted his mouth upwards, but it faded and he said with a note of exasperation, ‘Christos is flooding my email with photos of Sofia.’
Confused by his tone, she decided to ignore it and handed Andreas back his phone. ‘That’s so cute. They’re so in love. Sofia tells me that Kasas is incredibly romantic. She truly appreciates you hosting the wedding there.’
He deposited the phone back in his pocket and folded his arms. The side of his upper lip curled upwards. Lord, he had