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 the humiliating memories he had spent the past two years burying.
Yes, he had vaguely agreed to Grace’s early arrival—but he hadn’t expected her to be so elated about the wedding, or so distractingly beautiful. Her excitement 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 the time to babysit her. 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 it on she jerked back in surprise. In the darkness he could just about see the violet-blue depths of her eyes. Eyes that threatened to swallow his soul.
The Best Man’s Guarded Heart
Katrina Cudmore
A city-loving book addict, peony obsessive KATRINA CUDMORE lives in Cork, Ireland, with her husband, four active children and a very daft dog. A psychology graduate, with a MSc in Human Resources, Katrina spent many years working in multinational companies and can’t believe she is lucky enough now to have a job that involves daydreaming about love and handsome men! You can visit Katrina at www.katrinacudmore.com.
To Fin, your unwavering support and love has made this book possible.
You are my life.
Contents
SOFIA’S VOICEMAIL. AGAIN. Grace Chapman gave her smartphone’s contact photo of her best friend a death stare and muttered, ‘You can hide, Sofia, but I’ll find you.’
Grace loved Sofia to bits; during the madness of the past few years she’d been her rock of cheerful good sense. But every now and again, when life got too intense, Sofia lost the plot big-time. Like today. Yes, Grace might have missed her flight and ended up arriving in Athens seven hours late. But she’d had everything under control. Until Sofia had obviously panicked and called in the big guns: the Petrakis family. Which meant that instead of catching the last ferry of the day at Piraeus port, as she had hoped, Grace was now stuck in the VIP lounge of Athens airport, awaiting the arrival of Sofia’s soon-to-be father-in-law. A man who brought the word intimidating to a whole new level of meaning.
Sofia would have thought she was helping; but in truth she had totally messed up Grace’s already tight schedule. There was no way, now, that she would make it to Sofia’s wedding venue, Kasas Island, in time for the flower delivery in the morning.
She wasn’t going to panic.
Okay, she was panicking.
Less than three days to prepare and organise the flowers for the Greek society wedding of the year.
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.