‘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 watch.
Inwardly she groaned at her lack of focus.
She rushed to the door and pointed down towards the jetty. The pale wooden structure sitting over the teal-blue sea was the perfect romantic setting for the arrival of the wedding guests on Saturday.
‘The flowers are all packed in those large rectangular boxes, stacked together. We need to get those inside now. The other boxes can wait until later.’
She was about to pass him when he placed his hand on her forearm. ‘I’ll collect the boxes—you stay here and continue with the work you were doing.’
She swallowed hard, her whole body on alert at the pleasurable sensation of his large hand wrapped around her arm. ‘We don’t have time.’
His eyes moved downwards and lingered on her chest.
Grace followed his gaze. And almost passed out. Her wet blouse was transparent, and clinging to her crimson-trimmed bra.
His lip curled upwards in one corner and for a moment she got a glimpse of how lethal he would be if he decided to seduce her.
‘Perhaps it might be better if you stay inside for a while; Ioannis and the wedding team are due to arrive soon.’
Mortified, she twisted away, grabbed some buckets and pointedly turned and nodded in the direction of his watch. ‘You’d better get going as your half an hour is ticking away. I reckon you’ll struggle to get all of the boxes in by then.’
A smirk grew on his lips. ‘I’ll try not to break into too much of a sweat...’ He paused as his eyes rested on where her wet blouse was sticking to her skin. ‘Although it does have its attractions.’
Lightning bolts of lust fired through her body. He noted her wide-eyed reaction and his smirk grew even larger. She twisted around and fled next door. She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.
When she returned with the filled buckets he was gone.
Andreas returned time and time again with the long rectangular flower boxes, and each time Grace heard his footsteps approach she hightailed it into the adjoining room. Only when she realised that he had moved on to carrying in the assortment of different-sized boxes that contained the other essentials did she speak. But despite her assurances that it wasn’t necessary for him to bring them in, he continued to do so.
The buckets