The Best Man's Guarded Heart by Katrina Cudmore Page B

‘You look incredible.’
    All evening she had firmly reminded herself that to get involved with Andreas would be a major mistake. Past experience had taught her the awful pain of having someone walk away from her—which undoubtedly would happen should she get entangled with this oh-so-gorgeous playboy. This was just a cordial dinner between...
    Between what? She had no idea how to define their relationship, but maybe ‘friends’ was the most suitable description. But how was she supposed to deal with the heat in his eyes and the pull of desire coiling within her?
    She gave him a quick smile. ‘Thank you...and you don’t look half bad yourself.’ Which was the understatement of the year. He was freshly showered, and his damp hair was tamer than usual, which emphasised the impossible height of his cheekbones, the green brilliance of his eyes. His dark navy suit fitted him to perfection, the snow-white shirt open at the neck highlighting the golden tones of his skin. She would never get to touch him, to trace her fingers over his skin, to feel the hard muscle underneath...
    â€˜Why are you carrying your sandals?’
    She tore her eyes away from him and dangled her stiletto heels to swing between them. ‘There’s no way I’ll climb the hill to the helicopter wearing these bad boys.’
    His gaze travelled downwards and her French polished toes curled when his gaze remained at her feet. When he eventually looked back up there was a new tension to his jaw.
    â€˜Your feet will get dirty. Put them on and you can hold my arm—I’ll help you to the helicopter.’
    Grace sat on the side of a sofa and bent over to place her feet in the sandals. The sandals were new, and she struggled to fasten the strap, the metal bar refusing to go into the tiny eyelet pierced in the dark navy leather strap. She gritted her teeth and pushed as hard as she could, while her hip bone screamed at the awkward position she was leaning over in.
    â€˜Sit back and I’ll try.’
    Before she had time to protest Andreas was crouched down before her. He gently lifted her foot and balanced it on his thigh. She bit down on the dual temptations fighting within her: to pull away—his touch was way too much for a woman already on a knife-edge of temptation—or sigh so loudly she would be heard over on Naxos.
    When he was done, he stood up and held his hand out to her. For a moment she hesitated. More than ever this evening seemed like a thoroughly bad idea.
    As though reading her mind, Andreas said, ‘We’re going out for dinner and a little fun—nothing serious.’
    Three days ago she had closed the door to her minuscule apartment in Bristol, full of dreams for the future, hoping for excitement. Well, boy, had she got it—in a bucket full. And although she knew she was dancing with danger maybe, just for tonight, she could embrace this crazy scenario and relish being in the company of this utterly gorgeous man.
    * * *
    He was going to have a heart attack. Grace’s dress was too much. A mid-thigh-length navy lace wrap dress, embellished with sequins, it was far too short and far too figure-hugging. Way too much flesh was revealed in the deep scoop that ended at the tip of the valley between her breasts. And what was really driving his pulse berserk was the knowledge that with a simple tug of the satin ribbon sitting at her waist it would come undone.
    How was he supposed to act like a gentleman tonight when she was wearing that?
    Next to him in the helicopter, she folded one leg over the other, and he groaned inwardly at the sight of her toned thighs. Thin straps of dark navy leather crisscrossed her foot, which dangled provocatively in front of him, and a jolt of unwanted desire barged through him. Earlier, as he had buckled her sandal, his fingers had trailed against the smooth skin of her slender ankle and he’d had to battle hard against the urge to keep trailing