The Best Man's Guarded Heart. Katrina Cudmore

      Andreas watched her, disarmed by the passion in her voice. He wanted to believe everything she said was heartfelt and genuine. That he wasn’t being manipulated by a woman again. But cold logic told him not to buy any of it.

      It was time to move this conversation on. It was getting way too personal.

      ‘The vases aren’t here.’

      Her mouth dropped open and she visibly paled. ‘They have to be.’

      ‘I’ve double-checked each box—they’re not.’

      She gave a low groan and rushed over to the boxes, while frantically pushing buttons on her phone. As she ransacked the boxes she spoke to someone called Jan.

      Andreas walked away and into the adjoining room. Once again he tried to ignore the loneliness crowding his chest at being in these workshops for the first time since his uncle had died.

      A few minutes later Grace followed him into the end room, where the kiln was located. She stopped at the doorway and clenched her phone tight in her palm. Her paleness had now been replaced by a slash of red on her cheeks.

      She spoke in a low voice, her eyes wary. ‘The vases were never despatched by the suppliers in Amsterdam; they won’t get here before Saturday.’

      He had guessed as much. He gestured to the vast array of white porcelain pots on the bench beside the kiln. ‘You can use these instead.’

      Her eyes grew wide and she went and picked one up. And then another. Her fingers traced over the smooth delicate ceramic. ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘He had moved back to working predominantly with porcelain in the year before he died. I’ve never known what to do with all his work, I didn’t want to sell it…’ Unexpected emotion cut off the rest of what he had been about to say.

      Soft violet eyes held his. ‘This can’t be easy for you.’

      He glanced away. ‘He would like it that his work is being used for Christos’s wedding.’

      With that he walked back to the main workshop, wanting to put some distance between him and this woman who kept unbalancing his equilibrium. Frustration rolled through him. What was it about Grace that made him break all his own rules?

      He had another ten minutes before he had to leave. There were a few small boxes yet to open.

      He unwrapped a small rectangular parcel first, and found inside, wrapped in a soft cloth, a pair of silver sandals. ‘These are unusual florist’s supplies.’

      ‘My sandals!’ She dropped the flowers she was working on and took the slender sexy heels from him.

      Imagining Grace’s enticing legs in the sandals, he felt his blood pressure skyrocket. In need of distraction, he went back to opening the next box.

      ‘The shop didn’t have them in my size so I had them delivered here…’ Her voice trailed off and then she said in a low, desperate voice, ‘Don’t open that box.’

      But she was too late. His fingers were already looped around two pale pink silk straps. He lifted the material to reveal a sheer lace bustier.

      With an expression of absolute mortification Grace stared at the bustier, and then down at the scrap of erotic pink lace still left in the box, sitting on a bed of black tissue paper. Odds on it was the matching panties. Red-hot blood coursed through his body.

      ‘Yours, I take it?’

      For a moment her mouth opened and closed, but then she grabbed the bustier and the box and walked away.

      She kept her back to him as she bundled the bustier back into its box. ‘It’s for the wedding, but I’m not sure I’ll wear it.’

      Time for him to leave—before he burst a blood vessel. ‘I have afternoon calls I have to get back to.’ He made it as far as the door before he turned back. ‘Grace?’

      She turned around towards him.

      ‘Wear it.’

      He walked away as her lips parted in surprise. He had never wanted to grab a woman and kiss her senseless more in all his life.