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 filled and flower food added, she went about stripping and trimming the stems. With bated breath she opened the first box of peonies and found light pink Sarah Bernhardt, and in the next box the ivory-white Duchesse de Nemours. Both were as big and utterly beautiful as she had hoped, and on track to open to their full blowsy glory for Saturday.
At last something was going right for her.
For a moment she leaned down and inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, closing her eyes in pleasure. She might have to stay up all night to get the prep work done, but she would manage. The flowers had to be perfect for Sofia.
She had the first box completed when Andreas brought the final boxes in. Unfairly, apart from a faint sheen of perspiration on his tanned skin, he didn’t appear the least bit ruffled by all the dragging and hauling.
Hitting the timer on her smartphone, she twisted it around to show him the display. ‘Thirty-six minutes, fourteen seconds.’
His mouth twitched for a few seconds before he flashed his watch at her and tapped one of the dials. ‘Nineteen minutes and forty-three seconds to carry in the flowers, which was all you specified. So I win.’
‘I didn’t know we were competing.’
Those green eyes flashed with way too much smugness for her liking. ‘Why did you time me then?’
‘Oh, just curiosity.’ Keen to change the subject, she added, ‘I’m really grateful for your help—thank you.’
He shrugged in response and turned his attention to the remaining stack of flower boxes, and then to the already trimmed peonies, sitting in their buckets of water. ‘Why so many roses?’
‘They’re not roses.’
He contemplated the flowers dubiously.
She twisted the stem she was working on and held it out towards him. ‘They’re peonies. I thought you would have known, being Greek, as apparently they are called after Paean, who healed Hades’s wounds. It’s thought that they have healing properties. It’s also believed that they represent a happy life...and a happy marriage.’
To that he raised a sceptical eyebrow.
With her floral shears, Grace snipped an inch diagonally off the end of the stem. ‘Let me guess...you’re not the type to buy flowers?’
‘On occasion I have.’ A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth in reaction to her quizzical glance. ‘Okay, I admit that I let my PA organise the details.’
She tried to ignore how good it was to see those eyes sparkle with humour. ‘Now, that’s just cheating...I hope you at least specify what type of flowers you want to send?’
He seemed baffled at the idea. ‘No—why should I?’
‘Because each flower represents something. When you send a flower you are sending a message with it.’
