Holiday with the Best Man by Kate Hardy Page A

pretty much told her that Lynette was the love of his life? Or maybe that shadow had been grief that he was still trying to be brave about.
    â€˜So,’ he said, ‘I’m going to start dating again. Put my life back together. But I’m finding it hard.’
    â€˜Because you’re not ready to move on?’
    He dragged in a breath. ‘And I’m out of practice. I need to date someone who won’t mind if I make mistakes and will help me get better at dating. And you want to be swept off your feet, just for a little while. So that’s why perhaps we can help each other out. For two weeks.’
    â€˜Until Bella and Hugh are back from honeymoon. And no strings?’ she checked.
    â€˜No strings. We could just clear our diaries outside work for those two and a bit weeks and spend time together.’
    â€˜Like a holiday?’
    â€˜I guess,’ he said.
    A holiday with the best man. Part of Grace wanted to say yes; but part of her wondered just how sensible this was. Roland Devereux wasn’t the surly, barely civil man she’d met at Bella’s wedding. He was kind and sensitive—and this side of him was seriously attractive. But he still had a broken heart; and, even though he thought he wanted to try looking for love again, that made him vulnerable.
    She knew that she was vulnerable, too. Her life was still all up in the air. She wanted to stand on her own two feet and work out what she wanted from life. And did she really want to take the risk of dating someone who wasn’t going to be available and maybe falling in love with him? Or would this be the thing that changed her life and made everything right again? ‘Can I have some time to think about it?’ she asked.
    â€˜Of course. Maybe you could tell me your answer tomorrow?’
    â€˜All right.’ Sitting here at the kitchen table with him didn’t feel casual and easy any more; Grace felt hot and bothered, remembering the touch of his mouth against her skin. For the last four years—and for longer than that, if she was honest—she hadn’t felt anything like this. Like a teenager about to go on her first date, with her heart pattering away and butterflies dancing a tango in her stomach. ‘I’d better do the washing up,’ she said, taking the coward’s way out of facing him.
    â€˜I’ll help.’
    Which would put them at even closer range. She couldn’t risk that. ‘There’s no need,’ she said brightly.
    â€˜There’s every need,’ he corrected. ‘It’s my kitchen—and I’m not the kind to make other people do my share of the chores.’
    She had no answer to that.
    But, as they worked by the sink, they ended up brushing against each other. Grace tingled all over—which was ridiculous, because they were both fully clothed and, technically speaking, his shirtsleeve had touched her dress, which was nothing like his bare arm against her bare torso.
    And then she really wished she hadn’t thought of that, because now she was imagining what it would be like if Roland was skin to skin with her. She went very still, and looked at him. He was exactly the same: still and watchful. So had he felt that strange connection between them? Was he tingling all over, too?
    Grace couldn’t help glancing at Roland’s mouth. His lips were slightly parted, revealing even, white teeth; how had she not noticed before how sensual the curve of his mouth was? When she looked up again, she realised that he was looking at her mouth, too.
    And then he leaned forward and kissed her. It was the lightest, gentlest, most unthreatening brush of his mouth against hers, and it sent shards of desire all through her. She couldn’t ever remember a kiss making her feel as hot and shivery as this before.
    â€˜Tell me tomorrow,’ he whispered.
    She shook her head. ‘I can give you the answer right now.’ Even though part of her knew