Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance) (32 page)

I
mogen had never felt so completely
exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time. She had cooked, served and danced with customers and she was perspiring in places she didn’t even know existed, watching the diners of Halloumi perform a group
sirtaki
dance around the restaurant. And her mum was at the centre of it. Arm entwined with Harry’s on one side and Elpida’s on the other, her mother was almost unrecognisable from the grief-ridden shell of a person back in England. Whether it was the enormity of April’s house or just the realisation that life was short, Imogen wasn’t complaining. She had her whole family here for this night, celebrating Harry’s success.

‘You do not want to dance?’

It was Panos’ voice, low and sultry. She turned to him. ‘Not tonight,’ she admitted. ‘I’m happy just watching.’

If she was honest, she was standing back and observing from a distance so she could capture the whole scene and memorise it. When she spoke to Janie on the phone or FaceTimed with Harry she would be able to replay this perfect summer night in her head and remember just how special it really was.

‘I was thinking,’ Panos began again. ‘Your mother will need somewhere to sleep tonight.’

Imogen smiled at him. ‘And you were thinking perhaps she could have my bed and we might spend some more time with Mrs Pelekas’ tablecloths?’

He laughed. ‘What sort of millionaire would I be if I always had you on the floor?’

A sting of arousal buzzed through her and she bit her bottom lip. ‘I think Elpida is still cross with me. I’m not sure I’ll be welcome in Agios Martinos.’

He shook his head again. ‘I have other plans,’ he admitted.

She whispered. ‘The treehouse?’

He moved his head closer to hers, his mouth at her ear. ‘Somewhere with an actual bed,’ he whispered. ‘Come on. We will dance.’

‘Pano,’ she said, about to protest.

‘Risto!’ he called to his cousin. ‘Come!’ He looked back to Imogen. ‘Dance is very important in Greece. I thought I had taught you this on Acharavi main street.’

He squeezed her hand, drawing her into the crowd to the jaunty rhythm of the
bouzouki
. It was all happening so quickly, this wonderful, triumphant night disappearing so fast, tomorrow nearly upon them. It was going to be so hard to pack her case the following day and get on a plane.

‘Imogen,’ Panos said. ‘We move first to the left,’ he instructed, swaying so naturally in time to the music. ‘And then to the right.’

She nodded, moving her feet in time to the music. Left and right were easy. It was backwards and forwards she was having trouble with.

V
angelis’ strumming brought
Zorba the Greek to its dramatic conclusion and the throngs of people dancing all put their hands together with shouts of
opa!
and other exclamations of delight. Out of breath, with her face flushed, her hair damp and a gorgeous man holding her hand, Imogen had never felt happier.

‘Excuse me, ladies and gentleman!’ It was Harry’s voice, breaking over the hubbub of excitement and
ouzo
fumes. He moved to the front, beside Vangelis, and took ownership of the microphone. ‘Excuse me!’

Risto put his fingers to his lips and let out a loud whistle which immediately silenced the room.

‘He is making a speech?’ Panos asked, looking to Imogen.

‘It looks that way… although…he usually writes things down.’

Harry continued. ‘I just wanted to say, thank you all so much for coming tonight and making it such a memorable evening for me and for all my family.’ He swallowed. ‘Even my mum is here and that was a total surprise.’

There was a collective ‘aah’ and Elpida raised Grace’s hand in the air.

‘I just wanted to say that I really appreciate your support.’ He paused. ‘My sister and I arrived here only a short time ago and she thought I was completely crackers for wanting to open a restaurant here and there were moments… moments I kept to myself I might add… whoops, sorry Immy.’ He laughed. ‘There were moments I did wonder whether I had bitten off more than I could chew.’

Imogen shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. Panos squeezed her hand.

‘But here we are… in my restaurant… in Halloumi with… so many friends and family… my children speaking Greek and dancing like mini Zorbas.’

Imogen could tell he was starting to get really emotional and her heart was swelling with such pride for everything he had achieved and how fiercely determined he had been from the very beginning.

‘And now there’s someone special I’d like you to meet.’ His eyes looked out into the crowd. ‘Janie… will you come up here?’

Imogen put her hands to her face, deeply worried. The restaurant being a hit wasn’t going to be enough for Harry. He’d always wanted to be reunited with Janie and the children. She was terrified this was way too soon.

‘This is my wife, Janie… who fell in love with me in Corfu many moons ago… someone who has been with me through everything and has put up with far more than anyone could be expected to put up with…’

‘I have to go up there,’ she hissed to Panos, trying to squeeze herself past Roger and Ann.

‘What? Why?’ Panos asked, holding onto her hand.

‘Janie… I know things have been tough but… I adore you and I never, ever stopped loving you.’ Harry dropped down onto one knee. ‘Will you marry me?’ He blinked. ‘Again.’

Imogen closed her eyes tight, unable to look or barely breathe.

‘Yes, Harry! Yes I will! I love you! And I’ve missed you! I’ve missed you so much!’

Imogen snapped open her eyes just in time to see Janie throwing her arms around Harry, Tristan and Olivia circling around them, chasing Socks and a stray meatball.

‘Imogen,’ Panos said, pulling her back to him. ‘You should have a little faith, no?’

She smiled, tears filling her eyes, and then she hooked her arms around him, holding him close.

A
s Panos drove
along the coast from Acharavi towards the village of Roda his heart was swimming in his chest. He looked across at Imogen, her hair loose now, her face still flushed from the monumental cooking efforts and the dancing and a dart of emotion hit him square in the chest. This was what he thought he could never have. How he felt about her… it was love. He was certain of that now.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, turning to face him just as he set his eyes back on the road.

‘Roda,’ he responded. ‘Just a few miles.’

‘Are you taking me to a club, Mr Dimitriou? Like one of your chrome monsters in Crete?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘But I will take you to one one day and you will see how much fun they are.’

She smiled. ‘It’s a deal.’

He pulled off the road, slowing the car down and creeping up a smaller road until it narrowed at the top and he swung into a driveway. As the car came to a halt on the drive, a security light flicked on, illuminating the grey and biscuit-coloured stone house. It looked different in the dark, but he still felt the same connection to it as he had earlier that day. He hadn’t gone with Risto to deliver flyers for Halloumi. He had met an estate agent.

He stepped out of the car, eyes going to Imogen as she too got out and looked towards the swimming pool, shimmering in the glow of the lamplight, two wooden loungers beside it.

The house wasn’t vast inside but it was in the very centre of some of the lush vegetation that gave Corfu its title: the Emerald Isle.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘It has views to the sea.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Imogen answered. ‘It looks very traditional.’

‘It is more modern inside.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Let me show you.’

‘Pano, what is this place?’

He had hoped to have a little longer, perhaps to get inside the house and show her the mix of contemporary and Greek charm the estate agent had introduced him to earlier. What he’d done was fast. But it hadn’t been done without consideration. He was grounded here again. Of that he was sure.

‘It is mine,’ he breathed into the night.

‘Yours?’ she answered.

He watched her in the pool of light, her eyes moving over the terrace to the water and the tall cypress trees at the outer boundary of the property’s land.

‘Yes, Imogen. I am going to live here.’

T
he house was stunning
on the inside and furnished simply – a perfect mix of sleek lines and traditional Greek architecture. There was a large open-plan kitchen diner, the units in a cream Shaker style, a pine table with benches on the marbled floor. An archway led to a living area with two two-seater tobacco-coloured sofas, sliding doors at the far end of the room leading out to the terrace and the pool. Upstairs was a family bathroom and two bedrooms – a guest twin and a large master suite with a balcony that looked out onto the mountain and woodland views.

Standing on the balcony now, Imogen gazed out into the black, the only light coming from a small exterior lamp on the wall, around which a moth was flapping furiously.

She felt Panos before he appeared, like they were connected with an invisible thread. He moved close to her.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

She looked at him. The house was incredible but its simplicity had also surprised her. Given that Panos had a very successful business and Google, she’d found out, claimed him to be one of the wealthiest men in Greece, the property didn’t shout ‘rich man’s palace’. It wasn’t the dwelling of someone showing off their off-shore bank accounts and mass of assets… It was cosy.

‘Are you really going to live here?’ Imogen asked. ‘Full time?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not going back to Crete?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I will be managing my business from Corfu, as well as helping set up Acharavi’s community market and, hopefully, helping establish a more mutual networking approach to promotion for the beachfront restaurants.’

‘And will that make you as much money as the nightclubs and go-karting?’

‘I tell you this is not about the money, Imogen. My whole life has never really been about the money. It was always about the succeeding.’ He sighed. ‘Other people might measure success by monetary terms. I tended to measure it by how busy I was.’ He clasped his hands to the rail of the balcony. ‘If I was too busy to think then I was winning.’

‘And that, you feel, has changed?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Being back in Corfu… meeting you… confronting… my ghosts…’ He swallowed. ‘I have been hiding from so much and it has stopped me seeing things clearly.’

Imogen breathed deeply. ‘Me too,’ she responded wistfully. ‘I almost didn’t let myself care for you.’

‘Care for me?’ Panos asked.

Was that enough? To say she cared for him? In reality it was much more but she was worried it was too soon.

She nodded. ‘Very much.’

He placed a hand over hers. ‘I was hoping you would say something like this.’ He smoothed the skin of her fingers. ‘Because, when I bought this house today, I hoped… well… I saw us together here.’ He looked at her. ‘When you visit Harry I thought maybe… you could stay here.’

Imogen smiled. ‘Mr Dimitriou, are you asking me to make this my permanent holiday home?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Panos stated. ‘Starting now… Tonight.’

‘That’s quick work,’ she said.

‘Well, we
did
dance to the song of lovers. I have to commit.’

‘
Have
to?’ she queried, an eyebrow raising.

‘Want to,’ he answered, leaning into her. ‘Need to.’ He pressed his lips to hers. ‘Cannot wait a moment longer.’ He scooped her up into his arms then and she squealed as he turned in the direction of the bedroom.

‘
I
mogen
.’

She smiled, keeping her eyes closed. His voice was like smooth, dark Arabica coffee with a swirl of rich, sweet cream.

‘Imogen,’ Panos said again.

She held onto the sound, letting it rove through her ear canal and slip down into her mind, determined to imbed it into the memory section before she truly gave into consciousness.

Finally Imogen began to open her eyes, a few millimetres at a time, small pieces of the man she’d fallen for coming into focus. Honed abdominal muscles, solid pecs, all covered by taut skin the colour of almonds. She’d had every fabulous inch of him all over her all night.

‘
Kalimera
,’ she greeted, hands walking up his stomach to his chest.

‘It is past nine,’ he said, taking her hand in his and bringing her fingers to his mouth. She let him kiss her thumb and index finger before she acknowledged what he’d said.

‘Is it really?’

He nodded. ‘I have to get you back to Halloumi… to pack your things,’ he reminded her, before moving his mouth to her third finger.

‘I know,’ she sighed, enjoying the erotic stroke of his tongue. ‘My mother has just got here and I’m leaving.’

He leant over her, olive-skinned perfection gazing down with a look of adoration in his eyes. Had she ever been looked at like that before? Like she was the only girl in the world? She reached up, sleeking her hands into his thick, black hair, pushing it back from his face, highlighting his cheekbones.

‘It is going to be hard to let you go,’ he whispered. ‘Even for a short while.’

And there was the issue. She couldn’t even tell him how long it would be. She didn’t even know herself. If the interview went well, if she got the place, it could be months before she had any time off. She would want to do her very best, to concentrate hard, to learn all there was to learn. And if the interview didn’t go well and she didn’t get a place? What then? Would she go back to working at the diner? With Harry and Janie back together and planning to be in Corfu if schooling for the children allowed, with Grace keen for new experiences, what was left for her in the UK? What did she truly want? She sucked in a breath. It was definitely the Wyatt Hotel Group. This was her dream. Travel, good pay, new experiences, seeing the world her father had seen… this was her chance and she was going to grab it with everything she had. She had made the final five. Now it was up to her to make sure she was the last woman standing.

She closed her eyes for a beat, letting her fingers trace the contours of his jawline, before reconnecting their vision. ‘I
will
come back, Pano,’ she promised.

‘To me?’ he asked, as if it wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

‘Of course to you,’ she whispered. ‘To here… to us.’

He moved forward then, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that set her head spinning as it moulded into the pillow behind her. She held onto the emotion coursing through her veins, knowing it needed to fill her completely if it was to be called upon when she was on her own in England. Neither of them knew how this was going to turn out, but, for now, as Panos’ lips delivered sensual kisses that scorched her skin and branded her heart, Imogen knew what they had together was worth fighting the distance for.