Free Those Summer Nights (Corfu, Greek Island Romance) by Mandy Baggot Page B

bracelets and slap bands stating I Love Corfu as well as beaded keyrings, baseball hats and postcards. A boutique claiming to stock the latest fashions was next to a jewellery shop and there were numerous bars and eateries both sides of what looked like a roundabout in the middle of the road.
    Now, provisions dropped off and Harry avoided, she was changed into her swimsuit, the sun relentless in its role to scorch her like the top of a crème brûlée. She sucked in a breath of humid air and removed her t-shirt, dropping it to the beach. Then she ran, racing through the sand, puffs spiralling up around her as she headed for the surf. Her soles went from dry powder to wet paste and once she was thigh-high in the warm sea she stopped, digging her toes into the moistness and relishing the relief. Looking up, she took in the ocean she was standing in, water sparkling like a beach scene from Hawaii Five-0, two small boats just visible on the horizon and the breathtaking rise and fall of the craggy mountains of Albania.
    A piece of pure bliss amongst all the chaos, she launched herself forward, running into the waves then diving head-first until she was completely submerged. Cooling, body-quenching water flashed over her skin and the sea-salt and sunshine smell wrapped around her senses. She swam out a little further, hands gliding through the turquoise water, heat on her shoulders. This was better. This was more than the guidebook had offered up. This was a sensory experience like no other.
    Imogen laid back in the water, letting the gentle waves support her as she tipped her head skywards. She shouldn’t have snapped at Harry. He had bought the restaurant after all, without help, without any hitches that she knew about. She kicked her legs, letting the water soak into her hair, her stomach flat against the surface of the sea. She would apologise, just as soon as the Ionian water had finished soothing the journey out of her.
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    C oming out of the water and back onto the sand, Imogen picked up her t-shirt, towelling herself down with it and slipping her sandals back on.
    She stepped back onto the road, heading for the restaurant. A few metres away she stopped. There, right next to Harry’s property, was a square parcel of land she hadn’t noticed earlier. It looked odd simply because the grass was lush and green and cut short, like it had been tended, not left to grow Triffids like the restaurant. And it was flat. She was discovering not a great deal of Corfu was flat.
    Then she caught sight of a man at the edge of the beach, his business shoes imbedded in the white stones. It was him. The Greek from the taverna. What puzzled her more was the fact he wasn’t gazing out at the view, he was staring at the restaurant. Harry’s restaurant.
    Her sandals crunched on the stones on the road and the man’s gaze fell on her. That jet-black hair, followed by broad shoulders hinting at a muscular torso and, the skin that was visible, a warm teak. As he looked at her, the deep, dark eyes connecting with hers, she shivered, becoming acutely aware she was wearing very little. And he seemed to be taking in that fact. She gripped onto her t-shirt, pressing it to her damp skin.
    ‘Hello,’ she said, deciding to hurriedly put her t-shirt on.
    ‘ Kalispera ,’ Panos replied. ‘Your hand… It is OK?’ He took his hands from his pockets and moved towards her.
    She stopped walking. ‘Yes, it’s fine,’ Imogen said. ‘But picking up broken glass probably wasn’t the wisest move I’ve ever made.’
    ‘I agree,’ he stated, halting beside her. ‘So, you have been for a swim.’
    She swallowed. His eyes were definitely appraising her and the t-shirt was clinging to every curve she possessed. ‘Yes, it was lovely. It’s been so hot today.’
    He nodded, his dark eyes still heavy on her.
    ‘In August it is hotter,’ he replied. ‘So you are going to re-open the restaurant soon, yes?’
    ‘That seems to be the plan,’ Imogen