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

responded. She wasn’t about to tell him her reservations. Harry had apparently walked into the situation with open eyes. Besides, he and his grandmother were probably, quite rightly, rubbing their hands together at being a hundred thousand Euro better off without the dead weight of something that looked like a war zone.
    ‘You are not sure?’
    Had he noted her earlier shock at Harry’s suggestion of opening in a week? She didn’t want him and his grandmother to know neither of them knew anything about running an eatery or that the idea was making her feel a little bit sick – and not in the Urban Dictionary way.
    ‘Oh, no, I’m sure… very sure.’ She swallowed. ‘Harry’s very keen.’
    ‘And you are “keen” too?’
    ‘Yes of course.’ What was this? Twenty questions? His dark eyes were observing her closely. She dipped her head out of the sunlight and put a hand on her forehead to shield her eyes.
    He nodded then. ‘Good.’ He pulled in a breath. ‘Good for you.’
    ‘This was your only restaurant?’ she found herself asking.
    He smiled. ‘This was not my restaurant.’ He paused a beat before continuing. ‘This belonged to my grandmother. But she… decided it was no longer for her.’
    ‘I see.’ She took her hand away from her forehead and pushed a stray damp stand of hair back behind her ear. ‘So you don’t have a whole chain of restaurants all over Corfu?’
    He shook his head. ‘No, well, that is…’ He wet his lips. ‘I’m in a slightly different line of work. You could still call it the hospitality industry. I currently live in Crete.’
    ‘Currently. Wow. That makes it sound like you travel the world.’ Her mind drifted to her father and the far-flung places he visited in the name of Egyptian cotton.
    ‘Europe, for the most part.’ He smiled. ‘But here you are, currently living in Corfu.’
    ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Apparently I am.’
    ‘So, did you choose here for the Metaxa brandy or the plate smashing?’
    She laughed. ‘I’m hoping to try both of those.’
    ‘Do not forget to tell your first diners that plates should not be smashed on every night,’ he said, smiling at her.
    ‘I’ll remember that.’
    Imogen watched him scuff the sole of his shoe against the concrete. It should have made her feel uneasy, here, alone, in a foreign country with a man she didn’t know, but her stomach was telling her his presence was exciting her a little. Maybe it was both.
    ‘Looking at the place, you might need a little help, yes?’ Panos said.
    ‘Help?’
    ‘You would like to open this soon?’
    She nodded her head automatically.
    ‘Then you are going to need more than two pairs of hands,’ he stated.
    ‘Well… yes, maybe but…’
    She stopped talking, not knowing what to say next. Her heart was hammering on her insides ordering her to tell this man she wasn’t quite sure about the plan, but her pride and loyalty to her brother was telling her something completely different.
    ‘There is something wrong?’
    ‘It’s just all very new,’ she answered, stumbling a little over the sentence.
    ‘You have not worked in a restaurant before?’ he quizzed.
    She shook her head. ‘No, that is, I have… just not quite like this.’ A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
----
    S omething inside Panos shifted . He could see her doubt in this project. It was written over every inch of her. Although, for some reason, his body seemed more interested in looking at her in that swimsuit, barely covered by her t-shirt. Not much was hidden by the cotton. Her breasts, her hour-glass figure...
    ‘It used to be the place to come,’ he spoke, his eyes moving back to the restaurant frontage.
    ‘Did it?’ Imogen turned around, moving beside him to look too.
    ‘A long time ago. When my grandmother and grandfather both worked here. The restaurant was their life. My grandfather would fish for the catch of the day and my grandmother would always tell him nothing was big enough or small enough