Page 12 of Penniless Cinderella for the Greek
When she stepped out of the cloakroom the housekeeper was waiting for her and led the way through the house and across the garden. Dimitris was standing on the deck, half turned towards the river. Savannah’s heart missed a beat as she studied his proud profile. He was gorgeous—and unobtainable. She understood now what she’d refused to accept at eighteen, when her heart had been full of hope and her head full of dreams.
Anger seared her with the white heat of a lightning bolt. She was furious with herself for being so affected by Dimitris. How pathetic that she only wore the brand of perfume he had given her for a birthday presentten years agoas some kind of homage to him. She was twenty-eight and he was the only man she had slept with. She was mired in the past, trapped by the immature feelings she’d once had for Dimitris. It was time, way past time in fact, that she moved on and stopped being an idiot over a playboy who probably hadn’t given her a second thought in years.
CHAPTER FIVE
DIMITRISSENSEDSAVANNAH’Spresence behind him although she hadn’t made a sound. The evocative fragrance she wore was carried towards him on the faint breeze, evoking memories he had never managed to forget and rousing his body to instant and urgent life.
There had been occasions in the past decade when he’d been in a nightclub or bar somewhere in the world and caught a hint of perfume that he recognised as Sensuelle, and had found himself transported back in time to a balmy summer’s night in a north London suburb.
By the time he’d finished work at the restaurant he’d known that Savannah’s party would have ended. If he’d had any sense he would not have jumped on his motorbike and ridden to her parents’ mansion on the edge of Hampstead Heath. But then if he’d had any sense he would not have spent far more of his wages than he could afford on perfume for her birthday present.
All summer he had been enchanted by Savannah’s shy smile. She’d made him think he could be a better person than he knew he was, and even that he might one day be able to forgive himself for destroying his family. It had been a difficult summer, with worries about his grandfather’s failing health and his sister’s latest round of surgery. Savannah had been a distraction from his responsibilities and the guilt that hung like a dark shadow over him.
His grandfather would have retired years before if Dimitris’s father had been alive to take over the restaurant. Likewise, if the accident hadn’t happened Eleni would have been able to go dancing, but instead she was stuck in a wheelchair while her schoolfriends had fun. Only Savannah hadn’t abandoned her friend, and her loyalty had forged a strong bond between the two girls.
Dimitris had been aware of Savannah’s fascination with him. It was not the first time it had happened, and previously with other young women he had gently but firmly made it clear that he wasn’t interested. He should not have got involved with Savannah and he certainly should not have made love to her on a daybed in the pool house, especially after she’d confirmed his suspicion that she was a virgin.
Cursing beneath his breath, he jerked his mind away from the past. But there was danger in the present, he realised as he raked his gaze over Savannah and felt an urge to spear his fingers in her messily sexy blonde hair.
All day he had been supremely conscious of her standing close to him in the studio while she’d taken photos of the food he’d cooked. Her svelte figure revealed by her tight-fitting clothes had driven him to distraction. It should be a relief that she had changed into a loose kaftan that concealed rather than flaunted her feminine shape. But the shimmering silk skimmed her body and gave a hint of the delectable curves beneath it.
For years whenever Dimitris had detected the heady scent of dark red roses mixed with the sweetness of peonies and the smoky warmth of the exotic essential oil Oudh that a perfumier had combined to create Sensuelle, he had instinctively looked for Savannah and felt unsettled by his disappointment that she was not there. She was here now, and he was conscious of the heavy thud of his pulse when she came to stand beside him on the deck.
He pulled out a chair for her to sit down at the table and knew from the imperceptible stiffening of her body that she felt the electrical current that passed between them.
‘Your car wouldn’t start,’ he told her as he moved round the table and sat opposite her. ‘John thinks it might need a new battery. He’ll arrange for the car to be towed to a garage in the morning so that it can be checked by a mechanic.’ He uncorked the wine. ‘At least you can have a drink. John will drive you home later.’
She seemed about to decline, but then gave a shrug. ‘Why not. It’s been quite a day.’
He poured the wine and lifted his glass towards her. ‘To unexpected reunions,’ he murmured drily.
Dimitris had chosen a robust red made from a variety of grapes called Xinomavro that were grown on the wine estates in northern Greece. There was an earthiness to the wine, yet it was surprisingly smooth. Savannah took a sip from her glass and gave a faint sigh as she visibly relaxed.
‘This looks amazing,’ she murmured, studying the platters of food on the table when Dimitris removed the covers.
There were colourful salads, dolmades—vine leaves stuffed with rice and herbs, meatballs with feta cheese, grilled Halloumi served with wedges of lemon and plump Kalamata olives.
‘Mezze is my favourite kind of meal,’ he admitted as he passed her various dishes. ‘I think of it as honest food made from simple ingredients, but created with care and passion it becomes a feast. Sharing food with friends is one of life’s fundamental pleasures.’
Cooking was much more than his career. It was an outlet for his creativity and allowed him to deal with emotions that he kept under tight control in every other area of his life and relationships.
Savannah tucked in enthusiastically. ‘Everything is delicious,’ she said as she tore off a piece of pitta bread, dipped it into a bowl of creamy hummus and popped the morsel into her mouth. ‘And messy.’ Her tongue darted out to lick hummus from her fingers. Catching Dimitris’s gaze, she gave him an impish smile. ‘I haven’t discovered an elegant way to eat with my fingers.’
Elegant be damned. His blood roared in his ears. Earlier he had been reminded of how tactile Savannah was when he’d watched her stroke her fingers over the wooden panels in the drawing room. He had imagined her touching him and learning his body anew. Now he felt an overwhelming urge to stride around the table and pull her into his arms so that he could flick his tongue over the corner of her mouth and lick off the tiny smear of hummus. He wanted to taste the red wine that stained her lips. But overwhelmed was not a word in his vocabulary. It suggested a loss of control, and he never allowed that to happen.
He forced his mind from the carnal thoughts that he reminded himself were inappropriate when he’d already decided he would not see Savannah again after this evening. But he was curious about her and steered the conversation to safer topics.
‘What made you decide to work behind a camera rather than in front of it?’
‘I suppose you are referring to my brief modelling career.’ This time her smile was self-deprecating. ‘It wasn’t something I set out to do. After university I got a job with a web design company.’
‘I remember you had planned to study art at university.’ It was disturbing that he had not forgotten anything about her, Dimitris brooded. Savannah had made an impact on him in a way that no other woman ever had.
‘I switched to fine art photography. But I found working in web design didn’t really interest me. When I was spotted by a modelling agency and won a contract to represent a cosmetics company it gave me a new direction and the opportunity to travel and meet some interesting people.’
‘Why did you stop?’
‘My mum fell ill, and I moved back home to help look after her.’ Savannah drank the rest of her wine, and Dimitris leaned across the table to refill her glass. ‘When Mum was first diagnosed with multiple sclerosis she was still able to work in her garden that she loved so much. For fun I started playing around taking photos of the vegetables she’d grown and the meals we made from home produced ingredients. I put together a series of photographs for a calendar to raise funds for the MS charity. That led to my interest in food photography. Being a freelance photographer allows me to arrange my work so that I’m at home when Mum’s carer has a day off.’
