Page 167 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

Seeing another woman with dark curly hair, lush curves and a narrow waist, it wasn’t surprising he’d think of her.

Yet as she slung her towel over one shoulder and turned, the undulating sway of her body as she walked through the soft sand dried his mouth. His brain buzzed in what felt like recognition.

Then she was gone, disappearing into trees.

Panos was swimming to the shore before he’d even thought about it, covering the distance in a sprint. As he strode out of the shallows, his chest heaved. He told himself it was due to exertion, nothing else.

Yet as he felt sugar-fine sand beneath his feet he halted.

He was naked. Did he intend to follow the woman and accost her? Scare the life out of a chambermaid or chef?

Panos Diamandis didn’t act rashly. He didn’t let his imagination run away with him and he certainly didn’t chase after strangers. He was logical, calm, in control.

He was also due to have dinner with his fiancée.

Slowly he turned to walk back to his accommodation. He’d see Chiara and the last of his doubts would disappear. And with them the illusion that the ghost of his past had reappeared.

CHAPTER TWO

DIDO WALKED TOWARDS the resort’s main building, soaking in the peace and beauty of her surroundings. She’d slept but had been troubled by dreams. Dreams she couldn’t remember but which left her with a gnawing ache inside that felt like regret. Or grief.

A loss she refused to name.

Silently she cursed her overactive imagination that last night had her seeing a phantom from her past. That brief illusion had shattered her equanimity, leaving her unsettled long into the night.

She stiffened her spine. She had no time for fanciful imaginings or regrets. There was nothing in her past—nothing—that she longed for, except the obvious, the wish that her parents were still alive.

Quickly she turned her thoughts to the present.

Success today was vital. Chiara was definitely on-board, full of approval for Dido’s suggestions.

But there was her fiancé to accommodate. With luck he’d be happy if Chiara was, perhaps even reining in some of her more difficult demands. Despite her hours of rest and detailed preparation, Dido didn’t feel up to playing referee between a couple, each fighting for different things.

But if she had to she would.

This job was make-or-break. The chance to take on more responsibility and reap the financial rewards. It would mean security, a cushion against tough times. The last few years had been difficult emotionally and financially. She had no intention of sliding back into that mess.

Dido paused outside the main building. She flicked a piece of lint off her loose, linen blend trousers and checked that her olive-green silk shirt was neatly tucked in. She’d splashed out on clothes that made her look successful and at home in a luxury resort. The expenditure would be worth it when she won her promotion.

She touched the finely decorated gold chain at her wrist, telling herself it was for luck, not because she was nervous. The bracelet had been her mother’s.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked inside. Despite the huge spaces it seemed shadowy after the crystalline brightness of sky, sand and sea. She returned the greeting of a staff member and noticed with appreciation the displays of fresh orchids and hibiscus. The venue really was ideal, the last word in luxury but warm and relaxed.

Dido crossed the vast atrium, heading for the restaurant where she’d meet her clients for a working breakfast. Turning sharp left she stepped through the doorway just as a figure loomed out of nowhere, coming in the opposite direction.

She had only a fraction of a second, stopping midstride and trying to pivot away, but he was striding fast, looking at his phone, and didn’t see her. They collided, one long leg connected with hers, tripping her. Dido swayed, instinctively clutching her electronic tablet tight under her arm as she scrambled for balance.

Hands grabbed her elbows, steadying her.

She had an impression of heat and height. Of masculine strength in that firm grasp.

Then she registered it, a combination of spices, citrusy bergamot and warm flesh.

A scent from the past.

Once she’d adored it. Now it hit her like a fist to her abdomen. Her stomach cramped, her skin drawing tight over her bones as the fine hairs at her nape rose.

She gasped. Or was it a dry retch?