Seduced by Sunday (4 page)

“Good Lord, Meg, you didn’t say the man who owned this joint was hot.”

If there was one thing she loved about Michael, it was his ability to open up about his sexuality when it was just the two of them.

“I honestly didn’t know. Pictures of Valentino Masini don’t exist.” The fact probably had something to do with the irritating rules about taking pictures while on the island. Lord knows she wouldn’t have been able to refrain from taking a shot of him to show Judy when she returned home.

When she’d stepped off the plane, the weight of Valentino’s eyes had fallen on her like a restraint on a rollercoaster. She knew, given the snappy, short conversations via e-mail, that he hadn’t expected her professionalism, or her appearance. She sure as hell hadn’t imagined him to fill out his suit like a man who lived in the gym . . . well, maybe not lived, but Masini didn’t dip into the dessert menu from the looks of his taut chest, which slimmed to a tight waist and perfect ass.

She really hoped he hadn’t seen through her dark sunglasses. Getting caught checking out his butt would have completely shattered the image she was trying to portray.

Masini’s face looked like it belonged to a man who lived on an island. His clothes, however, were a different story. She wondered if he wore the uptight suit all the time. A farmer’s tan on that body would be a crime.

He’s still an ass
, she reminded herself.

Meg smoothed a hand over her waist, happy she and Michael had a little shopping spree during the necessary layover in Dallas.

“No girlfriend of mine would walk around in ordinary shorts and flip-flops,” Michael had told her.

The 1920s vintage look was a last-minute decision. Surprisingly, Meg liked it. The dress made her feel like finding a dark, smoky bar with an open mic. She wondered, briefly, if there was such a nightclub on the island. Or maybe Key West.

“Well, he’s sexy. Love the accent.”

Meg hated that she’d noticed. Valentino was a good six one, his hair was coal black, his face clean-shaven. He’d be hard to resist with a little stubble on his chin. Then there was the way he stared with his dark, smoldering eyes. Meg found herself sucking in a frustrated breath.

“Maybe you two can hook up,” she told Michael.

“Oh, hon . . . he’s straight. Guaran-ass-teed. His eyes were on you, not me.”

“He wasn’t looking at me.”

“Ha!” Michael’s laugh filled the room.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

An attendant placed their luggage in one of the bedrooms, and after Michael attempted to tip the man, he shook his head and promptly left.

“He didn’t even blink. Do you think he recognized you?” Meg asked.

“I couldn’t tell.”

Meg moved to take her suitcase off the folding stand. “I’ll set up in the other bedroom.”

“This one’s larger, you take it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Michael hoisted his case and moved toward the second bedroom.

“Won’t the maid become suspicious?”

“Isn’t that the point of being here? Find the possible breach in their system so your clients know what they’re walking into?” Michael said.

He had a point.

“Fine.” She unzipped her suitcase. “The closet in here is bigger anyway. I need it for all the crap you bought me.”

Michael offered his Hollywood smile and walked away.

Secretly, Meg hoped Sapore di Amore was everything Masini boasted it was. Truth was, if Michael managed to keep his lifestyle hidden on the island, Meg saw him returning with a lover. Even in this century, Hollywood liked their ladies’ men straight. Since Michael earned a small fortune with every action film he shot, he wasn’t about to reveal his lifestyle anytime soon. Then there was Alliance. Meg and Samantha had both jumped at the idea of a private island that could house their clients after their weddings.

“What do you want to do first?” she asked through the open doors while she hung up her clothes.

“I say we check the place out, see for ourselves just how secluded Sapore di Amore is.”

Meg moved into the adjoining bathroom and placed her toiletries on the counter. The medication she took to control her asthma came next; she placed an inhaler inside her small clutch and zipped it closed.

She took in her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was heavier than she normally wore. She made kissy lips and marveled at how well the lipstick stayed on. They’d taken a private charter from Miami to the island, but she’d applied the lipstick in Texas. That had been hours ago. “I can use a drink.”

“Me, too.”

She turned around and attempted to reach the zipper of her dress behind her back. After three attempts, she gave up and walked to Michael’s room. She presented her back. “You talked me into this thing but a girl needs to breathe.”

The zipper went down and Michael gave her a little shove. “You look great in it.”

“I’m not a girlie girl, but I have to admit, I like it, too.”

After changing into one of her new sundresses, a simple orange number, and sandals instead of flip-flops, she grabbed her clutch and met Michael in the living room. He’d changed into a short-sleeved silk shirt and cotton shorts. Even with the big-rimmed glasses, there was no hiding his identity.

She placed her sunglasses on her nose and stepped beside him. “Ready?”

There were still a couple of hours until dinner and the high sun was starting to ease its way down.

They followed the walking paths instead of the beach route. Each of the private villas hid behind a beautifully landscaped greenbelt.

The main building was a sprawling two-story structure with open balconies with both vacationing patrons and employees milling about. The swimming pool meandered around makeshift islands, complete with water falling into it from what appeared to be a man-made stream.

Island music spilled from hidden speakers. Like with any high-end resort, waiters walked around the pool, filling drink orders and bringing fresh towels.

A few heads turned their way when they found a high table close to the outside bar.

Meg noticed at least one woman lounging by the pool point their way. It wasn’t possible to go unnoticed, the question was how people would react.

A waiter, probably in his midtwenties, and extremely cute in a boyish kind of way, placed two napkins in front of them within seconds. “Welcome to Sapore di Amore,” he greeted them. “My name is Ben and I’ll be serving you while you’re by the pool.”

“How do you know we’ve just arrived?” Meg asked, already quizzing the staff to find flaws. She noticed her tone sounded bitchy and tried to smile to cover for it.

“Mr. Masini assigns staff to his guests, Miss Rosenthal.” Ben stood back, placed his hands behind his back.

“And how does Mr. Masini determine who takes care of whom?” She knew she was interrogating the man, but understanding the system would pave the way to finding the weakness.

Ben offered a quick smile to Michael before he continued. “I might have been the only one on the poolside staff that didn’t squeal when we heard Mr. Wolfe was joining us.”

That had Michael smiling.

“You don’t watch my movies?”

“Oh, I watch them. I’m not starstruck. I hope that’s OK with you.”

Michael smiled. “Perfectly.”

“Before I take your order, how would you like the staff to address you? Do you use an alias?”

Meg couldn’t hold in a laugh. “Maybe we should call you Harvey.”

Michael removed his sunglasses and offered a pointed stare. “Let’s stick with Michael.”

“But Harvey—”

“Margaret!” Oh, that burned.

“You can call me Meg and Michael, Michael.”

Ben offered a quick nod. “What are you drinking?”

Ben walked away after taking their order and she took another look around. “Am I the only one who feels like we’ve taken a plane ride to Fantasy Island and Mini-Masini is going to pop out at any moment?”

Michael tossed his head back and laughed.

Val sipped his bourbon and watched the activity by the pool from his office perch. His eyes were drawn to his new guests the moment they walked into view. Margaret Rosenthal’s vintage hairstyle and natural beauty gave her the movie star appearance, Michael,
her
arm dressing.

His gaze moved beyond the couple to the other guests.

Mrs. Clayton, wife of billionaire Ron Clayton, Internet gaming mogul, kept eyeing Michael and laughing with her guest, Cynthia Hernandez. Though the women were here on a
girls’ weekend
, in truth, they were both sleeping with men who were not their husbands, who had taken another villa next door to theirs. The fact that Mrs. Clayton kept staring made Val take note. About half of his guests were at his resort for clandestine rendezvous. The others didn’t want to be bothered during their vacations.

The question was . . . where did Michael and Margaret fall?

Clandestine?

Or don’t screw with me?

Val couldn’t help but think they weren’t on a simple vacation.

“You worked hard to obtain access to my island, Margaret . . . why?” he whispered to the closed window.

The phone on his desk buzzed, he pressed the speaker to answer. “Yes, Carol?”

“Mr. Picano is pulling into the loading dock.”

“Is Gabi there?”

“She’s on her way.”

“Thank you.” Val disconnected the call from his secretary and took his sunglasses from his desk before heading out the door. Spying on the movie star and his companion would have to wait.

He jogged down the stairway instead of taking the elevator to the ground floor.

The mouthwatering scents from the kitchen told him the staff there was already baking the evening’s desserts and the roasts were in the ovens. There would be fresh fish selections plucked right from the sea surrounding them and organic vegetables brought in daily from the mainland.

When he thought of the word
organic
, he pictured Margaret making her comment about
being green
.

Words like
fresh
and
organic
were all over his chef’s menu. That’s what happened when you employed only the finest in the culinary arts. Would she poke fun at his menu? Would she find fault? And why was he spending any time wondering what the woman thought?

Val sat behind the wheel of his personal golf cart and sped toward the docks.

He found Gabi and Alonzo Picano standing beside each other. Alonzo’s personal yacht was a buzz of activity as several crates were removed and stacked on the pier.

“Picano?” Val called to acquire his attention.

The man turned and presented a full-wattage smile. “There you are.”

Val offered a strong handshake, felt the confidence inside the other man with the simple gesture. “What have you brought us?”

“Wine, of course. What else?”

“Isn’t it lovely, Val?” Gabi asked. She moved closer to Alonzo and pushed her hair behind her shoulder.

“I can’t have my future brother-in-law’s cellars run dry, now can I?”

Alonzo placed a possessive arm around Gabi and kissed the top of her head.

His sister glowed.

Val spoke at a charity dinner in Miami where Gabi and Alonzo first met. Alonzo, much like many men in the room, sought out his sister, only he stuck. From there, the man made it his primary goal to snag her.

They’d been dating for four months when he pulled Val aside and asked permission to marry her. The tradition might have been ancient, but since Val and Gabi had lost their father early in life, it seemed only fitting that Alonzo respect his family in this way.

Even for Val, the courtship had been fast. He welcomed Alonzo into the family, but honored his mother’s request that they have a long engagement. Longer than Alonzo wanted, in any event. If it were up to the groom, the couple would already be honeymooning. As it stood, the wedding was going to take place in the fall. Since spring was just now sizzling into summer, there was some time to plan and make damn certain Gabi was making the right choice.

“I have many wine vendors, Alonzo. I doubt my guests will drink me dry.”

“But my wine is free. That must count for something.”

“And it’s lovely,” Gabi chimed in.

Alonzo owned a winery in Italy, and was in the process of obtaining property in Napa Valley to extend his production. According to Val’s research on the man, he’d been in the wine business just shy of five years. The wine was working for the man, but it wasn’t making him rich. No, his family had made him a wealthy man before grapes became part of his life. The Picano portfolio was packed with investments in shipping, property in major ports, and a handful of banks in South America. Diversifying to wine made sense.

“You’re biased, my love.”

“No other wine shall pass my lips.”

The lovebirds were making Val roll his eyes. And he never rolled his eyes.

The wind blew off the sea and pushed Alonzo’s yacht against the dock.

“When do you expect your next shipment, Val?” Alonzo asked.

“In the morning. You can tell your captain to tie up overnight.”

Alonzo boarded his ship and disappeared.

“How long is he here this time?” Val asked his sister.