Seduced by Sunday

by Catherine Bybee

  Also by Catherine Bybee

  Contemporary Romance

  Weekday Brides Series

  Wife by Wednesday

  Married by Monday

  Fiancé by Friday

  Single by Saturday

  Taken by Tuesday

  Not Quite Series

  Not Quite Dating

  Not Quite Mine

  Not Quite Enough

  Not Quite Forever

  Paranormal Romance

  MacCoinnich Time Travels

  Binding Vows

  Silent Vows

  Redeeming Vows

  Highland Shifter

  Highland Protector

  The Ritter Werewolves Series

  Before the Moon Rises

  Embracing the Wolf

  Novellas

  Soul Mate

  Possessive

  Erotica

  Kilt Worthy

  Kilt-A-Licious

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Catherine Bybee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477827772

  ISBN-10: 1477827773

  Cover design by Crystal Posey

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014952559

  For Meg . . . because why the hell not?

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “If I ever decide to leave the matchmaking business, I’ll have to consider taking up being a wedding coordinator.” Meg Rosenthal lifted her flute glass and smiled at the passing bride.

  “If you planned this little party, you wouldn’t be standing beside me sipping champagne.” Eliza Billings, first lady of the state of California, rested a hand on her six-months-and-counting baby bump. She wore her pregnancy with the grace and elegance of a woman due her title. Long, sleek black hair trailed down her back in dark contrast to Meg’s short blonde bob and amber eyes. “You’d be running behind Shannon reminding her of the cake cutting and bouquet toss.”

  Shannon Redding, now Shannon Wentworth, was the bride du jour. She had married Paul Wentworth, the Republican candidate for the governor seat. Eliza’s husband, Carter Billings, would vacate said post in a little over a year and a half. Paul and Shannon Wentworth had a wedding arrangement due to last two years, less if Paul didn’t obtain the popular vote. The voting public wanted their politicians married and stable. Since Paul was ready to run for office, but not marriage, he hired Alliance to find him a suitable bride. With any luck, after Paul spends four years in office, the people of California would have faith in the man’s ability to hold the governor’s office as a divorced man.

  Eliza was right. Meg would rather set up temporary marriages such as Paul and Shannon’s than pick wedding colors and venues. Her job was much easier and much more lucrative.

  Paul came from a long lineage of political families. He had money, influence, and charm. Unfortunately, his taste in women often left him on the front page of the tabloids instead of the Wall Street Journal.

  Shannon also happened to come from a family of lawyers and wannabe politicians. Much to the dismay of her family, law wasn’t something she was willing to study. Photography was her passion. Pictures didn’t pay the bills, however, and her family wasn’t willing to give her a trust fund if she squandered away her life taking snapshots.

  Shannon was the exact client profile Alliance loved to recruit. Intelligent, lovely with a certain poise one was born to, and determined to live by her own set of rules. A prenuptial agreement, along with a private contract that only Alliance and Paul’s lawyers knew about, linked the happy couple long before the wedding day. Paul would set Shannon up as his wife, take care of her every need during their marriage, and when they walked away after two years, Shannon would have six million dollars in her bank.

  She wouldn’t need her family’s trust fund.

  Meg stepped aside when Carter swept up to his wife’s side and slid an arm around her waist. “Loveliest woman in the place,” he said loud enough for Meg to hear.

  Eliza snuggled closer to her husband as color filled her cheeks. You’d think after over six years of marriage, with a baby on the way, a woman wouldn’t blush with a compliment from her husband, but apparently Meg was wrong.

  The sound of someone ringing the side of a glass filled the reception hall. The attention of the guests moved to the couple, who were obliged to kiss every time someone started ringing.

  Meg watched with interest as Paul set his glass down and reached for his bride. With the exception of herself and the Billings, everyone here thought the couple had married for love and forever. The kiss in the church had been brief. Sweet, but brief. What would it be now?

  Paul removed the glass from Shannon’s hand and offered a playful smile before he lowered his lips to hers.

  Meg started to count. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand . . . Shannon’s palm gripped his lapel . . . four one thousand . . .

  “Interesting,” Eliza whispered when they broke off at six one thousand.

  Shannon carried a rose-colored blush, and Paul stood back regarding her with a whole lotta heat in his eyes.

  Meg leaned toward Carter. “You might wanna remind your friend of the rules.”

  Carter shook his head and lifted both hands in the air. “Not my job.”

  The rules were simple. Alliance arranged marriages, not sex. If the temporary contract resulted in true feelings or even temporary feelings, Alliance didn’t deal with child custody. Period. As Samantha, or Sam as her friends called her, the owner of Alliance, had put it . . . if the couple decided to live married life past the time the contracts were set up, they should enjoy their happily-ever-after and name the first child after her. Or in this case, Meg . . . since she’d been the one who had arranged the marriage.

  Carter pulled Eliza onto the dance floor and Meg made her way over to the bride. She knew that as the night wore on, their time in the same room would be limited.

  “That looked very cozy,” Meg whispered once she pulled Shannon away from listening ears.

  Shannon fanned herself; the smile she’d worn all day didn’t fall. “He was a player before becoming a po
litician.”

  Meg tapped her shoulder. “You remember that.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. Certain things are expected here. Our honeymoon will be easier.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “There’s a private resort in the Keys, very posh. Plenty of celebs and people who want their private life private choose the destination as a getaway. Security is top-notch, and all the clients are prescreened.”

  “Prescreened for what?” And who would pay to go on a vacation where you had someone checking your background?

  “Reporters, those who might leak information to the public on who is there and who they might be with . . . that kind of thing. We have a freestanding two-bedroom bungalow on the beach. Very private. There won’t be any press there to catch . . . or not catch anything.”

  Interesting.

  “Why is it I don’t know about this place?” It sounded exactly like the kind of resort to find private clients, or to ensure her current clients could vacation without the watchful eyes of the press.

  “Not sure. Seems like a given in your line of work,” Shannon said.

  It was a given, wasn’t it? Alliance needed places like this all around the globe.

  Paul found the ladies. His tie hung over his collar, his easy smile and charm that turned many women’s heads fell on Shannon. “I thought you’d left me already.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes and didn’t flinch when he placed a hand on her back.

  Paul glanced at Meg and winked.

  He laughed when she narrowed her eyes and frowned.

  “They need us for cake cutting,” he told his temporary bride.

  Before they could leave Meg’s side, she shook her finger at Paul. “Behave.”

  He winked a second time.

  Meg knew that behave wasn’t a word in Paul Wentworth’s vocabulary.

  Sapore di Amore Villa and Suites was a hell of a lot more than a hotel.

  It was an island. A private island sandwiched between two of the larger keys. Getting there required a private plane, or a charter off the mainland. Helicopters were a favorite form of transportation for those wanting to bask in the Caribbean sun without the flash of the paparazzi cameras.

  From the pictures Shannon had sent her after she and Paul returned from the resort, Meg made it a daily task to arrange her trip to Sapore di Amore.

  She secured the finances to visit the island through Sam, and then procured Sam and Blake’s private jet to fly her there.

  Now all she needed was a date.

  The date was the kicker.

  Until she remembered that Michael Wolfe, Hollywood hotshot movie star, was the big brother of her best friend, Judy.

  Every uterus in the free world sought after Michael. Problem was, he didn’t play for that team, a fact that Meg had realized after joining Alliance.

  The shock had come to Meg shortly after her BFF Judy married the love of her life, Rick Evans.

  Meg and Judy had gone to college together and then moved to Southern California. Both were headed in different employment directions. Judy was destined to rise in the ranks of professional architecture, where Meg had no idea what she would do with her business degree. Luck and timing placed her with Samantha Harrison and Alliance. The matchmaking service for the elite wasn’t anything Meg thought she’d studied for. Yet the job suited her perfectly.

  OK, maybe not with perfection.

  Having grown up with very little, it was often hard to blend with the rich and famous. But in the last couple of years, she’d managed to do just that. She’d found a handful of clients, both paying men and willing women, to fill the client base of Alliance.

  Once Meg proved herself to Sam, she learned the secrets of Alliance. She discovered that Michael had married a woman through Alliance simply to fend off any media or bad press due to his personal life.

  Michael’s career was lucrative to the degree of thirty to forty million per film, and Hollywood liked their heartthrobs heterosexual.

  Michael had opened up to a few family members and those within Alliance about his sexuality. His parents and the rest of the world had no idea.

  In her opinion, Michael would probably keep his personal desires hidden for years to come.

  So when she’d asked him if he would be game to a little cat and mouse in the Keys, he’d been more than happy to jump.

  When she’d told him about how the resort was a paparazzi-free zone, and she was there on a recon mission to determine if the place actually kept secrets . . . secret, he was even more intrigued.

  One tiny problem.

  Meg wasn’t passing Sapore’s background check.

  Or at least that’s how she translated the letter from the desk of Valentino Masini.

  Valentino had some nerve.

  Madam,

  While we have accepted the application of Michael Wolfe, we’ve yet to secure the credentials of Margaret Rosenthal. While we respect the references of the past eighteen months, we’re concerned about the previous timeline. Please accept our apologies while we search further.

  Please understand that every guest at Sapore di Amore is highly respected and their privacy is of utmost importance . . . as is yours if you join us.

  We shall have an answer to your request within the coming weeks.

  Sincerely,

  Valentino Masini

  Meg knew a form letter when she saw it. Place a name here, omit a name there . . . bottom line, before Alliance, Meg was a nobody.

  In reality, she still was. She just knew some seriously loaded and influential people.

  Meg’s own people were on the nobody side of life.

  Letters like this drove home her biggest insecurity. She stood beside the elite, wore clothing from the same boutiques they did . . . rode in private planes for crying out loud . . . but she wasn’t one of them.

  Still.

  Rejection ate at the pit of her stomach and made her skin crawl.

  How dare Valentino reject her. Valentino! What the hell kind of name was that anyway?

  Made up, she decided. A name formed by ambition and not given by his mother.

  Besides, Valentino’s secretary probably wrote the letter.

  Valentino was probably a balding old man sitting in some musty brick building in Italy where the sun made him thick with musk that would choke anyone standing by.

  “If I join you my ass,” Meg said to herself while she responded to the e-mail.

  Dear Mr. Masini,

  While I completely understand your concern and I respect your need for privacy, you’ll see by my references and my traveling companion, security and secrecy are just as important to me as they are you. More so.

  I despise name-dropping, however, it seems necessary for me to encourage you to expedite our reservations.

  Perhaps you’re familiar with Carter and Eliza Billings. I’d suggest you call the governor’s mansion, but the staff there would never let you through.

  Enclosed is a personal number for Eliza and Carter. I’m sure you understand the need for their private number to remain private.

  I expect to hear from you shortly.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Rosenthal

  “Asshole,” Meg mumbled to herself before she called Eliza.

  Once she hung up the phone with Eliza, she turned off her computer and walked into the kitchen.

  Her boss and the first lady once occupied the Tarzana town house. Seemed Alliance had a steady home, but those in the day-to-day running of the business changed every few years. Early on, Meg had been told that those who slept in the master bedroom of the house found their spouse within a few short years of sleeping there. The evidence was in the vows exchanged by the employees of Alliance through the years.

  Needless to say, Meg didn’t sleep in the master bedroom.

  She’d always found herself attracted to men who couldn’t provide anything . . . emotional or financial. The thought of marriage and forever made her break out in hives.

/>   She did not intend to find a mate. Living where she worked, however, made perfect sense.

  When she’d first started working for Sam, she’d thought . . . maybe . . . maybe she could do the temp-hubby thing. What was wrong with finding a temporary spouse who would pay her off at the end of a year?

  Then she realized she could make some serious money setting up said marriages and live her life as she saw fit.

  Call it superstition . . . or maybe it was the scent of the pot her parents loved to smoke seeping in . . . but Meg wasn’t sleeping in the master bedroom for fear the room was cursed.

  She banked the money she made, took a couple of trips to see her parents . . . paid off her student loans, loans she didn’t think she’d ever pay back. She’d always assumed those loans would be a part of a chapter, something in her future. Did anyone ever pay back their student loans these days?

  As it stood, Meg made decent money and lived virtually free.

  Trips to places like Sapore di Amore were on Alliance, and Alliance had deep pockets.

  At the end of the day, however, when Meg tossed off her designer heels and slipped out of the evening gown, she sat in sweatpants with a big bowl of popcorn watching the latest action flick on TV. There were the nights she’d spend with her friends, shooting pool, or in her case, watching them shoot pool . . . or the occasional karaoke night where she’d dream.

  Tonight was popcorn night.

  Karaoke wasn’t in the cards without her best friend, and the other people she knew were all either married or busy.

  Popcorn it was.

  Taking a beer from the fridge, Meg walked over to the upright she’d purchased with her first paycheck.

  The piano sat in the living room and did more than house family photographs.

  After plucking a few notes, Meg found herself playing a classic.

  Only the words she used for “My Funny Valentine” weren’t as the original composer intended.

  No . . . her funny valentine had a few choice names and descriptions that fit her mood.

  Valentino was an assable. And every day was not Valentine’s Day.

  Chapter Two

  “I can’t believe you’re pretending to date my brother just to check out a hotel.” Judy, Meg’s best friend, flopped on the bed and leaned on her arm.