Seduced by Sunday

by Catherine Bybee

  Meg moved through the room while she packed.

  “What better way to determine if this resort is everything the brochure says it is than to have Mr. Famous walking around the place? If it’s überprivate, then very few people will know he’s actually there. He won’t end up in a tabloid, and no one will think I’m dating him. Well, except for those at the actual hotel.”

  “Why bother then? Might as well take me.” Judy grinned and batted her lashes several times.

  “Neither of us are famous. No one will be looking for a beautiful blonde”—Meg flipped her short hair and winked—“and her sidekick friend. Michael, on the other hand . . .”

  Judy shook her head and laughed. “I know. We can’t go to lunch without a camera lurking. How long are you going to stay?”

  “A week.”

  “Why so long? Seems like a lot for a recon mission.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Recon mission? You’re starting to sound like Rick.” Judy’s husband was a Marine . . . well, former, retired, or whatever it was he called it. He said things like recon mission all the time.

  “Isn’t that what it is?”

  Meg packed the side pockets of her suitcase with a couple of bathing suits.

  “I suggested four days, Michael wanted a week. Between him and Samantha, they’re buying. Who am I to say no?”

  Judy pushed off the bed and moved to the closet. “You need more summer dresses. It’s going to be hot and humid.”

  Having grown up in Washington State, where moss grew on every side of a stone, owning a pair of sandals, as in one pair, was more than enough for the summer. Adjusting to the California sun had been a pleasure, but Meg still hadn’t embraced summer dresses to the extent Judy had.

  “Michael and I are going shopping during the layover in Dallas. If we don’t find everything I need, then I’ll have Michael take me to Key West.”

  “Won’t that compromise your privacy?”

  Meg wiggled her eyebrows, did her best I’m devious impression. “It will. I’ll be interested to see how the resort will handle an onslaught of lookie-loos boating up the Keys to catch a glimpse of Michael. If they can keep the cameras offshore, then I might have found the right place to recommend that our clients honeymoon.”

  “What keeps you from texting pictures or hooking up with social media?”

  “You hand over your cells when you arrive. If you want to make a call, there are phones in your room and around the resort. You’re not completely unplugged, but as close as you can be and still live in this century.”

  “No cell phones? That’s crazy.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll have to charter something and head to Key West. I think you’ll go nuts on a private island without the Internet.”

  Meg shoved several pairs of shorts next to her bathing suits. “The lack of Internet isn’t my concern. It’s the week with stuffy people that I find troubling.”

  “How do you know they’re stuffy?”

  “They’re hiding. Chances are they’ll either be holed up in their bungalows banging someone they shouldn’t be, or holding their chins high and flaunting their wealth or fame. The place is stupid expensive.”

  “Not everyone with money is stuck-up.”

  “Did we ever meet any of Michael’s neighbors when we were living in his house?”

  Judy wrinkled her nose.

  “Exactly.” They’d lived in the Beverly Hills estate for eight months when they’d both moved to the state. Meg remembered talking with the hired help in the neighborhood, but not the owners.

  Of course, many of them were like Michael . . . not home very often.

  “Michael knows how to party. He doesn’t know how to hide in the background. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

  Meg shrugged. She wasn’t going there for the ultimate vacation. She planned on finding the resort’s flaws. After waiting nearly two months for an approval from Valentino Masini, the man, and his hotel, deserved a microscopic test.

  She planned on delivering it.

  Val Masini tapped the edges of the last e-mail he’d printed out from Miss Rosenthal against his palm before checking his watch. He didn’t always meet his guests on the tarmac, but for Miss Rosenthal and Mr. Wolfe, he’d make an exception.

  He’d personally made the phone call to the first lady of California, half expecting a fraud to answer his call.

  He’d been wrong.

  In fact, Eliza Billings not only told him that Margaret Rosenthal was everything she claimed to be, but that if Valentino Masini knew what was good for him, he’d be on his best behavior during Margaret’s stay.

  Miss Rosenthal alone had the power to bring him a client base that would prove lucrative for years to come. Since word of mouth was how Val made Sapore di Amore thrive, he needed voices singing his praises. Even if that voice belonged to the snarky woman who delivered stinging letters.

  “Gabi?” Val knocked on the door to his sister’s suite.

  “Just a minute.”

  Less than two seconds passed and he knocked again. “Check your makeup in the cart, Gabi. We can’t be late.”

  He was about to knock a third time when the door swung open. “I just need to gather my purse.”

  Before Gabi could turn away, Val grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the sunshine. “There’s no need for a purse.”

  “Val!”

  “The plane will land in ten minutes. There’s no time.”

  Gabriella pushed out her bottom lip in a full pout. His sister’s beauty would make the Mona Lisa cry with envy. Lush black hair, dark watchful eyes, and olive skin that many women worked their entire lives to achieve. Gabi was born to it. They both were.

  “I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush. You’ve had other, more important guests come to the island.”

  “Michael Wolfe is in a class by himself. The paparazzi will search him out en masse if they learn he’s here.”

  “Your guests never tell the media where they’re vacationing.”

  “Yet the press always hunts for them.” Sometimes they found them. But not on Sapore.

  They stepped into the open bench seat of one of the villa’s golf carts.

  The driver took off the moment they were secure.

  Sapore di Amore was Val’s pride. In five years, he’d taken a simple island getaway and turned it into one of the most exclusive resorts in the world.

  Screening all of his clients to ensure their privacy was of utmost importance.

  Some clients, like the one arriving today, weren’t on his top list of wanted guests. Well, he was intrigued with Margaret’s tenacity and thinly veiled jabs. Val looked through them and expected to dismiss her. Yet he couldn’t, and since he’d had no choice but to accept her presence, he was determined to learn as much as he could about her in a few short hours and decide for himself if she was a security risk. Keeping his temper in check if her demeanor was the same in person as it was in an e-mail would prove challenging.

  Between the wind blowing off the sea and the speed that their driver managed on the narrow road, Gabi’s hair blew in every possible direction. “I don’t know why I bother with anything other than a tie in my hair,” she said.

  A long cascade of trees lined the road. It opened to a small airstrip where only private jets and the occasional helicopter would land. “If you didn’t primp, I’d know something fatal was on the horizon.”

  Gabi clicked her tongue. “Such drama, Val.”

  He lifted the left corner of his mouth and glanced to the sky.

  The private jet carrying his guests descended on the island on a rapid approach. The runway was short, not giving the pilot much time to bring the plane down.

  The landing gear hit the tarmac, the engines screamed as the pilot reversed the engine thrust.

  Gabi smoothed back her hair once the golf cart came to a complete stop.

  Val offered his hand to his sister and led her to the welcome cabana as the plane taxied
into position and an attendant secured the wheels. The airport employees scrambled to assist the onboard flight crew as they opened the hatch and lowered the stairway.

  Val tapped his index finger along his thigh and lifted his chin.

  His sister laid a hand on his, stopped his tapping. “They’re just people,” she reminded him.

  Yet as his gaze fell on the heeled foot of the female passenger and slowly made its way up, he knew this woman was much more than just anything.

  Her sundress, all polka-dotted red and cut in the style of the twenties, was anything but understated.

  He swallowed, hard.

  Val decided the slim-fitting dress wasn’t a sundress after all . . . it was something that belonged on Hollywood’s glamour queens from days past.

  He liked it . . . all the way from the tops of her shapely knees—since when did he notice the shape of a woman’s knees?—to the slim belt at her waist. The cut of the dress emphasized her breasts . . . happy, healthy specimens that overflowed the bounds of cloth with just enough skin to make him a happy heterosexual male.

  When he finally looked at her face, he noticed she wore her hair in a manicured style that matched the twenties, with big curls and lots of hairspray. Her lips were ruby red. Her sunglasses hid the color of her eyes.

  He liked the look of the whole package. Why she had to be so sexy when he really wanted her to be this side of a troll, ticked him off.

  His body responded even when his head was telling it to shut up.

  Only then did he look past the woman to the man who placed his hand on her waist and helped her from the plane.

  The movie star wore clothes complementing his girlfriend’s, his sunglasses just as large . . . but he couldn’t hide who he was.

  Val pulled his thoughts back into focus and took a few steps toward his arriving party.

  He lifted his hand to Margaret first. “Signorina, welcome to my island.”

  She brought her hand up on instinct, and hesitated when Val lifted it to his lips for a kiss.

  “Mr. Masini.”

  The taste of his name, albeit his surname, on her lips had him holding her hand a tad too long.

  “I feel as though I know you,” she told him.

  He couldn’t see her eyes, furthering his irritation. He couldn’t tell if her comment was a continuation of the jabs or a statement of fact. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  She said nothing, only smiled.

  Jabs.

  “Michael, Mr. Masini.” Margaret introduced them as if it were her job, and he finally let her hand go.

  “Mr. Wolfe needs no introduction.”

  Michael Wolfe glanced beyond him to his sister. “And who is this starlet?”

  “You’re so kind,” Gabi said, her smile beaming.

  “Signorina Rosenthal, Signor Wolfe, my sister, Gabriella. Whatever we may do for you during your stay, you need only ask.”

  Margaret sighed. “Is Sapore di Amore a family affair?”

  “Not at all. This is my brother’s brainchild. I’m simply window dressing.”

  “Cara!” The endearment was anything but.

  Yet Margaret’s smile blossomed. What color were her eyes, he mused. Blue, green? A mixture of both? The pictures he’d seen did her no justice.

  “My sister spends much of her time on the island. I’m lost without her.”

  Although he meant for his statement to remain on the surface, he felt it down to his bones.

  “Ah, behind every good man is a woman, eh, Gabriella?” Michael’s charm filled any awkward space.

  “I think I like you, Mr. Wolfe.”

  Michael Wolfe smiled, moved closer to Margaret.

  She hesitated and moved closer toward her companion.

  “We’ll be taking a short drive to the villa. We use battery-operated carts on the island. Your luggage will follow.”

  She tilted her sunglasses to take a good look at the cart, then returned them to the bridge of her nose.

  He smiled, seeing her eyes for the first time.

  “How very green of you, Mr. Masini.” Margaret’s short tone sounded like a cut and reminded him of her e-mails.

  Her eyes forgotten, he swallowed his desire to snap at Margaret’s words, and he revealed the facts about his island in the same short tone she’d used. “The golf carts have more to do with space than my desire to reduce my carbon footprint. The island has limited resources, fuel being one of them. Not to mention my guests come here to relax, get away . . . they don’t want the noise of oiled-fueled engines interrupting that.”

  “Meg told me all about your island,” Michael said, changing the subject. “I’m looking forward to a little R & R.”

  Meg . . . she went by Meg.

  That suited her better, Val decided. Margaret fit a work persona. Meg fit the woman standing in the flirty dress and sexy smile.

  “Then R & R you shall have.” Gabi always knew exactly what to say. “My brother’s resort will offer you everything you could possibly want.”

  “Meg tells me your island is free of random photography. How do you control that with all the cell phones in this world?”

  Val led his guests to the golf cart, encouraged them to take the backseat, and lifted a hand to Gabi as she climbed in.

  “It’s not that complicated. The use of smartphones on the island isn’t allowed.”

  Michael Wolfe appeared mildly amused. “Not allowed?”

  Val twisted in his seat as the driver pulled away from the airstrip.

  “When we arrive at your private villa, I’ll ask that you surrender your phones. Your accommodations will have telephone access; you’ll be given digital cameras for on-island use. The images will be checked before you return home for the protection of our other guests.”

  “And if I give permission for some of your other guests to take my picture?”

  Val grinned. “Release forms will be signed by all parties. You’ll find that most of my guests like to remain anonymous while they’re here. Celebrities such as you visit us often, but my team generally takes the only images of them here. We will be happy to take professional shots throughout your stay if you like.”

  “I might feel naked without my phone,” Michael said.

  “You’ll feel liberated,” Gabi told him. “It’s difficult to relax when your phone is buzzing every few minutes.”

  Michael glanced at Meg. “Did you tell me about the phone thing?”

  “I told Tony. He said he hated the idea but you’d taken to phone silence at least once before and returned from that vacation ready to work.”

  The cart slowed to a stop in front of a private villa. “Here we are,” Val said.

  Massive hibiscus plants of all colors bloomed along the path leading to the front door. Palms and ferns filled the space between the larger trees. Val knew the landscape well, he’d picked nearly every plant species himself when he’d first commissioned their planting. He wanted to inspire tranquility, give the air fragrance, and camouflage the other villas nearby.

  “The pictures don’t do this justice,” Meg said under her breath.

  “Thank you, Miss Rosenthal.”

  The slight smile on her lips fell. Val couldn’t help but think her compliment wasn’t meant for his ears.

  Gabi opened both doors and crossed into the open great room.

  The vaulted ceiling held several rotating fans and had a white pine finish. Muted colors of the Caribbean complemented the space. Overstuffed sofas and love seats, an open kitchen with marble countertops, and a dining room for four . . . tile floors and, of course, wall-to-wall windows that opened to the deck beyond. The ocean view and walk-out beach were nothing short of perfect.

  Michael whistled as he walked into the space and opened the disappearing glass doors. The sound of the lapping sea filled the room. “I think I can give up my cell phone for this.” He reached into his pocket and tossed said phone on a nearby chair before stepping outside.

  Gabi stepped outside wi
th him while Meg stayed back.

  “What about you, Miss Rosenthal? Have I fulfilled your needs?”

  She met his gaze and removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were a honey amber . . . not brown, but not quite hazel. Her driver’s license probably categorized them as a normal light brown. They were anything but normal.

  “It takes more than a view to ensure my needs are met, Mr. Masini. It took some convincing to get here. I hope the rest of our stay will be easier.”

  “Whatever you and Mr. Wolfe need,” he said with a slight bow. “You need only ask.”

  She reached into her small clutch, removed her phone, and extended her hand.

  Val’s fingertips grazed hers with the exchange and she pulled back.

  Her cheeks flushed and she looked away.

  Gabi’s and Michael’s voices carried into the room. They laughed at something, shaking Val out of Margaret Rosenthal’s amber-eyed trance. “You’ll find maps of the island, our chef’s specials, spa hours . . . everything you need in your welcome packet.”

  “I’ve had clients swear by your chef’s specials. I look forward to sampling them.” She licked her red lips and Val had an instant desire to sample her.

  He was staring and had to stop.

  Val pushed away from the counter and stepped toward the open veranda. “Gabi. We should let our guests settle.”

  Gabi offered a practiced smile and reentered the villa, while Val said good-byes. “Enjoy your visit, Miss Rosenthal.”

  “I plan on it.”

  Chapter Three

  “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.