“The man is still screening me,” Meg insisted.
“Your insecurity is showing, Meg.”
“I’m not insecure.” She tried to control the lift in her voice and failed.
They now stood beside the head table, where Gabriella sat beside an older woman Meg assumed was Mrs. Masini. Valentino, of course, was absent.
“You made it.” Gabriella stood when they approached the table.
Semiformal dinner attire put Meg in her third outfit for the day. Talk about excessive. Gabriella wore a cream linen dress that stopped at her knees. The rhinestone heels highlighted her olive skin. The dress wasn’t overly flashy, just stylish and fitted.
“How could we say no?” Michael asked.
“Oh, you could have, but I’m happy you didn’t. Mama, this is Michael Wolfe and his companion, Margaret Rosenthal.”
Mrs. Masini offered the same smile her daughter owned. “You’re just as handsome in person as you are on the big screen, Mr. Wolfe.”
Michael flashed a smile and winked at Meg. “I think I need to sit beside you, Mrs. Masini.”
The older woman patted the seat at her side. “Wonderful idea.”
Michael pulled out the chair beside him for Meg.
“Are we early?” Meg asked, looking at the two vacant seats at the round table.
“Val and my fiancé will be along shortly.”
Meg glanced at Gabriella’s ring finger, noticed the engagement ring for the first time. “When is the big day?”
Something close to a grunt sounded from Mrs. Masini.
Gabriella placed a hand over her mother’s and answered, “Four and a half months.”
“Congratulations,” Michael said.
“You must be excited,” Meg said to the future mother of the bride.
Mrs. Masini’s smile fell when talking about her daughter’s wedding. “I should be, shouldn’t I?”
Interesting.
“Mother!”
“What?”
“Please.”
Michael lifted a brow.
Before any further questions, comments, or otherwise tension-building conversation could continue, Valentino and Gabriella’s fiancé arrived.
Now the tension could really begin.
Michael stood, shaking the other man’s hand. “Sorry we’re late,” Valentino said. “I see you’ve met our mother.”
Alonzo Picano was pleasant to look at, but not the stunning bookend Meg thought should be sitting beside Gabriella, or Gabi as the others referred to her. The man smiled easy enough, attempting to convince Mrs. Masini to grin, too, only to have the older woman look past him.
As everyone took their seats, Meg realized she had the privilege of sitting beside the man determined to find fault with her. On the surface, she’d have a hard time saying she didn’t like the look, or the spicy scent, of him.
He wore a solid black tux, crisp white shirt, and bow tie. Normally, the look did nothing for her. But Valentino owned the classy threads as if born to it. The other men at the table were dressed well, but didn’t compare to their host.
Mrs. Masini pulled Michael into a quiet conversation, while Gabriella whispered something to her fiancé.
Beside her, Valentino sighed. “Thank you for joining us, Miss Rosenthal.”
Meg lifted her ice water to her lips. “I didn’t realize I had the choice to refuse.”
“You’re a guest. You have the right to decline.”
Even though she felt the weight of his stare, Meg refused to look directly at him. “I’ll remember that.”
For the first time, she heard him chuckle, and the sound made her grin.
The dining room was filling with guests, while a man wearing a tuxedo played a baby grand in the corner of the room.
Linen covered every table; hurricane glasses covered flickering candles surrounded by fresh floral sprays.
The Masini table sat on an elevated platform along with several others. The space between the tables was vast enough to avoid anyone overhearing conversations. Though the ceilings soared a good twenty feet, the room was relatively quiet with the exception of the piano and chatter. Huge windows took in the azure blue sea.
“Mr. Wolfe . . . tell us, what new film are you working on?”
“I’m in between projects right now or I wouldn’t be here. And please, call me Michael.”
Mrs. Masini beamed. “I liked that car movie.”
Michael laughed. “So did I. Nothing quite like driving someone else’s expensive cars fast.”
“You do your own stunts?” Gabi asked.
“Some.”
“Mr. Masini loved to drive fast, rest his soul. It would kill him to be here on an island with only golf carts.”
“Papa would have found a way to make the cart do ninety.”
“You’re right about that, cara,” Valentino told his sister. His occasional words in Italian made Meg’s belly warm.
“Do you like fast cars, too, Mrs. Masini?” Meg asked, doing her level best to ignore the tingle spreading through her limbs.
“I do.”
The waiter arrived and presented Valentino with a bottle of wine.
With a nod from Valentino, the waiter proceeded to open it.
“You’re welcome to order whatever you like,” Gabi told them, “but Alonzo owns Grotto di Picano. His wines are wonderful.”
Michael sat forward, his interest focused. “This is your label?” he asked.
“It is.”
The waiter poured Michael a small amount of wine and stood back. With a swirl, sniff, and sip, he swallowed and nodded. “Your winery is in the Umbria region?”
Gabi smiled and Alonzo blinked. “It’s in Campania, actually.”
Michael took another sip and shrugged. “It’s good.”
“Thank you.”
“You know wine, Michael?”
Meg preferred a shot of whiskey or a nice cold beer over wine. She’d learned to drink wine, knew what went with what, and didn’t mind some of the heavier reds, but knowing what region a wine grape came from . . . no, not her thing.
“A little.”
Meg shook her head. “Michael’s wine cellar is full.”
Michael bumped her knee under the table.
“You’ll have to add Alonzo’s to your collection.”
Alonzo shifted in his seat and tapped Gabi’s hand on the table.
“I might do that,” Michael said.
Wine was served and the chef’s specials were presented.
“What is it you do for a living, Miss Rosenthal?”
The question was common, the answer always vague. “Acquisitions and client relations,” she said, pushing her salad plate aside.
Alonzo seemed disinterested, where Mrs. Masini narrowed her eyes. “Is that in the movie business?”
“No.”
“What exactly do you acquire?” It was the first direct question Valentino had asked.
“You don’t know? Seems you make it your business to learn every possible thing about your guests before they arrive on the island.”
Michael leaned in. “Meg is a little sore on the subject, Valentino. Seems your delay in approving our stay left a bad taste in her mouth.”
It was Meg’s turn to hit Michael under the table.
“Is that right?”
The nerve of the man. He knew damn well she wasn’t happy with his snail-paced delivery of their approval.
She found him staring at her, his steely-eyed expression and lack of a smile unreadable.
Why couldn’t he be bald and unappealing? Why did her pulse beat like a drum on the African plain anytime she looked at the man?
“Women dislike being told no, Val. How many times must I tell you that?” Gabi, bless the woman, offered a valid argument.
“I grew up in a home with three sisters. I can verify that statement.” Michael went on to talk about his family, directing the conversation far away from Alliance and its true service. It would never be public knowled
ge just who Meg, Sam, and anyone who worked with Alliance set up.
While Michael engaged the others, Val leaned close. “I couldn’t help but notice that you avoided my question.”
“Question about what?” she asked, even though she knew what Val was asking.
“What the company you work for acquires.”
She picked up her wine, took her time tasting it. Over the rim she said, “Rejection bites, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled, then mumbled under his breath. “Touché.”
When their meal arrived, Meg took her first bite of the sea bass and moaned.
“That good?” Michael asked with a teasing grin.
Instead of answering him, she broke off a piece with the edge of her fork and fed him a bite.
“Oh my God.”
“Right?” she said between mouthwatering bites.
“My chef will be delighted you’re pleased.” Val sat back and watched her as she swallowed her fish.
After blotting her lips, she managed, “It’s amazing.” Considering some of the places and people she’d managed to dine with since landing the job with Alliance—a Duchess, fake dating a Hollywood icon, and otherwise schmoozing with the überrich—the fish was damn good. The company didn’t suck either.
She dug into another piece, waved the fish in the air. “There’s a place in San Diego . . . Market Fish, or something like that—”
“On the wharf?” Michael asked.
“Yes. They come close, but this is so much better.”
Gabi leaned across the table. “My brother prides himself on the fresh selections.”
Meg managed a peek from the corner of her eye. Val still had yet to bite into his food. “Do you cook?”
“I don’t have time to cook.”
Which didn’t answer her question.
“I suppose you never have a need to cook with all this at your disposal.”
“I’ve taught both my children to cook. Not that they practice their skills often.” Mrs. Masini nibbled the chicken on her plate.
“Do all of you live on the island?” Michael asked.
Mrs. Masini shrugged. “If I want to see my children, this is where I must be.”
“Paradise is at your feet,” Michael told her. “Never-ending sunshine.”
“I like the rain.”
“We’re tropical, Mama, it rains every day,” Gabi said with a smile.
“Not the same.”
Maybe it was the wine, or the amazing food, but Meg found herself relaxing even with the reserved man beside her.
They’d been on the island just shy of twenty-four hours. Michael ran in from the warm ocean, water splattering in his wake. He pushed into the lounge chair beside Meg, and grabbed the ice water at her side.
She looked up from the book in her hand. “I think you were a fish in a former life.”
“I can’t get over how quiet it is out there.”
“You make it sound like I’m talking your ear off.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I’ve come to the conclusion I have a loud life.”
“You’re a movie star. Comes with the territory.”
He sighed. “I know . . . but this doesn’t suck.”
No, it didn’t. Considering Michael’s fame, there were few people who approached them. Even the night before at their “required dinner” with Valentino and his family, not one other guest snapped a picture, gawked, or asked for an autograph.
Meg had known Michael for nearly three years now, and that never happened in the real world.
Maybe Sapore di Amore was all it claimed to be.
“There is only one thing this island is missing,” Michael said.
Something was missing? “What’s that?”
“Sex.”
He could say that again. “From the looks of some of the poolside guests, you’re not the only one who thinks that.”
Michael rubbed a towel over his face. “I haven’t really noticed.”
She had, if only to keep an eye on the tabloids once they left the island. How much leaked from Sapore di Amore? Was it possible the papers didn’t see a senator’s wife hooking up with a kid half her age? Did said wife recognize Meg? They’d met a year before in Sacramento.
Even now, Meg and Michael were outside their villa and precious few guests were milling about on the beach. This wasn’t a place people brought young children. Maybe because children had a way of telling everyone the things they saw.
Meg reminded herself to ask the question to Valentino about kids. Did they flat-out refuse young people to come? Or was there a place on the island exclusively for families?
Instead of talking about children and families, Meg asked, “Is there someone you would want to bring here?”
Michael’s gaze left hers and met the sea. “I-I don’t . . . yeah.”
Meg liked to think there wasn’t an insecure bone in the movie star’s body. But when it came to intimacy—real intimacy—he wasn’t the confident movie icon at all.
“And would this person want to be here with you?”
“Lotta good that would do. Our lives are too different.”
“He’s not married is he?”
Michael shook his head. “God no. We’re just . . . it’s complicated.”
“He’s not in the movie business?”
“He’s a teacher.”
She wasn’t expecting that. Instead of asking more questions, she watched the gentle waves hitting the shore. “Have you ever just wanted to say fuck it? Screw Hollywood and live your life the way you want to?”
“Millions of dollars a film, Meg.”
“I know . . .” Lord knew she had grown up without money. Her parents still had next to nothing. In reality Meg had managed to put some away after paying off her student loans, but it would be a long time before she’d be able to afford a vacation at Sapore di Amore on her dime.
“But when will you have enough?”
“Is it too much to want money and a life?”
No, she mused. It wasn’t.
Michael rolled over onto his stomach, stretched his arms over his head. “What do you think of our hosts?”
Meg gave up on her book and pushed her lounge chair back into the shade. No use burning up this early in the week. “Mrs. Masini is a kick. She adored you.”
“Nothing says I haven’t lost it like charming the old ladies.”
“Gabi is sweet, but that guy she’s going to marry seems out of place.”
Michael turned his head her way, looked at her between squinted eyelids. “Something about him didn’t seem right to me.”
“Too much listening, not enough talking.”
Michael leaned up on his forearms. “Did you notice when I asked him about his vineyard he tried to change the subject?”
“Yeah, why was that? I’d think if I owned my own label, I’d shout it to the world. He seemed excited enough to share his wine when we first sat down.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t get it. Decent wine, too. I can see him avoiding the conversation if his wine sucked.”
Meg tapped a finger against the chair. If she had her cell phone, she’d be looking up Alonzo Picano’s name on the Internet to learn more about the man. Then again, she could make a phone call home and have Judy check out the name.
“You’re tapping.”
Meg stopped the rapid pace of her fingers. “I’m going through online withdrawal.”
Michael laughed. “I’ll be joining you there tomorrow.”
“We’re pathetic.”
“I noticed you said nothing about Val.”
She started tapping again. “The man is annoying.”
“You can tell that with the few words he managed at dinner?”
“He studied us the whole night.”
Michael closed his eyes. “You have half that right. He studied you.”
“Which was rude. I’m with you.”
“The man isn’t blind.”
“It
didn’t help that when Mrs. Masini asked why we weren’t married you nixed any possible monogamy questions.”
His chest rumbled.
“It wasn’t funny. Friends with benefits. Seriously, does anyone say that anymore?”
He continued to laugh.
Meg found the ice water at her side and didn’t think twice.
Michael sprang from the lounge chair like a cat avoiding a bath.
Meg had the good sense to put her chair between them, but didn’t get far before Michael picked her up and ran toward the ocean.
Chapter Five
Resorts such as Sapore di Amore always housed gyms that rivaled any paid membership fitness center, but unlike the clubs in LA, these were empty. While Michael slept in, taking full advantage of his vacation, Meg pushed herself out of bed. The chef on the island was sure to put an extra five pounds on her if she didn’t at least make an effort to burn some of the delicious calories off.
She’d considered a swim, but without a spotter who knew her lungs didn’t always play well, she’d be risking more than she’d gain.
The twentysomething attendant at the gym handed her a bottle of water and a workout towel and greeted her by name, even though Meg hadn’t yet set foot inside the gym.
She couldn’t help but be a little impressed with the attention of Val’s staff.
Once inside, upbeat music pumped through hidden speakers, the views outside the glass panels presented a lush garden view.
Meg managed a long stretch and moved to one of the ellipticals to warm up. She took her time and paced herself.
“Good morning, Miss Rosenthal.”
So much for a peaceful workout.
Without stopping, Meg turned her head toward his voice and paused.
Why couldn’t Valentino Masini be tucked into a Dri-FIT short-sleeved shirt and shorts? Then she could see for herself if the man sported a farmer’s tan.
The fact that he was perfectly polished in a suit and tie shouldn’t have surprised her. “Working out in a tie must really suck.”
His gaze dropped, briefly, then met hers. “The ocean is my gym.”
The instant image of him trying to swim in a business suit made her smile. “I didn’t know they made suits to swim in.” She realized, after the words were out of her mouth, how they sounded.
“The island is private, but I usually wear something while swimming.”
Seduced by Sunday Page 4
