Seduced by Sunday

by Catherine Bybee

  He really was fun to get a rise out of. “Lunch it is then. If only to see what you consider island clothing.”

  Val grinned. His eyes swept up her frame, and she felt her cheeks warm. “Though I wouldn’t complain, a bikini might be a bit underdressed.”

  Holy crap, was that a compliment? “Why Mr. Masini, are you flirting with me?”

  His deep gaze found hers. “Just seeing what it takes to make you blush, Margaret.”

  He turned and walked his very fine ass away.

  Chapter Six

  Michael used the morning alone to sleep and consider his options. For a few brief moments the day before, he and Meg had blended with the world . . . yeah, he felt the eyes, the stares, but there were brief moments when no one approached them, no one questioned them.

  Something else he saw, which he did whenever he hid in the crash of people . . . couples. Real couples. Not all of them matched the way society still felt was necessary. The image of those couples brought a wave of envy he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed lovers before.

  He didn’t regret his life . . . how could he? He’d been sought after since before he was twenty years old. Hollywood, movie producers, and his fans made him a common name on the big screen. He loved his Hollywood life a good 95 percent of the time.

  When he’d told Meg he wanted Hollywood and a love life, he’d done so without much thought. Since then he’d thought of nothing else. Here he was in arguably one of the most beautiful, peaceful places he’d been in years, and all he could do was want more.

  Michael reached for the bedside phone and dialed in to his assistant. Tony answered on the third ring.

  “Tony!”

  “Damn, Michael . . . I thought you were shitting me about your cell phone being off.”

  Michael might have been alarmed by Tony’s intensity, but that was a normal operating tone for the man. “Meg warned you.”

  “Who takes away your cell phone? That’s terrorism, dude.”

  Oh, the drama. “Tell me all the tabloids are free of my image.”

  Tony laughed. “The price of no cell phone might work for you, but not for me. I’ve got nothing showing up. I’ve been watching, too.”

  Meg had laid out instructions to Tony as if she were his client and not Michael. “We were in Key West all day yesterday . . . anything from there?”

  “There were a few tweets, but nothing concrete.”

  Michael felt a smile pulling at his lips. “You call the island if that changes.”

  “I will. When will you be back?”

  “I’m not coming back early.” Not if his plans worked the way he wanted them to.

  “Enjoy, Michael. Let me know if you need anything on this end.”

  “I will.”

  Michael hung up and dialed another number. “Hey, Ryder, it’s Mike.”

  Val half expected Meg to show up in a bikini, high heels, and red lipstick. As it was, she managed a sundress and simple sandals.

  The red lipstick was a bonus.

  She was alone.

  Gabi greeted her at the gate; from the instant pout from his sister, Val knew Michael wouldn’t be joining them.

  Wind kicked off the ocean, spraying the smoke from the barbeque right into his face. Val waved it away and managed his grill. He lowered the heat and closed the lid. When he glanced up, he noticed Margaret’s eyes on him.

  She did the sweeping thing he’d done to her earlier in the day and offered a slight nod. Short-sleeved silk and cotton pants might seem overkill for a lunch barbeque, but it was cool and unstarched. He’d have to ask Carol how much starch was used in his suits and if it was really needed.

  A hand slapped his back, snapping him out of the Margaret Rosenthal thrall. “You didn’t tell me you’d have so many beautiful guests.”

  Val looked into the eyes of an old friend. “All my guests are beautiful.”

  “And young . . . too young for my old ass.”

  Val smiled. He’d met Jim the first six months after he’d opened the resort. Rest and relaxation were a tall order for the man who had said I don’t to his fifth wife. Problem was, the man didn’t know how to be single . . . didn’t know how to wait for the right woman. He was only in his early sixties, he’d raised a few kids, not all of them his, and had more experience in life than Val had in his big toe.

  “Not all my guests are in their twenties,” Val told him.

  Jim nodded toward Meg. “That one is.”

  Yeah, Val knew . . . Margaret Rosenthal was a few months away from her twenty-seventh birthday. She looked it, too. The memory of her in a bikini staring up at him wouldn’t leave his brain anytime soon. How he’d managed to string two coherent sentences together by the pool, he’d never know. Still, he’d invited her, wondered if she’d bring her roommate, and planned on getting to know her a little better. He needed to know if she was behind the pictures, or if someone else was watching her.

  Val heard the meat on his grill sizzle and lifted the lid to make sure he wasn’t charring their lunch.

  “Oh my God, you’re Jim Lewis.”

  Margaret had managed to cross the room in a breath. Only she wasn’t looking at Val, she was looking at Jim with star-filled eyes.

  “And you’re my future wife.”

  Margaret Rosenthal blushed. Her cheeks grew crimson in a flash, her smile more radiant than Val had yet seen. The green-eyed monster known as jealousy smacked him upside the head.

  “Holy crap. Seriously? I meet Jim fucking Lewis on Fantasy Island and I can’t even take a picture?”

  Jim let loose a belly laugh . . . and the man had a serious belly to offer a baritone that would rock Carnegie Hall.

  “Those are the rules, Miss . . . ?”

  “Meg. Holy shit.”

  She extended her hand, blushed even further when Jim kissed the back of it.

  “Meg? You just met him and he’s allowed to call you Meg?” Val couldn’t come up with anything else.

  “I’m having a fan moment here, Masini. Let it go.”

  Val watched her fan moment and realized he was seeing the real Margaret Rosenthal. This woman, the one with the unfiltered tongue and wide eyes, was the woman determined to make her way onto his island.

  This woman Val wanted to know . . . thoroughly.

  “You’re too young to know about Fantasy Island.”

  “My parents had tapes. I keep looking for the Mini-Masini, but he’s not here.”

  Jim tapped his chest and roared with laughter. “That hurt. I’m so old.”

  Meg giggled . . . looked around and lost part of her grin. “Sorry. Of all people, I should know not to jump on a celeb.”

  “Of all people?”

  It was Val’s turn to step in. “Margaret is here with Michael Wolfe.”

  “The actor?”

  “Yeah,” she offered. “Wow . . . I’ve listened to you since . . . forever.”

  Val noticed that Jim hadn’t let go of Meg’s hand. His back teeth ground together.

  “You’re a blues fan?”

  “I grew up with all kinds of music. Blues stuck. Soulful, music with purpose . . . worthy of singing.”

  Val found himself pushing between them, felt a smile when Jim let loose Meg’s hand.

  “You’re a singer?”

  “Yes. No . . .” Meg glanced at Val, quickly looked away. “I work in an office.”

  Jim tilted his head. “But you sing.”

  “Not like you.”

  Jim smiled.

  Something popped, and all three of them looked at the grill. “Mini-me isn’t here, Masini . . . you might want to get that.”

  Jim shoved him, laughed.

  Val pulled the meat from the grill in record time to save their lunch.

  “Cooking skills?” Meg asked.

  Val shoveled lunch on a ready platter. “And I’m not wearing a tie.”

  Meg lifted the plate full of food and grinned. “When you’re in shorts and barefoot, we’ll talk.”r />
  Jim let loose a laugh. “This one has your number, Val.”

  “Jim freaking Lewis,” Meg mumbled as she walked away. “What are the odds?”

  Meg got it . . . really got what it was to have crazy fans meet their icons. Jim Lewis had been a part of her life since she played the first notes on the piano. Sure, he was shorter, rounder, and a whole lot grittier than she’d pictured him to be, but it was Jim Lewis.

  And he knew Val.

  She licked her lips. Val might not be in serious island casual, but the flowing silk shirt and relaxed pants were a far cry from the stuffy shirt and tie she’d seen him in from day one. He’d even managed to skip a shave, and damn if that wasn’t sexy as all get-out.

  “Bring that over here.” Mrs. Masini waved her to a table laden with food.

  Meg placed the platter of barbecued ribs and chicken onto the center of the table.

  “Perfetto. Gabi, tell Luna to bring the fruit and we can eat.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Gabi winked at Meg and disappeared into the private villa.

  The far north side of the island held Val Masini’s private space. Meg couldn’t help but wonder if the vast ocean in front of his home was where clothing-optional swimming took place.

  Only a handful of guests milled about the tropical, lush garden where the invitation-only lunch was taking place. The space could have taken on a hundred guests without feeling crowded.

  “It’s beautiful, yes?” Mrs. Masini asked.

  “I haven’t seen a space on this island that isn’t,” Meg told her.

  The older woman smiled. “Valentino works hard to make that magic.”

  Meg found her gaze moving to Val, he caught her eyes for a nanosecond before she turned away. “Does he ever take a break?”

  Mrs. Masini shrugged. “This is his break. He cooks a meal instead of depending on his chef once a week.”

  Meg noticed a table full of side dishes and carbonated beverages and a few bottles of wine chilling in a bucket. “Something tells me Val didn’t make all this.”

  Val’s mom laughed. “He grills.” She dipped her finger into the side of the ribs, licked it off. “A master at the grill, my boy.”

  “Bragging on your son?” Jim moved beside Meg and placed an instant smile on her face.

  “I’m just expressing his culinary skills.” Mrs. Masini met Meg’s eyes and held them. “Do you cook?”

  Meg thought of the microwave at home, the freezer full of instant meals. “Depends on what you consider cooking.”

  Jim laughed and Val joined them.

  “Any wife of mine doesn’t need to cook,” Jim offered.

  Mrs. Masini frowned.

  Jim laughed.

  Meg felt her cheeks fill with heat and Val said, “Maybe if you found a wife that cooked, you’d still be married to one of them.”

  Jim slapped a meaty palm to Val’s back. “I might have to try that.”

  “What’s all this talk of wives? Is there another Mrs. Lewis close at hand?” Mrs. Masini asked.

  Meg’s personal icon draped a hand over her shoulders and pulled her close. “You didn’t hear? Meg loves me, and she sings. It’s meant to be.”

  The man flirted with style; Meg had to give him that.

  “Is that right?” Mrs. Masini had an actual twinkle at the corner of her eye. “What is Meg’s last name?”

  Jim glanced at the sky, leaned in close. “What’s your last name?”

  “Rosenthal.”

  Jim retreated with a playful smile. “Jewish? That might not work.”

  “Said the black kettle to the Jewish pot.”

  Jim pulled her against him again. “We can piss off all kinds of people with the union.” The man was joking, but damn if it wasn’t fun to be a part of a joke with Jim freaking Lewis.

  “My mother is Catholic.”

  That had Jim pulling away only to laugh. “Our children would be so messed up.”

  “You’re too old to give her children,” Val said with a frown.

  “I’m told that a healthy man can have sperm produce children until death.” Meg found Val’s eyes and held them.

  Gabi made her way back to the party and asked, “What’s this about children and death?”

  “Nothing, tesoro. Jim is just a shameless flirt and found an audience with poor Miss Rosenthal,” Mrs. Masini said.

  “Call me Meg.”

  Mrs. Masini patted her hand and Meg noticed Val frown.

  “Did he call you his future wife?” Gabi asked.

  “He did.”

  Gabi rolled her eyes. “You need a new line.”

  Val pulled away and encouraged all his guests to eat.

  Meg found herself sitting beside Gabi and Mrs. Masini.

  Jim and Val spoke with several guests, their laughter carrying over the courtyard.

  “You really don’t cook?” Mrs. Masini asked halfway through their meal.

  “Is a microwave considered cooking?”

  Gabi winced. “You didn’t just say that.”

  Mrs. Masini dropped her fork. “How will you find a husband if you don’t cook?”

  Meg thought of her database full of prospective husbands. “Well . . .”

  “You must know how to cook something.”

  “Spaghetti.”

  Mrs. Masini’s face lit up.

  “As in jar sauce and boiled bag pasta.”

  Mrs. Masini’s face fell.

  Gabi groaned. “Let me say this now . . . run, Meg.”

  “Pasta isn’t something that comes from a bag.” Mrs. Masini’s voice took on the quality of a Mom-Demon. Her low voice wasn’t something a mere mortal could ignore.

  “In my house—”

  “Jewish father, Catholic mother . . . I heard.” Mrs. Masini waved a hand in the air. “To find the right man, you must know how to cook at least one meal properly.”

  “I’m really not looking for the right—”

  “Enough!”

  Some people might say they felt the weight of the world coming down, but never had Meg felt it before. The determination in Mrs. Masini’s voice, her words, and the sheer distress hovering over Gabi’s face made Meg squirm.

  “Tomorrow you will meet me here, in Val’s kitchen.”

  Meg started to shake her head.

  Mrs. Masini narrowed her eyes and waved a hand in the air. “Jimmy!”

  Meg glanced at Gabi, who looked across the lawn. Jim Lewis nodded and moved toward them, Val at his side. Once the men were at Mrs. Masini’s side, she relaxed in her chair and offered a casual smile.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You’re singing tonight, yes?”

  “Val asked if I would.”

  Mrs. Masini waved a hand in the air. Her eyes never left Meg’s. “You will sing something with Miss Rosenthal.”

  Meg’s mouth dropped.

  “You said you sing,” Mrs. Masini reminded Meg.

  There were no words. “But . . .”

  “You sing with Mr. Lewis, and tomorrow you will return here so I can teach you how to cook one meal properly.”

  Having grown up with a combination of Jewish guilt and a hefty dose of Hail Marys, Meg knew when a parent was going to win.

  “Mama, if Margaret doesn’t want to—” Val started.

  Meg lifted her hand. “Zip it, Masini.” The opportunity to sing with Jim Lewis was simply too great to pass up. Only Meg wanted one tiny change in the contract. “On one condition.”

  All eyes were on her.

  “Someone records it.”

  Jim lifted a brow.

  “Just us,” Meg said. “If we suck, you take the video. If not, I keep it for my grandchildren.”

  “Don’t you mean our grandchildren?” Jim asked, laughing.

  Val rolled his eyes, Gabi laughed, and Mrs. Masini waited.

  “Deal?” Meg asked.

  Chapter Seven

  Who was the woman who’d taken over Margaret’s body? The fun-loving, laughing, flirting woman was nothing li
ke the person Val painted when he’d read her first letter of request to come to the island. She had his mother and sister rapt before the lunch plates were taken away.

  Then there was Jim. If the man weren’t thirty years older than Margaret, Val might be worried.

  The sun was pushing past noon and most of his guests had left when Val felt his phone vibrate.

  Carol knew not to disturb him during his afternoon off. Not that Val ever felt as if he were truly off. Owning the island resort had always been a full-time job. Even when he left the Keys, he never truly left his job.

  Val checked caller ID and excused himself to answer Carol’s call.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Masini.”

  “My guess is you would have avoided it if you could. What can I do for you?”

  “We have a little situation.”

  Val instantly thought of the pictures in his e-mail the last two days and held his breath.

  “Which is?”

  “It appears Mr. Wolfe is requesting a guest join him and Miss Rosenthal.”

  “Requesting?”

  Carol cleared he throat. “He is returning from Key West with a Mr. Ryder Gerard. The two of them are en route now. Captain Stephan is waiting for your orders.”

  There had been times when his guests had “unexpected” additions to their party . . . and yes, more than one would pick up a stray in Key West. But Michael Wolfe? And with the pictures showing up daily in his in-box?

  Val moved his gaze to Margaret, heard her laugh at something Jim was saying. What did she know about this Ryder Gerard? How could she have eaten lunch with him and his family and say nothing of the new arrival?

  “Run a quick check . . . find out where the man lives.”

  “I’m already working on it.”

  “Tell Stephan to circle the island until I know this man isn’t a plant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Val hung up the phone and approached his family.

  Margaret met his gaze and her laughter faded. Michael wasn’t sleeping off an evening of drink. He was wandering off island. Suspicion of the woman and the man made Val’s blood boil. So much for trust and depending on her.

  “Someone doesn’t look very happy.”

  Val ignored his sister’s comment and directed his attention to Margaret. “Can I have a word with you?”