Seduced by Sunday

by Catherine Bybee

  She took the pills and pushed out of the empty bed. She looked out the starboard and port sides of the ship and could tell they were in the middle of the sea. No land in sight.

  The onboard shower was as luxurious as a yacht could offer. The water soothed her headache but didn’t completely wake her.

  By the time she left the shower, someone had been in their suite and a white sundress, one she didn’t own, lay on the bed with another note. For my bride.

  With a smile, she slid the linen dress over her head and turned to the full-length mirror. The fit was perfect and went to her toes. Even in the heat of the Caribbean Sea, the cloth felt cool against her skin.

  She placed her hair in a knot on top of her head and tried to shake the sleep from her head as she left her room in search of her fiancé.

  “Miss Masini,” the steward greeted her in the living quarters, pulled out a chair at the dining table. “Mr. Picano asked that you eat before your big day. He’ll be along shortly.”

  “Coffee. I’d love some coffee.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The young man scurried away and returned with coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit along with a variety of muffins. She was halfway through the coffee and nibbling on a muffin when Alonzo walked into the room.

  “There you are,” he said, kissing her on the head as he took the seat beside her. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Like a rock. Though a rock doesn’t sleep, does it?”

  Alonzo nudged her nose with a knuckle and waved the steward over. Without asking, the attendant brought a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  “It’s a bit early for this, isn’t it?” she questioned.

  Instead of saying anything, he winked and shooed off the help, leaving them alone.

  He lifted his glass and waited for her to pick up hers.

  “To us,” he said.

  How could she say no to the smile that spread over Alonzo’s face? “To us.” The sweet, fizzling wine tickled her nose and rolled down her throat.

  Before she set her glass back down, Alonzo was pouring more into it.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?” she asked for the tenth time since he picked her up at the airport.

  He moved around the table and sat beside her, pulled her close. “How about a honeymoon?”

  The question sounded strange on his lips. “You want to talk about where we’ll have our honeymoon?”

  He sipped his wine and encouraged her to join him. “Someplace away from everyone. We can make love for hours, come out only to eat . . . or have someone bring in food.”

  That didn’t sound like him at all. The man didn’t sit still long enough for lazy fantasies like the one he described. “And what would we do the next day?”

  He laughed, kissed the side of her cheek. “You know me so well.” He leaned against the back of the seat, placed his head alongside hers. “I’ve been so busy. I need you to ground me.”

  Enjoying the feel of his arms around her, she settled beside him and sipped her wine. The thought of being the someone he needed in his life to make him complete left a warmth in her chest. In her life, no one truly needed her. Her mother needed Val, especially after their father’s death, but Gabi always felt like more of a burden than an asset. “It’s nice to be needed,” she confessed.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I need you, Gabriella. More than you know.”

  His lips sought hers for a brief kiss. When he pulled away, he lifted his glass. “For needing each other.”

  She sipped more wine and felt it hit her head. Warmth filled her cheeks as she set the glass down.

  “Marry me,” Alonzo said at her side.

  She giggled. “I already said I would.” She waved her left hand in the air.

  Alonzo set his glass beside her and knelt on the floor, taking both of her hands in his as he stared up at her. “Marry me now. Today.”

  She blinked, pushed the fuzz out of her brain. “Today?”

  “Yes. Today. I don’t want to wait. I want you to take my name today.”

  “But the wedding—”

  “We can do it all again later, dress, flowers, family. Let’s do this now, for us. No one even needs to know about it. Just think,” he said with a silly smile on his face. “Years from now we will tell our children how we eloped on the open waters on a summer day with a breeze off the ocean.”

  Are you serious?

  The expression on his face told her he was.

  She considered the possibility, felt something inside her hesitate.

  “Think of the weight lifted if the public wedding isn’t filled with emotional stress.” He kissed her fingertips. “Please.”

  She wanted to say yes, was about to utter the words, when she felt her head grow heavy. “How can we? There is no priest.”

  “My captain has the authority, darling. On the deck, right now. I’ll pledge my life to you.”

  “Oh, Alonzo.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, fully. Several seconds passed before he moved away far enough to whisper, “I love you, Gabriella. Make me the happiest man on the ocean and take my name.”

  Could she? Why should they wait? They could do it all again in a few months . . .

  She felt the boat tip, or maybe it was her. The whirlwind Alonzo was pushing her in was a vortex she didn’t feel she could avoid. With a giddy heart and a fuzzy head, she found herself nodding.

  “Yes?” he asked again.

  “Yes.”

  After another kiss, he handed her the glass again and stood. “I’ll tell my captain and arrange everything.”

  Gabi’s hands shook as she tilted the wine to her lips. She looked down to see her glass nearly empty. She glanced at the bottle and realized it, too, was almost gone.

  Had she really just agreed to eloping?

  She smiled, despite the twist in her gut. Making a decision on her own, without the guidance of her family, felt right. Besides, pushing up the date by a few months meant nothing.

  Not really.

  Chapter Twenty

  On some level, Meg realized she was in a hotel bed . . . but this one was moving. And since she’d graduated from college, hotel beds with magic fingers were no longer part of her circuit. Thank God.

  Still, her head moved up and down in a steady motion.

  Rome. That’s right, I’m in Italy.

  Her eyes popped open. Val.

  Sure enough, it wasn’t a dream. Her head was flat against Val’s chest, and from her angle, his chest was something to behold. Wavy, firm bits with a small dusting of hair. His Italian color along with living on a tropical island gave him a golden tan many strove for but seldom obtained.

  Doing her best to lie still and not wake her bed partner, she took stock of where all of her limbs were and what they were doing. She lay on her left side, her left arm curled between the two of them. Her right arm was shamelessly draped low on his chest, her right leg entwined with both of his. She couldn’t resemble a human blanket much more. Even in his sleep, Val hung on. His right hand rested on her hip . . . a hip completely exposed to his touch. Seemed her excuse for a nightgown wanted to ride up in the night. His other hand held her arm that lay over his chest.

  I don’t do sleepovers.

  Yet she was wrapped around him like lips sucking a lime after a tequila shot, and he was hanging on for the ride.

  Sleepovers meant commitment. There was nothing about Val that was committed. They hadn’t even slept together . . . well, slept, but not . . . she closed her eyes and burrowed a little deeper. How can he smell good after a full day of traveling and a night of sleep?

  Meg indulged in the feel and smell of him a little longer before forcing her eyes open for good. She attempted to pull her right hand out from under his only to have his fingers wrap around hers and pull her even tighter.

  “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

  “You’re awake?”

  “From the moment you opened your eyes.”

  Sh
e lifted her chin and found him staring at her. Good God, there should be a law against being as sexy as he was first thing in the morning.

  She smiled and didn’t worry about where her hair was sticking out, or the possibility of morning breath. “What are you doing in my bed, Masini?”

  He twisted enough so her leg slipped between his. “Cuddling with a beautiful woman.”

  “Sneaky of you. How did you manage to get in the room last night anyway?”

  “The perks of knowing the language, cara. Italy, Rome in particular, is a city of love and romance. A few short words open doors.”

  “And the greasing of palms?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “That doesn’t hurt either.”

  “So you bribed your way into my bed. I’m impressed.”

  He released her hand and placed a palm on her cheek.

  She spread her fingers and enjoyed the feel of his taut chest against her hand. Her thumb traced the edge of one particularly dominant muscle.

  He moved closer, offered a little moan with her touch.

  He sighed, his dark gaze held hers. “Now what will it take to make my way inside of you?”

  The image of the two of them embraced in passion swam into her head so suddenly she shivered.

  Her fingers sank into his flesh. “That’s easy.”

  The smirk on his face was a buck away from priceless. “Oh?”

  The tip of her thumb tracked his responding nipple and he hitched his breath. “All you have to do is ask.”

  He licked his lips over the smile on his face. With an attempt to be serious, he tried to stop grinning. “Cara . . .” He ran his hand down the side of her face and placed a feathered touch down her neck. “Bella, let me love you.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped with his request.

  Had anyone ever made love to her with words?

  Only Val.

  She answered him by placing her lips on his. When mint splashed on her tongue, she pulled away. “You don’t play fair. Mouthwash?”

  He pulled her back, kissed, tasted, and made all thoughts of morning breath float away. She sighed and let him lead. He held her hostage with his tongue, took his time worshiping her mouth. When he tired of her lips, or maybe he simply needed to breathe, he pushed her onto her back and started a slow dance down her neck, his free hand playing on her leg, her hip, bringing every nerve ending awake with his touch.

  Maybe she should rethink sleepovers.

  “Waking up with you has its perks,” she told him as he pushed her nightgown low and nibbled at the top of her breast. Her nipples tightened and offered themselves to him.

  His full hand rounded on her, brushed against her offering. “So does going to bed with me.” He nibbled her tip through her clothing. “Showering with me.”

  How could he suck through fabric? Everything tingled and she pushed her hips closer for some kind of contact. His knee offered some relief to the tight coil of need burning low in her belly.

  “Hot tubs,” she managed. “I like hot tubs.”

  A low laugh escaped his lips as he lifted her enough to drag her nightgown over her head.

  “Sei bellissima,” he said before he dipped his head for a solid taste.

  The scrape of the stubble on his chin added to the torment his tongue was delivering to her breasts. The slow, torturous ministration of her body raised her pulse and had her breathing heavier. So far, the tightness in her chest had yet to make itself known, even with her entire being winding like a child’s toy ready to spring.

  The weight of Val’s erection pressed against her stomach, and brought a bolt of lust low between her thighs.

  Meg dragged her nails down his back and met with the elastic of his boxers while she pressed her knee closer.

  Val murmured something in Italian before taking her lips again. His kiss lingered and he took his time. In the past, Meg would push forward, attempt to move a lover along to the finish line. Not with Val. Kissing half-naked like two young kids in the back of a car brought on its own pleasure she’d forgotten existed.

  They kissed, tasted, touched, and learned the places that brought the largest response from the other. He found her soft folds with a string of sensual Italian words.

  “You’re killing me,” she said when he didn’t hurry his touch.

  “Then we will die together, cara.”

  Using her foot, she helped his boxers make their way to the floor and teased Val as he teased her.

  He was hot, ready . . . and she scraped her nails over, under . . . around, but didn’t touch fully until Val offered her relief. His first stroke of his fingers against her most sensitive parts brought her off the bed, her heart thundering in her chest.

  “Easy. Slowly, bella.”

  Slow was good, her breath caught and she forced a deep breath. He swirled, stroked, brought her to the very edge of release, and backed off. Instead of pounding his chest in frustration, she returned his tease, took hold, and squeezed.

  He pushed into her hand, lost the control as she heard him suck in a tight breath.

  One minute she was beside him, the next under. She heard a wrapper, felt him move away far enough to cover himself, and knew she was safe. Val took hold of her hands and lifted them over her head.

  Bare to him, he shifted beside her open core. “Sei un dono,” he whispered as he moved inside.

  She stretched, took him, and sighed. “Oh, Val.” She closed her eyes for the pleasure of it.

  “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”

  Then he began to move. Just like his kiss, he built slow waves of pleasure until sensibility gave way to greedy need. She gripped his hips, wrapped her legs around his waist, and found another place of pleasure deep inside her own body that Meg didn’t know was there.

  Meg felt the moment Val lost it, the control he held so close was gone as he took and took from her, demanded her body respond. It did.

  Her breath tightened and her head grew dizzy as she shattered in her release. Val raced to keep up until they were both panting and limp.

  With Val half-dead on top of her, Meg threw her hand to the bedside table and fumbled around for her inhaler.

  Val snapped his head up, concern in his gaze.

  “I’m OK,” she insisted. “Just a tiny hit.”

  The pressure of his body was instantly gone, and severely missed. But she did find it easier to breathe with his weight off her.

  The medicine opened her lungs.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Poor man thought he’d killed her.

  She placed the inhaler on the table and pulled him back toward her. “I’m not.”

  “But your lungs—”

  “Are fine.” She sighed.

  He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him right as the sun started to rise over Rome.

  Margaret sang in the shower.

  Of course she sings in the shower. Did he expect anything different?

  He ran a comb through his hair after pulling on a casual shirt and a pair of slacks. He wondered, briefly, if the hotel had a clothing store that sold jeans.

  He smirked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. “Time for that later,” he told himself before he left Margaret’s room.

  With her singing . . . well, humming actually, with the water running in the private bathroom, he stepped into the common room of the suite and found the slightly surprised eyes of Michael, who was already enjoying a pot of coffee and a breakfast of fruit, cheese, and biscuits.

  “Why am I not surprised to see you walking out of Meg’s room?” Michael waved a hand to the seat beside him and lifted the carafe of coffee.

  A nod had Michael pouring the strong brew into a cup. “I flew to LA, heard you were both en route here. I was five hours behind you.”

  Michael pushed the coffee in front of Val once he took his seat. “That will wake you up,” he said after his first sip.

  “European coffee . . . nothing better.”

  The second sip sat better on Va
l’s tongue. “Colombian?”

  Michael tilted his head. “True. But who spends a lot of time down there?”

  “You have a point.”

  They talked about coffee, travel, and nibbled on a weak breakfast. “So why are we in Rome?” Val finally asked.

  Michael lifted his hand in the air, wagged two fingers in Val’s direction, and opened his mouth. “I don’t know if you want to hear this.”

  Val felt the smile on his face slip. “Why wouldn’t I want to hear it?”

  From behind him, Val heard Margaret’s voice. “Because we’re chasing a lead on your future brother-in-law.”

  Val wasn’t sure what was worse . . . the fact that Michael and Margaret were in Rome . . . in Italy . . . following up on Alonzo, or the fact that Val didn’t feel the hair on his neck rise. “Why?”

  Margaret and Michael exchanged glances.

  “It’s the wine,” Michael told him. “Something about his wine isn’t adding up.”

  Margaret stood aside, apprehensive about his reaction, if Val was reading her right. The woman he’d just made love to, had loved thoroughly, was nervous.

  He waved her over and patted his leg with a smile.

  She moved into his space and took his offered spot. Her skin was soap clean, her hair smelled like roses. There wasn’t a lick of makeup on her face and she was beautiful. Nervous, but beautiful.

  She sipped coffee from his cup and refilled it while Michael talked.

  Alonzo’s wine tasted familiar, according to Michael. Too familiar, like maybe the wine wasn’t made in the region of Italy that Alonzo claimed it to be. When Michael told Val about his time spent with a man who knew wine better than Val knew the business of vacation resorts and meddling Italian mamas, Val found himself questioning why Michael and Margaret flew all the way to Italy on a lead.

  “It’s all we have,” Margaret said as she offered him a buttered biscuit.

  “Alonzo’s wine tastes like the same brand you’re familiar with so you fly overseas to look into it?”

  There was another look passed between Michael and Margaret.

  “I don’t like him,” Margaret blurted out. “I don’t think he’s the right man for your sister. And I think he’s hiding something.”