Seduced by Sunday (16 page)

“I don’t like the plan.” Val paced his private office, dismissing everything Meg proposed with a flick of his wrist.

“Do you have another one? Because I don’t think we’re any closer to finding who is behind this now than we were before your investigation.”

“Placing anyone in the spotlight for a photographer is a bad idea.”

“My God, Val, the man . . . or woman, has a camera, not a gun.”

“If pictures of you circulate, each time with a different man . . . that’s . . .”

“It’s what? My parents are self-proclaimed potheads, not preachers, or deacons of their church.”

Val nailed her with a hard stare. “I don’t like it and I won’t be part of it.”

Fine. She stood and grabbed her purse. He didn’t have to play kissing games with her, but that wouldn’t stop her from playing kissing games with others.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she walked past him.

“I’m getting ready for a late dinner . . . maybe a little dancing.”

“Margaret?”

“Stand by and watch, Masini. You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

He moved in front of her, blocking the door out. “
Cara
, please. There has to be another way to draw our photographer.”

She shoved around him. “When you come up with it, tell me.”

She heard him swearing . . . or at least that’s what she thought he was doing, hard to tell when he cursed in Italian. Maybe she should pick up the other language to be more socially acceptable with her potty mouth.

Meg patted herself on the back for her brilliance and made her way back to the villa she shared with two gorgeous men. Such a hardship . . .

Later, the three of them entered the dining room, the actor, the singer, and the reluctant costar. She wore the dress she’d arrived on the island with, her hair styled by one of the many spa specialists on the island. Late dinners were the norm and the dining room was
packed. Unlike when Michael and she had arrived the first night, for this one they went out of their way to make sure people saw them.

Meg leaned in to hear Ryder talk. “All we did was sit down and everyone is looking,” he said under his breath.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she whispered before leaning back and laughing, drawing more attention from the closest tables. She placed a hand on Ryder’s and left it there. “Oh, hon . . . you’re such a gem.”

Michael hid his grin behind the wine menu.

She leaned into Michael’s space and pretended to read the list. “Pick something that won’t give me a headache, won’t you?”

“Italian wines are better for that.” He tapped his finger on the menu. “Should we try more of Picano’s?”

“You tell me.”

“There was something familiar about the bottle we had that first night.”

“That’s because all wine tastes the same.” At least in her humble opinion.

“I’ll make you eat those words,” Michael said with a laugh.

“Don’t you mean, drink?”

“He’s ruthless about his wine, Meg,” Ryder said.

She knew that already. Michael talked to the waiter about his wine selection while one of the hotel guests made their way to the table. “It’s Miss Rosenthal, right?”

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the woman asking the question.

“I just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed your performance last night.”

Meg took the compliment gracefully and turned back to Ryder and Michael once the lady returned to her seat.

“Do you know who that was?” Michael asked.

“No idea.”

Another couple stopped by their table to express their appreciation of the previous evening’s entertainment as they left the restaurant.

“I guess it’s not going to be that hard to catch the attention of just about anyone looking,” Meg said.

The wine was brought to the table and some fuss was made before Michael approved.

Michael looked into his glass as if it held truth-seeing tea leaves that would tell him his future.

“It tastes like wine,” Meg said.

“I’ve never heard of this label, but the taste is familiar.”

“Squished grapes, Mike.” Ryder sipped his wine and winked at Meg.

“I don’t get it either,” Meg said.

They moved through their first course and Michael ordered a second bottle of wine, and pondered it again.

Meg let Ryder and Michael drink the majority of the wine, choosing to keep her brain clear for the rest of the night. They enjoyed their meal without interruption or drama. Meg made sure her laughs were a little larger than life, and once the boys were through half of the second bottle of wine, they were well on their way to being an active part of the evening.

The DJ music was loud and there were several couples on the dance floor. The three of them stood around a tall table and Meg ordered a vodka on the rocks. She hit the dance floor before the drink had a chance to arrive. Once she was there, she turned to Michael and Ryder and waved one finger toward herself.

Ryder nudged Michael and he joined her . . . as planned.

She wasn’t that great of a dancer, but Michael knew his way around a dance floor. The music was fast, sexy . . . perfect.

When Ryder cut in there were a few glances their way.

Meg laughed, larger than life.

Ryder put Michael to shame. At one point, she felt his hand on her ass right before he spun her away.

He led her back to their table and waved the waiter over for water and another round of drinks.

After another dance, Michael pulled her outside for a brief moment of fresh air. She took her drink with her and promptly left it on the nearest outside table before he drew her away from the crowd. “This far enough?”

She pretended to stumble. He caught her. “Careful, hon.”

He nuzzled her neck as a lover might. “Careful, Michael . . . wouldn’t want Ryder to get nervous.”

He laughed, grabbed her head with both hands, and laid one on her. It was nice, she had to admit . . . but this was a friend, and other than the physical, she felt nothing. “That should do it,” he said before releasing her.

“No wonder you’re paid big money.”

He wrapped his hand around her and walked back into the club.

All the while, she scanned the bar for one set of eyes and didn’t see them. Not until Ryder was whispering in her ear in the ruse of luring her back inside after an innocent kiss.

“Having a good time?” Val asked as he stepped up to the table.

He knew the game, but he still looked at her with a scrutiny that was afforded the father of a teenage daughter.

She leaned into him, kissed his cheek. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

His jaw tightened. “Some of the guests wanted an encore.” He motioned toward the stage where one of the employees was uncovering the keyboard.

Meg narrowed her gaze. “You want me to sing for you?”

He pushed her glass away from her when she reached for it. “Before you’re unable to.”

Meg tossed her head back and laughed, and then handed her glass to him with a whisper. “Hard to get drunk drinking water, Masini.”

Vodka wasn’t the evening’s drink by accident. Funny how water and vodka looked alike to anyone watching from far away with a camera.

“Well?” he asked after taking a sip of her water and lifting the edge of his lips in a grin.

Meg lifted a hand to the stage. “Someone needs to introduce me, Valentino.”

He leaned close so only she could hear him. “Why do I feel like a black widow is crawling over my skin,
cara
?”

She pulled him close with his tie, straightened it. “You worry too much.”

Val was the perfect host. He thanked everyone for coming, let the lighting change in the room long enough to invite Meg to the stage.

Once the audience loosened their hold on their applause, Meg made sure she had everyone’s attention.

“You’d think I’d have a break on my room rate for all the perks I’m giving you, Masini.”

He surprised her with his response. “I’ve been watching your bar bill, Margaret. I think we’re even.”

She laughed. “Which reminds me . . . I could use another round.” She turned on the keyboard, ran through a couple of chords, and made a downward motion to the tech, making sure the sound didn’t push away anyone listening.

“I do my best work after a few drinks.”

Michael laughed above the crowd. She pointed a finger in his direction. “Enough from you.”

The crowd laughed, and within thirty seconds, a vodka on the rocks was sitting on the keyboard.

“I have to admit, Masini . . . this island is beautiful.” She kept talking, the sound of the mic too tinny for her. The sound guy stood in the back of the room and adjusted levels with every word she said. She sipped her drink, added a bit of courage.

The people in the room clapped and she kept talking and adjusting the keyboard. The chords started to sound like an organ, but not something inside a church . . . more like a nightclub. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a few brass players and a guitar.

“However, I might need therapy after so much time away from the Internet.”

“Hear, hear!”

The room exploded with laughter and a chorus of praise for her observation.

Val leaned against the bar and crossed his arms over his chest.

Last night . . . last night the song, the experience was for her. The love of singing with Jim Lewis wasn’t something she’d ever forget.

Tonight . . .

She started the song . . . waited for the moment the audience realized what she was singing, and stared directly at Val as she gave life to “My Funny Valentine.”

Chapter Thirteen

He’d watched as Wolfe pulled her outside and kissed her. Looked convincing enough for him. Ryder did the job with a tiny fumble. Still . . . it killed him to watch. Val could count on zero fingers how many times it bothered him to watch a woman he’d kissed kiss another man. Well, there was Lissa and Philip in fifth grade, but that didn’t really count. Besides, he had been friends with Philip much longer than he’d wanted to kiss on Lissa.

Now Margaret stood onstage singing. There was no doubt she meant the song for him. Though he didn’t think his looks were laughable, and neither did the snarky crowd, there wasn’t any doubt in anyone’s head that Valentine stood in place for Valentino.

Every cell in his body fired in unison as Meg finished the song.

“Thank you.” She offered a strangely demure bow and left the stage. The DJ cued up a slow song and jumped right in to keep the room alive.

Several people stopped Meg before she wound her way toward her table.

Val cut her off.

More eyes were on them than he would have liked as he took her in hand and dragged her outside.

He walked her around the corner, down a dark hall . . . outside to a location not accessible by many.

She was against the wall, his lips possessing hers before any logical thought could stop him. Good Lord, she was soft and smelled like a breeze off the ocean in spring.

Meg moaned and moved into him. He looked to find her eyes closed, her body lax against his.

This wasn’t a kiss for a camera, he told himself . . . this was a kiss for him. The taste of her filled him, made him crave more. He stroked the back of her neck, tilted her, and moved his lips over the beating pulse at her throat and ran his tongue down the length of it.

Nails in his back were his reward.

He found the curve of her hip, traveled lower until he met the hem of her dress.

He was lost . . . knew control wasn’t a part of his soul at that moment when he searched her thigh to simply learn her body, learn what she desired.

Meg’s head snapped back and hit the wall with a tiny crack.

“Crap.”

Her expletive stopped the movement of his hand, made him remember how public they were.

Val pulled her away from the wall, ran a hand to the back of her head. “Are you OK?”

She graced him with a lick of her lips. “A little warning, Masini.” Her breaths were short pants that lifted her full breasts closer to him with every inhale.

Meg took a slow breath. He didn’t hear a wheeze as he had the night before.

Confident that she wasn’t in danger of suffocating or needing
medical attention for a concussion, he eased his grip and placed a hand to the side of her face. “You sing like an angel,
bella
.”