Seduced by Sunday

by Catherine Bybee

  Val saw the pain behind Margaret’s eyes and realized she’d been in this position before.

  Instead of making her relive her past, Val tried to answer the questions he could. “Alonzo is Italian. Marrying my sister could eventually pave his way to citizenship, but he’s never said a thing about wanting that. If anything, he liked that she was an American while he based himself here in Italy.”

  “But if he doesn’t stay at the winery, where does he live when he’s here?” Michael asked.

  Margaret sighed and picked up her fork again while she listened.

  “I couldn’t tell you that,” Val said between bites.

  “I’ll call Rick and Judy in the morning with an update,” Margaret said. “Maybe Rick can find out.”

  “As for money . . . I’ve always provided for Gabi. I started the island with the net worth of my father. In reality, the island and all its proceeds, are a third hers. Though it’s not something we discuss. She knows she never has to worry about money.”

  “Does Alonzo know this?” Michael asked.

  “I never discussed it with him . . . I can’t speak for Gabi.” Which gave another dark mark against the man if Gabi had told Alonzo of their arrangement.

  “So money could be a motivator.”

  The three of them managed to put some food into their systems, and blew through a bottle of wine before giving up on the illusion of eating.

  Less than a half hour later, Margaret rested her head in the crook of Val’s arm. The only light in the room glistened from the lights of Rome.

  “Remind me to come back here,” she said as he played with her bare arm. “The city looks beautiful.”

  “You’ve never been?”

  Margaret offered a chuckle. “I grew up in rain-soaked Washington State. The only travel I’ve managed has been because of my job . . . well, that and Judy. I’ve been to her hometown, which makes mine look like New York.”

  “That small?”

  “I’ve read about small towns . . . but nothing holds a candle to Hilton, Utah. I understand why three of the five Gardner kids moved away.”

  “Gardner?”

  “That’s Michael’s given last name. Wolfe is for the movies.”

  Val seemed to remember something about a second name for the actor, but hadn’t committed it to memory.

  “Rome is beautiful. So rich with history. Architecture . . . Judy would give her left tit to wander the streets.”

  Val laughed. “Her left tit, really?”

  “She’s a total geek when it comes to architecture. I can’t tell you how many museums she dragged me to in college.” Margaret went on to tell about her college experience with Michael’s sister. “I made her hit a bunch of dive bars with amazing bands and what does she do? She hustles pool and makes the most of it. Brat.” There wasn’t an ounce of bite in Margaret’s words.

  “Sounds like the best of friends.”

  “We are. I’m lucky. And she wore off on me. I have a crazy desire to visit the Vatican and see Michelangelo’s work. And I don’t even like that stuff.”

  Val kissed the top of her head. “Then we’ll return. See the city and everything your I don’t like this stuff heart desires.”

  Margaret sighed, as if she wanted to say something and held back, then said, “Well, I’m lucky to have Judy. That became acutely evident when Gabi told me she didn’t have a close friend. If I knew your sister before she met Alonzo, I would have told her she could do better from day one.”

  Val closed his eyes against her words. “I should have—”

  “No. Val, it’s a girl thing. Men don’t see things the way women do. You approved a portfolio . . . women approve the person, then ask about if the man is a decent financial match.” Margaret groaned. “God that sounded superficial.”

  “No need to apologize. A man should meet the financial needs of his wife, his family.”

  She shook her head. “You’re such an old-fashioned man. I don’t think it matters. What matters is two people working together to make their life work for the right reasons. It wouldn’t bode well for Gabi to hook up with a man who sits on the couch and talks about getting a job one day.”

  “Or a man who might be making money illegally.”

  His words rested between them.

  “We’ll find them,” Margaret said. “We’ll find them and question Alonzo until he’s within an inch of his life. We have more doubt than Gabi has ever had. Chances are, the questions alone will make her pause and ask if this is truly the man for her.”

  He hoped so . . . after the questions in his head, Val didn’t want Alonzo anywhere near his sister. How could he have been so blind? Gabi was with the man now . . . somewhere . . . alone.

  “Hey, stop it!”

  Margaret sat up and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “You’re beating yourself up. Stop it.”

  “You’re pushy.”

  “Says the man who showed up in my bed without an invite last night.”

  Had it only been one night? Seemed longer with the events of the day.

  “Best idea ever.”

  Margaret seemed to debate his words before leaning over him, hovering an inch above his lips. “It didn’t suck.”

  She kissed him. Pushed her luscious lips against his with purpose and drove all thoughts of dirty vineyards, espionage, and his sister far from his brain.

  I’m shallow . . . so shallow. He was instantly hard, his body buzzed with want. He should have been tired, dozing away to la-la land instead of taking the Margaret carpet ride. And since when did he refer to making love as a magic carpet ride? The woman kissing him was seeping into his life by slow degrees, and he liked it.

  The woman seduced him. Where he should have been to church, praying to whoever was listening to watch over his sister, he was seduced within a breath of life. All because Margaret wiggled her way into his life and took it over.

  She ran her fingertips over his chest, played briefly with his nipples, before moving south. All the while she inspected every molar with her tongue, lapped him up whole. There was nothing timid about her touch, her kiss.

  Yet every second he listened for her breath. Was she moving too fast, was her heart beating too fast? Would he have to stop her seduction?

  Those thoughts vanished when she moved her talented mouth over his jaw. “Love the shadow, so sexy . . .” she murmured.

  “I’ll throw away my shaver.” Her smooth leg ran between his and against his length. “Merda!”

  She giggled and ran her nimble fingers under his boxers. “I’m not sure if you’re cussing or whispering sweet nothings.”

  Cussing, but at his own lack of self-control.

  Margaret kicked the covers to the end of the bed and carefully peeled away his shorts. The woman was on a mission, he saw her dedication long before she knelt over him.

  “This is impressive, Masini.”

  He clutched the sheets in his hands when she teased him with her fingers. She found a thick vein and traced it until a stream of cussing caught in his throat.

  When her mouth replaced her hand, his hips left the bed.

  She took him slowly, teasing with her tongue, a gentle scrape of her teeth . . . when she moaned, pleasure shot through him so completely, he felt a cresting wave of release building to the point of explosion.

  He told her to hold back, said to stop, while matching her pace with his hips. As his wave shot over, he realized, too late, that he was speaking in Italian.

  Margaret’s eyes met his and held them when he came.

  The room spun until he couldn’t keep his lids open. “I’m sorry, bella . . . I should have waited.”

  When he opened his eyes again, she was grinning and running her index finger over her moist lips.

  “Apologizing for losing control isn’t allowed. I like it.”

  Without warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and twisted her under him. “My turn.”

  “Uh-oh . . .”

>   He pulled her nightgown over her head, noticed her lack of panties, and thanked whatever god sent her his way. “Be afraid,” he teased her, his lips close to her ear.

  The back of her ear made her squirm, especially when he dragged his unshaven jaw over her neck.

  He took his time, worshiped her with his lips, his tongue, until he was exactly where he wanted to be. She was warm, beautiful, and he told her with words, and showed her with action.

  Margaret cussed and opened for him to taste and explore.

  He did, every lovely taste until she couldn’t talk at all. When she shattered, called his name, he brought her back slowly, only to climb on top to claim her again.

  He nestled between her legs, loved the feel of her ankles crossing over his back. “I want you to moan my name again, cara.”

  “Demanding.”

  He kissed her, tasted himself on her lips, knew his tongue carried her scent. There was nothing easy about how he moved on her. He gripped her hips and took until the brink of his orgasm.

  Her nails crawled over his back, squeezed his ass, forced him to where she needed him most, and matched every thrust. She shattered, clenching him deep inside her, forcing him to follow.

  “I . . . God,” she muttered.

  He reached over to the side table, found her inhaler.

  She laughed into his shoulder. “I’m good.” She flopped her arms to the side in surrender. “So good.”

  They returned to the universe slowly. He rolled away enough to position her head on his arm to cradle her.

  “We’re making a habit of this,” she said.

  “If I have anything to say about it, we are.”

  “We are really good at this part.”

  Exhaustion started to set in as they talked themselves to sleep. “We’re good at other parts, too. We just haven’t explored many of them yet.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Her breaths were slower now. “I don’t do sleepovers.”

  He closed his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

  “Oh?” She was nearly asleep.

  “One of us is going to be deeply disappointed.”

  “Hmmm . . .”

  And it’s not going to be me.

  The phone ringing in the dead of night never boded well for anyone. Michael reached across the bed and answered his cell.

  “Yeah?”

  “Holy shit, Michael, where are you?”

  Tony! His manager, personal assistant, and whatever Michael could make up for him to do, was yelling into the phone.

  “Someplace where it’s the middle of the night. What do you need?”

  “Are you really in Italy? The e-mail said Italy.”

  Michael pushed himself up in the bed, twisted on the bedside light, and closed his eyes to the blinding intrusion to his senses. “What e-mail?” He hadn’t sent Tony anything. The decision to get on the plane was last-minute.

  “This could be bad . . . tell me you’re there with a woman.”

  “What are you blabbing about, Tony? Slow down and start at the beginning.”

  “Someone sent me an e-mail. Told me to motivate you out of Italy if I wanted your career to continue. They said they had pictures, Michael. Said you, and your friend, would be looking for new jobs if you didn’t fly home and keep your nose where it fucking belongs. It even said fucking belongs.”

  Michael woke instantly.

  “Jesus. You’re with a woman, right?”

  “Kinda. Meg’s here.”

  Tony blew out a sigh.

  “With her new boyfriend.”

  “Son of a . . .”

  Michael always wondered if Tony suspected something. Neither of them talked about it, didn’t try and double date . . . nothing like that. He hinted that if Michael needed media control, he’d work to spin whatever evolved from the tabloids.

  “Did you see any pictures?”

  “No! Could there be pictures?”

  Michael hated that he needed to answer the question. “Never know. The island was crazy.”

  “OK. We’ll handle this. I’ll handle this.”

  Michael kicked off the covers, made his way to the closet, and grabbed his suitcase. “I need to know what you know when it happens . . . no matter what it is.”

  “Got it. You coming home?”

  “Eventually. I need to stop in Utah first.” Jesus . . . Ryder didn’t sign on for this. And if pictures did circulate . . . Michael’s father would see them.

  “I gotta go,” he told Tony.

  “Go. Get on a plane. Is there anyone here I need to call, anyone who can work with us to spin this?”

  This isn’t happening! “Yeah, call Karen and Zach. Tell them what you told me. Send the e-mail to Rick, see if he can trace it. Don’t talk to anyone other than my family . . . and only the family that’s in California.”

  “Got it. All right.”

  Poor Tony was going to have a heart attack, or a stroke. Or maybe that was him.

  Michael clicked off the call and tossed the phone on the bed before shoving his clothes in his bag.

  He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and tossed his toiletries in his bag before leaving his room.

  Val stood in the living room of their suite, swathed in a bathrobe. “I thought I heard you.”

  Michael stopped, dropped his suitcase, ran a hand through his hair. “My manager called me.” He took a minute to explain the conversation. Watched as Val’s eyes grew cold. “I don’t know who sent the message. But someone knows we’re here, knows we’re looking.”

  Val’s brows pinched together. “This is my fault.”

  Michael shook his head. “This is the fault of the man behind the camera.”

  “Alonzo.”

  “We don’t know that for certain.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re at risk because I didn’t stand up to my promise.”

  It would be so easy to blame someone else . . . but Michael wasn’t brought up that way, and couldn’t let Val take the heat for this one.

  “I’m gay. I’ve hidden that fact from every movie-ticket-buying fan, my parents, my friends . . . I’ve had a good run. I can survive this. I will survive this.” As the words poured out, Michael knew they were true. “It will devastate Ryder, and destroy my trust with my parents. I need twenty-four hours to make this right with the people I love. Then we can spin this to work for all of us.”

  Val didn’t look convinced.

  “Go back to bed,” Michael told his new friend. “In the morning, find your sister and drag her the hell away from this man. If he is the one behind this, he’s willing to take on Hollywood, Florida, and a few spots in the UK to get what he wants.”

  “Taking me down isn’t worth your millions.”

  “And I’m nothing compared to Alliance.”

  “Alliance?”

  “Meg’s boss . . . the man is fucking with a duke. Blake loves his wife, and when someone messes with her . . . God help him.”

  “Sounds like someone I should meet.”

  Michael smiled for the first time that night. “Make Meg happy and you will.” Michael stuck his hand out, shook Val’s. “Call with any news.”

  “Same to you.”

  Michael offered a quick nod, picked up his suitcase, and left Italy without a backward glance.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gabi wanted off the boat . . .

  She’d been popping Alonzo’s aspirin for four days just to open her eyes. If he noticed how awful she felt, he didn’t comment. He fed her, tucked her into bed, and offered to relieve her of the headaches that had been constant since they married.

  Maybe she was allergic to marriage?

  She wanted to think it was the yacht. Which wasn’t good either, but better than the man.

  She stood on the deck, dark sunglasses hiding the sun from her eyes, a floppy hat on her head. The island Alonzo deemed their private honeymoon site was on a slow approach. He wanted to give her time off the yacht to see if her headaches would subside. She knew as t
hey drew closer to the island that it wasn’t inhabited. Alonzo told her that he’d come across the island on his many trips in the area, and thought it would be the perfect spot to rest overnight, see if her headaches would finally go away.

  “Motion sickness isn’t always in the form of an upset stomach,” he’d told her.

  At this point, she was willing to try anything.

  The captain maneuvered the yacht into a small cove like he’d done so many times.

  “Where are we, exactly?” Gabi asked as Alonzo helped her into the small dinghy that would take them to the shore.

  Alonzo hesitated, then said, “South of Cuba.” She sat and dipped her hand into the warm water. “I thought we were headed toward the Bahamas.”

  Alonzo shook his head, offered a placating smile. “This was our destination all along. I wanted to share this with you.”

  Gabi was fairly certain it didn’t take four full days and nights to maneuver around Cuba but didn’t question him further.

  The small boat carried the two of them and two crew members to the shore.

  In a few short minutes, Alonzo was helping her step onto the beach where hot sand and salt water met her toes. Standing up made her dizzy. If not for her husband’s shoulder, she would have fallen.

  “I feel like I’m still on the yacht.”

  “Sea legs. It will settle, don’t worry. Let’s move you to the shade while I have my men set up camp for us.”

  The small beach wasn’t combed like that on her brother’s island, and she had to pick her way carefully to avoid cutting her feet on seashells.

  They met the edge of the island foliage and Alonzo spread out a blanket. Once she was settled, he went back to the slip to retrieve a small ice chest and brought it to her side. “Here.” He opened what looked like an electrolyte drink and handed it to her.

  She sipped and winced. “Salty.”

  “You’re probably dehydrated. This should help.”

  “You’re so thoughtful. I’m not normally like this.”

  He brushed off her concern with a wink and walked away. After an exchange of words with his crew, the other men left the two of them alone on the shore.