Seduced by Sunday Read Free

like Rick.” Judy’s husband was a Marine . . . well, former, retired, or whatever it was he called it. He said things like
recon mission
all the time.
    “Isn’t that what it is?”
    Meg packed the side pockets of her suitcase with a couple of bathing suits.
    “I suggested four days, Michael wanted a week. Between him and Samantha, they’re buying. Who am I to say no?”
    Judy pushed off the bed and moved to the closet. “You need more summer dresses. It’s going to be hot and humid.”
    Having grown up in Washington State, where moss grew on every side of a stone, owning a pair of sandals, as in one pair, was more than enough for the summer. Adjusting to the California sun had been a pleasure, but Meg still hadn’t embraced summer dresses to the extent Judy had.
    “Michael and I are going shopping during the layover in Dallas. If we don’t find everything I need, then I’ll have Michael take me to Key West.”
    “Won’t that compromise your privacy?”
    Meg wiggled her eyebrows, did her best
I’m devious
impression. “It will. I’ll be interested to see how the resort will handle an onslaught of lookie-loos boating up the Keys to catch a glimpse of Michael. If they can keep the cameras offshore, then I might have found the right place to recommend that our clients honeymoon.”
    “What keeps you from texting pictures or hooking up with social media?”
    “You hand over your cells when you arrive. If you want to make a call, there are phones in your room and around the resort. You’re not completely unplugged, but as close as you can be and still live in this century.”
    “No cell phones? That’s crazy.”
    “I know.”
    “You’ll have to charter something and head to Key West. I think you’ll go nuts on a private island without the Internet.”
    Meg shoved several pairs of shorts next to her bathing suits. “The lack of Internet isn’t my concern. It’s the week with stuffy people that I find troubling.”
    “How do you know they’re stuffy?”
    “They’re hiding. Chances are they’ll either be holed up in their bungalows banging someone they shouldn’t be, or holding their chins high and flaunting their wealth or fame. The place is stupid expensive.”
    “Not everyone with money is stuck-up.”
    “Did we ever meet any of Michael’s neighbors when we were living in his house?”
    Judy wrinkled her nose.
    “Exactly.” They’d lived in the Beverly Hills estate for eight months when they’d both moved to the state. Meg remembered talking with the hired help in the neighborhood, but not the owners.
    Of course, many of them were like Michael . . . not home very often.
    “Michael knows how to party. He doesn’t know how to hide in the background. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
    Meg shrugged. She wasn’t going there for the ultimate vacation. She planned on finding the resort’s flaws. After waiting nearly two months for an approval from Valentino Masini, the man, and his hotel, deserved a microscopic test.
    She planned on delivering it.

    Val Masini tapped the edges of the last e-mail he’d printed out from Miss Rosenthal against his palm before checking his watch. Hedidn’t always meet his guests on the tarmac, but for Miss Rosenthal and Mr. Wolfe, he’d make an exception.
    He’d personally made the phone call to the first lady of California, half expecting a fraud to answer his call.
    He’d been wrong.
    In fact, Eliza Billings not only told him that Margaret Rosenthal was everything she claimed to be, but that if Valentino Masini knew what was good for him, he’d be on his best behavior during Margaret’s stay.
    Miss Rosenthal alone had the power to bring him a client base that would prove lucrative for years to come. Since word of mouth was how Val made Sapore di Amore thrive, he needed voices singing his praises. Even if that voice belonged to the snarky woman who delivered stinging letters.
    “Gabi?” Val knocked on the door to his sister’s