Not on this night. This night he wished for the counsel of his father and could only hope he was somewhere silently guiding him.
He’d been a young man when his father had passed. He had been finishing up his last year in high school and remembered in vivid color the last look his father had given him.
Val wanted to spend time with his friends, celebrate life as any seventeen-year-old would. His father understood, but didn’t completely approve. Some of Val’s friends at the time went on to do a little time. Not that he fell into the crowd, but growing up in a big city like New York, it was hard not to know kids from all walks of life. His parents had provided well for him and Gabi, but they certainly didn’t live on Park Avenue.
Still, there had been one look between Val and his father, the night Masini senior had died of a heart attack, that stayed with Val his entire life. Val was running out the door with his friends and his father stopped him with an out-of-place hug. When he pulled away, he stared into Val’s eyes. His look said two things: I trust you. I depend on you. Now, years later, the feeling inside his veins matched that of one so many years before. He longed to trust and depend. On someone.
He walked past the Rosenthal/Wolfe villa and tried hard not to stare. Lights were on in the back of the house, but those in the front were dark.
Cameras wouldn’t catch anything tonight.
Tomorrow, however, was an entirely different story.
The next morning, long before the sun rose, Val sipped his first cup of coffee for the day and opened his e-mail.
A picture of himself popped up. Val saw himself staring into the darkened Wolfe villa, the sea at his back.
A shadow fell over her, drawing Meg’s attention from the nap she was trying to take. It might have been unfortunate that she opened her eyes to find a pair of dress pants with a rather impressive bulge hiding the sun, but Meg found herself tearing her gaze away to follow the overdressed path to broad shoulders, partially shaven face . . . dark eyes. “Mr. Masini.”
“Miss Rosenthal.”
“You’re a little overdressed for the pool, don’t you think?”
The weight of his eyes traveled over her exposed skin. The bikini hid the important parts, but didn’t leave a ton to the imagination. She couldn’t tell if Val’s lips twitched with admiration for what he saw, or disapproval. Either way, she felt a little like a Catholic schoolgirl who’d shown up for the first day of school with the wrong uniform . . . which had actually happened to her before her parents decided to ignore her grandparents’ suggestion and that public school might prove best.
His gaze lingered on her thighs and Meg felt the need to squirm. Instead, she simply called the man out. “You’re staring, Mr. Masini.”
He jolted as if his own personal earthquake woke him. “Please, call me Val.”
“We’re on a first-name basis now?”
Val rocked back, placed his hands into his pockets as if he didn’t know what to do with them.
He’d been nothing short of cocky since before she’d arrived . . . this new look suited her just fine.
“I welcome all my guests to use my name.”
“Yet you don’t go by Valentino. I’d think you’d prefer only friends call you Val.”
“Are we not friends?”
Meg couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Sure, Val, let’s be friends . . . you can call me Margaret. Miss Rosenthal reminds me of my great-aunt who never married.”
His eyes laughed even though his lips didn’t. “Don’t you use Meg?”
“Let’s not push it, Val.”
The man laughed.
And damn, it was a sexy, throaty laugh that brought some of her girlie parts to life.
“Now that we have the name thing figured out, why are you standing over me wearing a three-piece suit while I’m in next to nothing?”
Val’s laugh dried up and he licked his lips. Poor guy really didn’t stand a chance with her. He had to be politically correct while she could dig and dig.
Meg loved digging.
“I wanted to extend an invitation for you and Mr. Wolfe for lunch.”
She lifted her knee, noticed his eyes travel. “Lunch?”
“Yes, that would be the meal between breakfast and dinner.”
Maybe she wasn’t the only one who could dig.
“I can’t speak for Michael. He’s sleeping off yesterday’s tequila from Key West.”
“Ah, yes . . . how was your trip off island?”
“Fun, actually. I’d never been.”
Some of the humor left Val’s face. “About lunch?”
“Is this a formal meal?” She purposely let her eyes travel over his suit. “I have to tell you, midday dress-up while on vacation holds little appeal for me.”
“Casual.”
“You mean you own clothes without starch?”
He tugged on his collar. “I live on an island, Margaret, of course.”
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