Michael used the morning alone to sleep and consider his options. For a few brief moments the day before, he and Meg had blended with the world . . . yeah, he felt the eyes, the stares, but there were brief moments when no one approached them, no one questioned them.
Something else he saw, which he did whenever he hid in the crash of people . . . couples. Real couples. Not all of them matched the way society still felt was necessary. The image of those couples brought a wave of envy he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed lovers before.
He didn’t regret his life . . . how could he? He’d been sought after since before he was twenty years old. Hollywood, movie producers, and his fans made him a common name on the big screen. He loved his Hollywood life a good 95 percent of the time.
When he’d told Meg he wanted Hollywood and a love life, he’d done so without much thought. Since then he’d thought of nothing else. Here he was in arguably one of the most beautiful, peaceful places he’d been in years, and all he could do was want more.
Michael reached for the bedside phone and dialed in to his assistant. Tony answered on the third ring.
“Tony!”
“Damn, Michael . . . I thought you were shitting me about your cell phone being off.”
Michael might have been alarmed by Tony’s intensity, but that was a normal operating tone for the man. “Meg warned you.”
“Who takes away your cell phone? That’s terrorism, dude.”
Oh, the drama. “Tell me all the tabloids are free of my image.”
Tony laughed. “The price of no cell phone might work for you, but not for me. I’ve got nothing showing up. I’ve been watching, too.”
Meg had laid out instructions to Tony as if she were his client and not Michael. “We were in Key West all day yesterday . . . anything from there?”
“There were a few tweets, but nothing concrete.”
Michael felt a smile pulling at his lips. “You call the island if that changes.”
“I will. When will you be back?”
“I’m not coming back early.” Not if his plans worked the way he wanted them to.
“Enjoy, Michael. Let me know if you need anything on this end.”
“I will.”
Michael hung up and dialed another number. “Hey, Ryder, it’s Mike.”
Val half expected Meg to show up in a bikini, high heels, and red lipstick. As it was, she managed a sundress and simple sandals.
The red lipstick was a bonus.
She was alone.
Gabi greeted her at the gate; from the instant pout from his sister, Val knew Michael wouldn’t be joining them.
Wind kicked off the ocean, spraying the smoke from the barbeque right into his face. Val waved it away and managed his grill. He lowered the heat and closed the lid. When he glanced up, he noticed Margaret’s eyes on him.
She did the sweeping thing he’d done to her earlier in the day and offered a slight nod. Short-sleeved silk and cotton pants might seem overkill for a lunch barbeque, but it was cool and unstarched. He’d have to ask Carol how much starch was used in his suits and if it was really needed.
A hand slapped his back, snapping him out of the Margaret Rosenthal thrall. “You didn’t tell me you’d have so many beautiful guests.”
Val looked into the eyes of an old friend. “All my guests are beautiful.”
“And young . . . too young for my old ass.”
Val smiled. He’d met Jim the first six months after he’d opened the resort. Rest and relaxation were a tall order for the man who had said I don’t to his fifth wife. Problem was, the man didn’t know how to be single . . . didn’t know how to wait for the right woman. He was only in his early sixties, he’d raised a few kids, not all of them his, and had more experience in life than Val had in his big toe.
“Not all my guests are in their twenties,” Val told him.
Jim nodded toward Meg. “That one is.”
Yeah, Val knew . . . Margaret Rosenthal was a few months away from her twenty-seventh birthday. She looked it, too. The memory of her in a bikini staring up at him wouldn’t leave his brain anytime soon. How he’d managed to string two coherent sentences together by the pool, he’d never know. Still, he’d invited her, wondered if she’d bring her roommate, and planned on getting to know her a little better. He needed to know if she was behind the pictures, or if someone else was watching her.
Val heard the meat on his grill sizzle and lifted the lid to make sure he wasn’t charring their lunch.
“Oh my God, you’re Jim Lewis.”
Margaret had managed to cross the room in a breath. Only she wasn’t looking at Val, she was looking at Jim with star-filled eyes.
“And you’re my future wife.”
Margaret Rosenthal blushed. Her cheeks grew crimson in a flash, her smile more radiant than Val had yet seen. The green-eyed monster known as jealousy smacked him upside the head.
“Holy crap. Seriously? I meet Jim fucking Lewis on Fantasy Island and I can’t even take a picture?”
Jim let loose a belly laugh . . . and the man had a serious belly to offer a baritone that would rock Carnegie Hall.
“Those are the rules, Miss . . . ?”
“Meg. Holy shit.”
She extended her hand, blushed even further when Jim kissed the back of it.
“Meg? You just met him and he’s allowed to call you Meg?” Val couldn’t come up with anything else.
“I’m having a fan moment here, Masini. Let it go.”