She really hoped he hadn’t seen through her dark sunglasses. Getting caught checking out his butt would have completely shattered the image she was trying to portray.
Masini’s face looked like it belonged to a man who lived on an island. His clothes, however, were a different story. She wondered if he wore the uptight suit all the time. A farmer’s tan on that body would be a crime.
He’s still an ass, she reminded herself.
Meg smoothed a hand over her waist, happy she and Michael had a little shopping spree during the necessary layover in Dallas.
“No girlfriend of mine would walk around in ordinary shorts and flip-flops,” Michael had told her.
The 1920s vintage look was a last-minute decision. Surprisingly, Meg liked it. The dress made her feel like finding a dark, smoky bar with an open mic. She wondered, briefly, if there was such a nightclub on the island. Or maybe Key West.
“Well, he’s sexy. Love the accent.”
Meg hated that she’d noticed. Valentino was a good six one, his hair was coal black, his face clean-shaven. He’d be hard to resist with a little stubble on his chin. Then there was the way he stared with his dark, smoldering eyes. Meg found herself sucking in a frustrated breath.
“Maybe you two can hook up,” she told Michael.
“Oh, hon . . . he’s straight. Guaran-ass-teed. His eyes were on you, not me.”
“He wasn’t looking at me.”
“Ha!” Michael’s laugh filled the room.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
An attendant placed their luggage in one of the bedrooms, and after Michael attempted to tip the man, he shook his head and promptly left.
“He didn’t even blink. Do you think he recognized you?” Meg asked.
“I couldn’t tell.”
Meg moved to take her suitcase off the folding stand. “I’ll set up in the other bedroom.”
“This one’s larger, you take it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Michael hoisted his case and moved toward the second bedroom.
“Won’t the maid become suspicious?”
“Isn’t that the point of being here? Find the possible breach in their system so your clients know what they’re walking into?” Michael said.
He had a point.
“Fine.” She unzipped her suitcase. “The closet in here is bigger anyway. I need it for all the crap you bought me.”
Michael offered his Hollywood smile and walked away.
Secretly, Meg hoped Sapore di Amore was everything Masini boasted it was. Truth was, if Michael managed to keep his lifestyle hidden on the island, Meg saw him returning with a lover. Even in this century, Hollywood liked their ladies’ men straight. Since Michael earned a small fortune with every action film he shot, he wasn’t about to reveal his lifestyle anytime soon. Then there was Alliance. Meg and Samantha had both jumped at the idea of a private island that could house their clients after their weddings.
“What do you want to do first?” she asked through the open doors while she hung up her clothes.
“I say we check the place out, see for ourselves just how secluded Sapore di Amore is.”
Meg moved into the adjoining bathroom and placed her toiletries on the counter. The medication she took to control her asthma came next; she placed an inhaler inside her small clutch and zipped it closed.
She took in her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was heavier than she normally wore. She made kissy lips and marveled at how well the lipstick stayed on. They’d taken a private charter from Miami to the island, but she’d applied the lipstick in Texas. That had been hours ago. “I can use a drink.”
“Me, too.”
She turned around and attempted to reach the zipper of her dress behind her back. After three attempts, she gave up and walked to Michael’s room. She presented her back. “You talked me into this thing but a girl needs to breathe.”
The zipper went down and Michael gave her a little shove. “You look great in it.”
“I’m not a girlie girl, but I have to admit, I like it, too.”
After changing into one of her new sundresses, a simple orange number, and sandals instead of flip-flops, she grabbed her clutch and met Michael in the living room. He’d changed into a short-sleeved silk shirt and cotton shorts. Even with the big-rimmed glasses, there was no hiding his identity.
She placed her sunglasses on her nose and stepped beside him. “Ready?”
There were still a couple of hours until dinner and the high sun was starting to ease its way down.
They followed the walking paths instead of the beach route. Each of the private villas hid behind a beautifully landscaped greenbelt.
The main building was a sprawling two-story structure with open balconies with both vacationing patrons and employees milling about. The swimming pool meandered around makeshift islands, complete with water falling into it from what appeared to be a man-made stream.
Island music spilled from hidden speakers. Like with any high-end resort, waiters walked around the pool, filling drink orders and bringing fresh towels.
A few heads turned their way when they found a high table close to the outside bar.
Meg noticed at least one woman lounging by the pool point their way. It wasn’t possible to go unnoticed, the question was how people would react.
A waiter, probably in his midtwenties, and extremely cute in a boyish kind of way, placed two napkins in front of them within seconds. “Welcome to Sapore di Amore,” he greeted them. “My name is Ben and I’ll be serving you while you’re by the pool.”