“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

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.