Seduced by Sunday

Val stopped looking for his suitcase and stared at Judy. “Where did they go?”

“Italy.”

Rick shook his head. “Italy? Why?”

“Mike said he had a lead he wanted to follow up on. The two of them started talking and the next thing I knew Meg was asking me to water her plants . . . again.”

Well hell. “Did Gabi go with them?”

“Gabi left early this morning, said she was flying back home and then hooking up with her fiancé. She didn’t tell you?”

Val removed his cell from his pocket and released the airplane mode mandated on commercial flights. How could so many people have moved so far and wide in six hours? Sure enough, there was a text from Meg.

Taking a quick trip overseas. I’ll call when we land if it isn’t too late.

Then there was a voice message from his sister. “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m meeting Alonzo in Key West for a romantic weekend. Love you.”

Val watched as his suitcase rounded the corner of the rotating belt.

“Where in Italy?”

“They flew into Rome. I’m not sure where they’re staying. Sam might know.”

Val checked his briefcase, making sure his passport was inside. They left the arrival level of LAX and he rounded the stairway to the departure and ticketing floor.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked.

“Flying to Rome, apparently.” Val waved his cell phone in the air. “Call me when you find out where Margaret is staying.”

“But you just got off a plane,” Judy argued.

“If Michael and Margaret are following a lead in Italy, it might help if one of them spoke Italian.”

“He has a point,” Rick said.

“Any idea what kind of lead they have?” Val asked.

Judy shrugged. “Something about Alonzo’s wine tasting like someone else’s. That’s all I heard.”

“His wine?”

What do you have, Margaret?

Val moved to the escalator. “Call me,” he said, pointing to Rick.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Rick called after him.

“I’m chasing a girl to Italy.”

Rick tossed his head back with a healthy laugh. “Meg’s going to love that.”

Val wove his way through excited travelers, located the international airline he most often used and stood in line. Something told him he was in for a long night.

Her internal clock said it was four in the morning. The clocks in Rome said one in the afternoon.

She and Michael had a two-bedroom suite with a middle great room that overlooked the lights of Rome. They agreed to snag a couple of hours of sleep and then do their best to stay awake as long as possible, grab some food, come up with a plan, and head out first thing in the morning.

They were dragging their eyelids at nine in the evening, doing their best to move past the jet lag as soon as humanly possible.

Meg tossed her purse onto the coffee table when they stumbled into their room.

“I’m dead,” Michael managed.

“If you wake me before nine, I might not be responsible for my actions,” Meg warned.

Twelve hours of sleep sounded like a slice of heaven.

Michael managed a slight wave and headed to his room.

Meg moved into the bathroom inside her room by braille. She washed, brushed, and flushed before making her way to her bed. While in the process of unbuttoning her shirt, a grunt, or maybe it was a grumble, sounded from the other side of the room.

The room was lit by the lights of the city filtering in from the window. The outline of someone lying on her bed forced her eyes open.

She clicked the closest light and felt her heartbeat slow.

“Val,” she whispered.

What the? She’d sent a text when she’d arrived in Rome and hadn’t heard from him . . . assuming that he was in bed. In Florida.

In bed . . . but not Florida.

Lying on top of the sheets, he still wore a dress shirt, minus the tie; his slacks hid his long legs. A day’s worth of stubble stood out on his chin, his mouth was open a sliver as even breaths told her he was sound asleep. Equal parts sweet and sexy, she contemplated his presence.

Why was he there and why was he in her bed?

With a silly smile on her lips, she quietly turned off the light, retrieved her nightgown from her suitcase she’d yet to unpack, and slid quietly back into the bathroom to prepare for bed.

Meg pushed back the covers and slid under them. “Val?” she whispered his name again, wanted to wake him enough so he knew she was there. “Val?”

He mumbled something in Italian.

“Val?” Her voice was louder this time. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Cara?” He rolled toward her.

“What are you doing here, Masini?”

He didn’t open his eyes. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure he was even aware he spoke. “Airports . . . Italy . . . the rooms were full. So tired.”

She understood the last part. Exhaustion threatened her sanity. She moved close enough to reach his shirt and started to unbutton it. “Take this off, Val. You won’t sleep well in it.”

His hands followed hers even though his eyes were closed.

Half-dead, she admired the view as he sat up and shrugged out of his shirt.

He started to lie back and she kept him upright a little longer. “Pants. The belt in bed might be exciting another time . . . but not tonight.”

A smirk managed to cross his lips and one eye cracked open. Val’s next words were once again cloaked in Italian.

Val wore boxers was her thought before he moved under the covers beside her.