Gabi smoothed back her hair once the golf cart came to a complete stop.
Val offered his hand to his sister and led her to the welcome cabana as the plane taxied into position and an attendant secured the wheels. The airport employees scrambled to assist the onboard flight crew as they opened the hatch and lowered the stairway.
Val tapped his index finger along his thigh and lifted his chin.
His sister laid a hand on his, stopped his tapping. “They’re just people,” she reminded him.
Yet as his gaze fell on the heeled foot of the female passenger and slowly made its way up, he knew this woman was much more than just anything.
Her sundress, all polka-dotted red and cut in the style of the twenties, was anything but understated.
He swallowed, hard.
Val decided the slim-fitting dress wasn’t a sundress after all . . . it was something that belonged on Hollywood’s glamour queens from days past.
He liked it . . . all the way from the tops of her shapely knees—since when did he notice the shape of a woman’s knees?—to the slim belt at her waist. The cut of the dress emphasized her breasts . . . happy, healthy specimens that overflowed the bounds of cloth with just enough skin to make him a happy heterosexual male.
When he finally looked at her face, he noticed she wore her hair in a manicured style that matched the twenties, with big curls and lots of hairspray. Her lips were ruby red. Her sunglasses hid the color of her eyes.
He liked the look of the whole package. Why she had to be so sexy when he really wanted her to be this side of a troll, ticked him off.
His body responded even when his head was telling it to shut up.
Only then did he look past the woman to the man who placed his hand on her waist and helped her from the plane.
The movie star wore clothes complementing his girlfriend’s, his sunglasses just as large . . . but he couldn’t hide who he was.
Val pulled his thoughts back into focus and took a few steps toward his arriving party.
He lifted his hand to Margaret first. “Signorina, welcome to my island.”
She brought her hand up on instinct, and hesitated when Val lifted it to his lips for a kiss.
“Mr. Masini.”
The taste of his name, albeit his surname, on her lips had him holding her hand a tad too long.
“I feel as though I know you,” she told him.
He couldn’t see her eyes, furthering his irritation. He couldn’t tell if her comment was a continuation of the jabs or a statement of fact. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
She said nothing, only smiled.
Jabs.
“Michael, Mr. Masini.” Margaret introduced them as if it were her job, and he finally let her hand go.
“Mr. Wolfe needs no introduction.”
Michael Wolfe glanced beyond him to his sister. “And who is this starlet?”
“You’re so kind,” Gabi said, her smile beaming.
“Signorina Rosenthal, Signor Wolfe, my sister, Gabriella. Whatever we may do for you during your stay, you need only ask.”
Margaret sighed. “Is Sapore di Amore a family affair?”
“Not at all. This is my brother’s brainchild. I’m simply window dressing.”
“Cara!” The endearment was anything but.
Yet Margaret’s smile blossomed. What color were her eyes, he mused. Blue, green? A mixture of both? The pictures he’d seen did her no justice.
“My sister spends much of her time on the island. I’m lost without her.”
Although he meant for his statement to remain on the surface, he felt it down to his bones.
“Ah, behind every good man is a woman, eh, Gabriella?” Michael’s charm filled any awkward space.
“I think I like you, Mr. Wolfe.”
Michael Wolfe smiled, moved closer to Margaret.
She hesitated and moved closer toward her companion.
“We’ll be taking a short drive to the villa. We use battery-operated carts on the island. Your luggage will follow.”
She tilted her sunglasses to take a good look at the cart, then returned them to the bridge of her nose.
He smiled, seeing her eyes for the first time.
“How very green of you, Mr. Masini.” Margaret’s short tone sounded like a cut and reminded him of her e-mails.
Her eyes forgotten, he swallowed his desire to snap at Margaret’s words, and he revealed the facts about his island in the same short tone she’d used. “The golf carts have more to do with space than my desire to reduce my carbon footprint. The island has limited resources, fuel being one of them. Not to mention my guests come here to relax, get away . . . they don’t want the noise of oiled-fueled engines interrupting that.”
“Meg told me all about your island,” Michael said, changing the subject. “I’m looking forward to a little R & R.”
Meg . . . she went by Meg.
That suited her better, Val decided. Margaret fit a work persona. Meg fit the woman standing in the flirty dress and sexy smile.
“Then R & R you shall have.” Gabi always knew exactly what to say. “My brother’s resort will offer you everything you could possibly want.”
“Meg tells me your island is free of random photography. How do you control that with all the cell phones in this world?”
Val led his guests to the golf cart, encouraged them to take the backseat, and lifted a hand to Gabi as she climbed in.
“It’s not that complicated. The use of smartphones on the island isn’t allowed.”
Michael Wolfe appeared mildly amused. “Not allowed?”
Val twisted in his seat as the driver pulled away from the airstrip.