“Placing anyone in the spotlight for a photographer is a bad idea.”

“My God, Val, the man . . . or woman, has a camera, not a gun.”

“If pictures of you circulate, each time with a different man . . . that’s . . .”

“It’s what? My parents are self-proclaimed potheads, not preachers, or deacons of their church.”

Val nailed her with a hard stare. “I don’t like it and I won’t be part of it.”

Fine. She stood and grabbed her purse. He didn’t have to play kissing games with her, but that wouldn’t stop her from playing kissing games with others.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she walked past him.

“I’m getting ready for a late dinner . . . maybe a little dancing.”

“Margaret?”

“Stand by and watch, Masini. You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

He moved in front of her, blocking the door out. “Cara, please. There has to be another way to draw our photographer.”

She shoved around him. “When you come up with it, tell me.”

She heard him swearing . . . or at least that’s what she thought he was doing, hard to tell when he cursed in Italian. Maybe she should pick up the other language to be more socially acceptable with her potty mouth.

Meg patted herself on the back for her brilliance and made her way back to the villa she shared with two gorgeous men. Such a hardship . . .

Later, the three of them entered the dining room, the actor, the singer, and the reluctant costar. She wore the dress she’d arrived on the island with, her hair styled by one of the many spa specialists on the island. Late dinners were the norm and the dining room was packed. Unlike when Michael and she had arrived the first night, for this one they went out of their way to make sure people saw them.

Meg leaned in to hear Ryder talk. “All we did was sit down and everyone is looking,” he said under his breath.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she whispered before leaning back and laughing, drawing more attention from the closest tables. She placed a hand on Ryder’s and left it there. “Oh, hon . . . you’re such a gem.”

Michael hid his grin behind the wine menu.

She leaned into Michael’s space and pretended to read the list. “Pick something that won’t give me a headache, won’t you?”

“Italian wines are better for that.” He tapped his finger on the menu. “Should we try more of Picano’s?”

“You tell me.”

“There was something familiar about the bottle we had that first night.”

“That’s because all wine tastes the same.” At least in her humble opinion.

“I’ll make you eat those words,” Michael said with a laugh.

“Don’t you mean, drink?”

“He’s ruthless about his wine, Meg,” Ryder said.

She knew that already. Michael talked to the waiter about his wine selection while one of the hotel guests made their way to the table. “It’s Miss Rosenthal, right?”

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the woman asking the question.

“I just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed your performance last night.”

Meg took the compliment gracefully and turned back to Ryder and Michael once the lady returned to her seat.

“Do you know who that was?” Michael asked.

“No idea.”

Another couple stopped by their table to express their appreciation of the previous evening’s entertainment as they left the restaurant.

“I guess it’s not going to be that hard to catch the attention of just about anyone looking,” Meg said.

The wine was brought to the table and some fuss was made before Michael approved.

Michael looked into his glass as if it held truth-seeing tea leaves that would tell him his future.

“It tastes like wine,” Meg said.

“I’ve never heard of this label, but the taste is familiar.”

“Squished grapes, Mike.” Ryder sipped his wine and winked at Meg.

“I don’t get it either,” Meg said.

They moved through their first course and Michael ordered a second bottle of wine, and pondered it again.

Meg let Ryder and Michael drink the majority of the wine, choosing to keep her brain clear for the rest of the night. They enjoyed their meal without interruption or drama. Meg made sure her laughs were a little larger than life, and once the boys were through half of the second bottle of wine, they were well on their way to being an active part of the evening.

The DJ music was loud and there were several couples on the dance floor. The three of them stood around a tall table and Meg ordered a vodka on the rocks. She hit the dance floor before the drink had a chance to arrive. Once she was there, she turned to Michael and Ryder and waved one finger toward herself.

Ryder nudged Michael and he joined her . . . as planned.

She wasn’t that great of a dancer, but Michael knew his way around a dance floor. The music was fast, sexy . . . perfect.

When Ryder cut in there were a few glances their way.

Meg laughed, larger than life.

Ryder put Michael to shame. At one point, she felt his hand on her ass right before he spun her away.

He led her back to their table and waved the waiter over for water and another round of drinks.

After another dance, Michael pulled her outside for a brief moment of fresh air. She took her drink with her and promptly left it on the nearest outside table before he drew her away from the crowd. “This far enough?”

She pretended to stumble. He caught her. “Careful, hon.”