Dirty Lies

by Lush, Tamara

  "Ah, that makes sense. You speak English more than a little, though. Better than most native speakers."

  "Thanks. Languages come easy to me. I also speak Portuguese, Spanish, and French."

  "And do you use those language skills for your job?"

  Grinning, he moved his thumb and forefinger up and down the stem of his wine glass. I watched his hand, fascinated by the long, thick fingers and clean nails.

  "You're persistent. I'm a graduate student at the University of Naples. I'm here on Palmira so I can write my…um, master's thesis. I needed time to focus and a quiet place to think."

  I nodded and lifted my eyebrows. "Palmira is perfect for peace and quiet. There's not much going on here, that's for sure. You won't have any distractions. What's your thesis about?"

  Luca laughed, a short, brittle sound. "Deconstructing the mythology of the mafia hero in the media."

  My eyes widened. "Oh. Oh! Wow. That's fascinating. Like The Godfather and The Sopranos?"

  Luca smirked and looked up at the house as he took a sip of wine, and I slipped into reporter mode, hungry for more details.

  "Did you go to Sicily?"

  He tilted his head. "Uh, no. Why?"

  "Isn't that where the mafia is?"

  Luca sounded troubled. As he spoke, his English became slower and the pronunciation of his words crisper. "The mafia is all over my country. There are different crime syndicates in different regions. What you know as the mafia is named different things all around Italy, kind of like different gangs here in the United States. It's La Cosa Nostra in Sicily. In Naples, there's the Camorra. In Reggio Calabria, there's the 'Ndrangheta. There are organized groups in other parts of the country also."

  "I had no idea." I paused. "Are you looking at how organized crime is portrayed in Italian media or U.S. media, or what? Movies? TV? Books?"

  "Both in Italy and in the U.S. Uh…and mostly movies and TV. Some books. A book. Another book. Yes, books."

  He sounded humble and a little nervous, which made me like him more. "Do you know people in the mafia or organized crime?"

  Luca pressed his lips together and frowned. "Yes. Almost everyone in Italy knows someone who is doing something corrupt."

  I was secretly thrilled. Intrigue was like catnip to journalists. "Oh. Kinda like Florida. Politicians, businesspeople—there's lots of corruption here." I tossed off the words like I was an old hand at Sunshine State corruption. Really, I knew I hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of this wild-west-like place.

  He shifted his leg, and the lengths of our thighs pressed together under the water.

  Skin against skin.

  Chapter Four

  The Kiss

  SKYLAR

  Luca's thigh was muscular against my softer, smaller curves, and I took a sharp breath as a jolt of sensual electricity sent shockwaves through my body.

  He glanced at me sideways. "Aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"

  "I'm twenty-two. I can't be much younger than you."

  "I'm twenty-eight. How long have you been in Florida?"

  "Three months."

  Luca sipped his wine. "Not that long."

  I fought back annoyance. "Corruption and weird shit happens here all the time. It's what my editor and all the reporters at the paper say. Right now, I'm covering mostly boring stories—meetings and lame crime and some features—but everyone tells me I'll eventually witness the weird for myself or write about it if I stay here long enough."

  "That's something to look forward to."

  We both laughed, and I felt a little dizzy. Was my voice too excited, my laugh too eager, my eyes too interested in what he had to say? My weakness had always been self-assured men who told good stories and made me laugh. I'd even opined to friends in college that it didn't matter if a man was handsome or not, if he could spin a good tale, he was worth a date or two.

  But Luca…well, he was gorgeous and spell-binding.

  And probably only on the island for a while. Which made him instantly dangerous.

  "I actually love it here.” I tried to sound casual and not defensive. "New England was boring. I love the strangeness of this place."

  He nodded and laughed, his leg pressing harder against mine. "Weird things do happen here, don't they? I watched a story the other night on TV about a strip club in Tampa offering free flu shots."

  "Right? I saw that. And the face-eating zombie in Miami? Did you read about that?"

  "Yeah. And, those…what do you call them? Potholes?"

  "Potholes? No. Sinkholes," I corrected with laugh. "Where the ground opens up and eats cars and houses. Oh, and that one time, a person!"

  Luca's eyes met mine and he held up his wine glass. "To Florida."

  We clinked glasses.

  "To Florida. May we not get caught up in its insanity."

  Luca’s laugh was rich and low.

  I set my glass on the edge of the pool and slipped off the steps. "It's so stupid hot," I murmured, easing backward into the water, face up, idly wondering if I looked like a manatee. Luca followed, propelling himself forward with one broad stroke of his arms.

  I reached the middle and submerged my entire body and head. When I resurfaced and stood on flat feet, the water skimmed the top of my chest. Luca was nearby, and he seemed a lot taller.

  "Your tattoo. Is it Italian?" I asked. "What does it say?"

  He stepped closer, holding his arm above the water. I admired its sinewy bulk as I ran my finger about an inch from the skin of his bicep, not quite touching—although I wanted to touch him, so, so much.

  My stomach clenched into a fist.

  "Si. E Italiano. It says, 'Chi più sa, meno crede.'"

  I wanted him to repeat whatever he'd said, over and over, in my ear.

  "What's that in English?"

  He answered so quietly, the Gulf waves in the distance nearly drowned out his voice.

  "'The more one knows, the less one believes,'" I repeated, nodding.

  Here's what I did know: Luca was the most handsome man I'd ever been around, and I might regret it if I left now. Maybe out of control was something I needed. And yet, James's words echoed in my mind.

  You're cold. Unfeeling. So boring in bed.

  Bed. That was where this night with Luca could end, I was certain from the way he looked at me, all predator-like and hungry. It was more than flattering. It was hot. But I didn't even know his last name, and no way would I give myself to a random stranger.

  Or would I…

  "Where did you get your tattoo?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

  "Milan. Three years ago."

  I blinked, unable to focus on his words while he stood so close. Was I finally having my own erotic adventure—one that didn't involve being demeaned and belittled? A small voice told me I was all those awful things James had claimed and I should run from here before Luca discovered the truth. God, what I would give to let go and forget about the past, to embrace this wild and wonderful present moment.

  No. Get it together and leave. Don't embarrass yourself.

  I'd come here on business. To ask him about the plane crash. To be a journalist. When I arrived on Palmira, I’d promised myself I'd start fresh and respect myself more, at least where men were concerned.

  "It's interesting. Like I said earlier, one of the paramedics told me the man who saved the injured guy on the beach had a tattoo on his arm."

  "Imagine that."

  Luca's eyes met mine, but I couldn't read his expression. I tipped my head, and my wet hair spilled toward one shoulder. "Were you the one who helped the victim?"

  My heart pounded when he smiled. He was so beautiful, it was unsettling, and the look on his face showed obvious confidence and desire.

  He reached through the water and wrapped his fingers around my wrist, gently guiding my hand to his shoulder. I automatically drifted toward him, clasping my other hand at his nape. Fireworks exploded in my chest when his hands cupped my jaw and neck, my
legs and arms and everywhere in between tingling from his touch.

  I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds.

  His mouth hovered over mine, and I was acutely aware of his smooth face, his searching eyes, his scorching fingertips on my skin. His soft mouth met my lips, tentative and gentle at first, but it inspired the opposite reaction in my heart. I could almost feel the beating against my ribcage.

  He tasted like the wine, crisp and cool and new, and my lips instantly flared with heat.

  It was as if the shimmering blue light in the pool had entered my body and pulsed through me.

  Luca pulled back and caught his breath, as if the kiss had taken him by surprise, then pressed against me again. The second assault was shockingly sensual too. It slammed into me, defeated all my defenses. Almost.

  I shifted my head away from his. My gaze drifted downward, and I was fascinated by the hard surface of his chest muscles against the softness of the water surrounding us. Trying to catch my breath, I licked my lips, and guilt over kissing a potential source stung my sensible journalist self. It was a stalling tactic to gather my thoughts, although my only desire was to keep kissing him.

  "You're not going to answer my question, are you?" I whispered.

  With half-lidded eyes, he shook his head and kissed me again.

  Chapter Five

  Complications

  LUCA

  I pulled Skylar as close as possible. If my thundering heart and rock-hard dick were any indication, it had been far too long since I'd been with a woman.

  She wrapped her smooth legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I stood against the wall of the pool, and that beautiful body was tight against me. Our tongues collided, the tips circling one another.

  "Che bella ragazza."

  "What does that mean?"

  Her voice tickled my ear, teased my senses. "What a beautiful girl."

  And she was. Skylar Shaw was my perfect physical fantasy: curvy, with catlike eyes, and full, pouty lips.

  She was safe, and perfect for a one-night stand.

  I'd fully researched her after our meeting earlier in the day, and everything checked out. Public records revealed where she was born, where she'd gone to school, every dorm room and every apartment she'd ever lived. Her whole life was online, the scholarships she had won and the articles she had written in the Boston paper during her internship. Her Twitter feed detailed her stories here on Palmira, and her Pinterest page revealed she loved green smoothies, true crime shows, and smoosh-faced dogs.

  She smelled like lavender, chlorine, and the sweetest of forbidden fruit. And the most captivating thing of all? She was a journalist—possibly the worst of all types of women I could hook up with.

  Her clear blue eyes, her curiosity, her gorgeous tits…the combination was so seductive. My weakness. My kryptonite.

  I didn't give a shit. I wanted her. In bed. Soon.

  After I'd checked her out online, I spent a couple hours brooding. Considered calling her. Then I'd spotted her on the sand and knew I had to act. A one-night stand couldn't hurt, even if it was with a woman whose job was not to keep secrets.

  Although—I dragged my half-open mouth gently up her neck and felt her shiver—I probably shouldn't have told her my real first name, but how would she find out anything more about me? There wasn't anything to discover, not online anyway. I'd made sure of that. And I sure wasn't giving her my last name. Wouldn't. Not when I took her upstairs to my bedroom, and not when I kissed her goodbye later in the night.

  My mind rioted while my body—well, my dick—urged me on. What the hell was I doing?

  I hated lying to her about being a graduate student. But concealing my true profession was a necessity. I wished I could tell her I was also a journalist and a best-selling author. But since my anonymously-authored book came out, self-preservation trumped ego.

  "Tu sei bellissima," I whispered, dragging out each word. I kissed her again, hard, and took a handful of her wet hair and moved her head so her ear was next to my mouth. "You are gorgeous."

  Her hands were suddenly in my hair, sliding down my neck, over my biceps. Oh yeah. She wanted this too.

  It had been too long since I'd fucked a woman. The last time was three months ago in Argentina at a backpackers’ hostel when I was lonely and a little drunk. Skylar seemed different somehow, probably because she could ruin me.

  "Your hair," I murmured, skimming my hands along her bare back under the water. The blue shimmer of the pool danced on her skin. "Look at how beautiful it is floating in the water. You're a mermaid."

  I gathered the ends of her floating tresses and captured her bottom lip in my mouth, but she squeezed my shoulders and slipped away from the kiss. "A mermaid. Yeah, right."

  "Okay, how about a sirena, luring me to danger? Is that better? A siren?" I grinned wide and pressed my mouth to hers again, a throbbing need overtaking every rational thought. I hadn't wanted a woman this much in years. Maybe not ever.

  We made ripples in the water. My hands drifted low, down to her round ass, and I squeezed. God, her body felt incredible in my hands. And she was dangerous. My little siren. "Let's move to a drier spot."

  She unwrapped her limbs from me, and I led her out of the water. We stood there on the tiled pool deck for a moment, not kissing, just staring at each other while droplets of water ran down our bodies. I stroked Skylar's long hair, tugging it and running my hands carefully over the damp, chestnut waves.

  "I can't wait to play with you all night long," I murmured. "Can't wait to watch that beautiful mouth of yours kiss, lick, and suck every part of me."

  She opened her mouth in surprise. "Wow."

  "What?"

  "Nothing. You're just…very forward, that's all."

  "Do you like that?" I could think of many more things to say that would shock her.

  My eyes drifted down, and she stroked my bare chest with a hesitant touch. She explored the ridges of my muscle, her fingertips fluttering across my chest.

  "You're stunning, Skylar Shaw.” I wanted to draw her out of her shell.

  "You're pretty stunning yourself, Luca-without-a-last-name."

  Her big eyes, parted lips, and high cheekbones gave her a slightly astonished, sexy expression, as if everything I said or did took her breath away. I couldn't wait to make that breathlessness real.

  "Last names don't matter right now, do they?" I grabbed her and drew her against me, gripping her hips and pressing her into my rock-hard dick. She moaned, and I knew it was my night's mission to listen to that sound over and over. I'd hooked up with a few American girls in boarding school and found them to be the easiest of all to get into bed. A few whispered words of Italian, and pronto, they were ready.

  "Vieni qui," I said. "Sorry. Come here. Onto the chaise lounge. Or we can go upstairs to the bedroom if you'd like."

  Her body tensed, and she moved back a half step. "Wait," she whispered, putting a palm in the middle my chest. "No. I can't. I'm sorry."

  My hands cupped her face, and I stroked her bottom lip with my thumb like I'd wanted to do earlier in the day. These were the steps of a dance I knew well. She wanted to let me know she wasn't a slut. Fine. I'd play. "Why not?"

  "I…I don't usually do this with guys I just met. I don't feel comfortable. I shouldn't tease you. This was a bad idea. I should go home."

  "If you're sure…" My eyes narrowed as I trailed a finger down her throat, between her breasts, then circled the puckered nipple straining against her wet bikini top.

  She gasped and nodded. "Yes. I know my body's saying one thing, but my mind is telling me to slow down."

  Her fingers clasped my hand on her breast, then moved it to her shoulder. She stared at me, unblinking, defiant, and the message was clear: she really didn't want to fuck me.

  A twinge of annoyance, and then a wave of relief, washed over me. As much as I wanted her, this was probably for the best. Especially if I was going to be on this island for a while. I needed to lay low, no
t get laid by a local reporter. I'd known that all along.

  Her face turned toward the ground, so I tilted her chin upwards. She closed her eyes. Something about how vulnerable she looked tugged at me. I kissed her mouth tenderly, then trailed my lips over her forehead. It was good she was leaving. I couldn't afford to get attached to this alluring woman.

  She was saving me from complications.

  "It's okay. Don't apologize," I said, gathering myself and planting a chaste kiss on her lips. "Want me to walk you to your car?"

  She inhaled, shivering, and nodded. Turning away, she went to the chaise where she'd left her dress. I chewed on my lip while she pulled the fabric over her head. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out an elastic, then scooped her long hair in both hands, twisted it around, and secured it. She missed a tendril that stuck to her neck, damp. I longed to move the wisp aside and bite her skin.

  I opened my mouth, about to beg her to stay, but stopped. I wanted to respect her wishes. From what little I knew about her, I liked her too much to second guess her decision to go home. And there were all my personal problems as well.

  I accompanied her through the gate and up the public beach in the dark, sighing to myself while holding her hand. The downed plane was still there, illuminated by floodlights powered by loud mobile generators.

  Skylar squinted in its direction. "I wonder when they'll take it away. I'd go over and ask the FAA right now, but I'm not really in any shape to do that."

  I huffed out a laugh. I wasn't either.

  We reached her car, and against my better instincts, I cradled her face in my hands, then put my lips to hers, touching her tongue with mine and savoring every second of our kiss. Surprising me again, she pulled away.

  "You have my card if you feel like talking."

  "You said that earlier today," I murmured. My body ached. I knew this would be our final kiss. "I think you know I want to do more than talk."

  She didn't answer. She shut the door, then gave a sad wave as she drove off. I jogged back to the house, regret punctuating every step. Skylar Shaw was the most intriguing and sexy woman I'd met in years, I’d just met her at precisely the wrong time.