Dirty Lies

by Lush, Tamara

  My index finger went to my lips, and I touched them quickly, as if to confirm the heat on them was from Luca's mouth.

  He returned with the wine and two glasses, then uncorked the bottle. The cork made a small pop when he pulled, and he poured with an expert, fluid motion. His hands were strong, with long fingers. I shivered when I imagined them entwined in my hair. Holding my wrists above my head, my body pressed into a bed with his weight.

  "Cento anni," he said, ripping me out of my fantasy. We clinked glasses.

  I took several small sips of the bubbly liquid. "Oh, it's not wine. Champagne?"

  "It's prosecco. Like champagne, only Italian."

  "It's delicious."

  "When it's paired with peach nectar, it's called a Bellini."

  Would I ever stop swooning at the sound of his accent?

  "I've never had a Bellini. It sounds yummy."

  "They're perfect for breakfast. That's on the menu tomorrow morning."

  Well that was presumptuous. He was indeed already planning a sleepover. An eternal optimist, apparently. I maintained my small smile as he grinned wider.

  "I wanted to tell you again that I liked your articles. You're really busy. You did a good job on the story about my uncle. He seemed like a tough guy to interview."

  "Why do you say that?" I tilted my head, my skin warming at his praise.

  "He's very…I don't know, commanding. Authoritative. But you showed a lot of confidence when you interviewed him. I was impressed."

  Was I confident? People had told me that before. I guessed I projected confidence because of years of yoga classes and meditation at my mother's studio. Inside, I wasn't so sure.

  "Thanks. All I've ever wanted was to be a reporter. I love to write. And I'm nosy. But you know that."

  He laughed. "What's the weirdest story you've written here so far?"

  "Hmmm. That's tough. You mean, other than the orchid lady? And the one about your uncle, who talked about everything from dog food to smoking lawsuits to his torts class in law school?"

  Luca grinned and rolled his eyes. "Federico's a trip."

  "I'd have to say the weirdest story was about an alligator and a python getting into a death match at the Palmira Preserve on the north end of the island. Have you been there? It's an interesting place. It's a swamp. It's wild. A lot of Florida used to be like that before developers drained and filled and paved everything."

  "Wait, what? An alligator? And a python? Got into a fight? No way."

  I spun to rummage through my purse, extracting my phone. "Yep. I have photos. The fish and wildlife officer emailed them to me. This happened about a month ago."

  When I leaned over to show him the photos, he wrapped his hand around mine that held the phone and tilted the screen toward him. His hand was so much bigger than my own.

  "See? The python was thirteen feet long and the gator was six. Nobody won."

  "That's not funny. But it is." Luca chuckled. I guessed this wasn't typical date conversation for him. He leaned back and sipped his drink. "You said you grew up in New England. Why did you want to leave your family and come all the way down here?"

  I gave him a look. "And you say I ask a lot of questions. Sheesh."

  He winked.

  "My mom died when I was seventeen."

  His mouth dropped open, and he reached down to squeeze my knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

  Lifting my shoulders in a shrug, I pasted on a smile. "It's okay."

  He squeezed my knee harder.

  "How did she die, Skylar? She must have been young."

  I was surprised by the tenderness in his voice as I launched into my stock answer, trying to sound breezy yet appropriately sad. The truth was, I was still devastated and rarely allowed anyone to know.

  "She was young. Only thirty-eight. She died of melanoma."

  "Wow. That's really awful. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. My mom was amazing. She raised me to be strong. So I'm strong." I took a deep breath and mustered a grin. I always did that when I thought people pitied me because of my unlucky life. Smile and fight on. "And I don't mind answering questions, unlike some people."

  It was my turn to wink at him.

  "Okay, Skylar Shaw—your name is very sexy, do you know that?—I'll ask you all the questions I want."

  I said nothing, but ate up his flirtation. Was Luca adorable or what?

  "How about your dad?"

  "I never knew him. He left my mom when she was pregnant with me."

  Luca nodded silently and looked into his glass.

  I swallowed, annoyed at myself. God, I was a downer. I wasn't going to get into the whole story about how my parents met at a music festival, fell in love, blah, blah, blah. How my dad ran out on my mom shortly after I was born. No. This wasn't first date material at all. But if it no longer bothered me, it wasn't worth talking about. I believed in forgetting about the past and moving on whenever I could, because if I didn't, the panic and sadness would catch up to me.

  "Brothers or sisters?" Luca asked.

  I shook my head.

  "So, no brothers and sisters, no mother and father. How can you afford to live on such a wealthy island on a reporter's salary? Are you an heiress?"

  I looked at him, not sure if I was surprised or amused. "Wow. You really are asking a lot of questions. You should be a reporter."

  He grinned and licked the side of his mouth.

  I shrugged. "Because of my grandmother's condo, which I think I told you about. I'm living rent-free, which is pretty awesome. I love it here. I used to come here as a little girl on winter break, so Palmira already feels like home to me." I sipped my prosecco, trying to stay casual. "You know, Luca, I feel like I'm being interviewed. I'm usually the one who asks the questions. I think you know my life story now. And what about you? I don't know anything about you."

  He leaned over and brushed a quick kiss on my lips. "I think it's time for dinner."

  He was an expert at avoiding and evading questions. Why?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Promise

  SKYLAR

  "Mia cara, siediti sulla sdraio per favore. In Italian, that means, 'my dear, please sit on the chaise.'"

  I was a little tipsy from the prosecco and the bottle of white wine we'd shared over dinner. The pasta, little tube shapes bathed in simple red tomato sauce, had been out-of-this-world tasty. And the flow of Luca's Italian made me full—with desire. He had peppered our dinner conversation with words and phrases, and it was making me squirmy. In a good way.

  As we talked, my words tumbled out of my mouth and my voice notched up a half-octave. I laughed a lot, and everything I said seemed fascinating. When he launched into a long explanation of how he made the pasta sauce, I nodded, rapt, then realized I'd never before been so interested in the topic of tomatoes.

  "Are you speaking Italian just to sound sexy and exotic?" I teased him at one point, giggling.

  "Am I that obvious?" He grinned.

  "Yeah. You are. I think you're trying to seduce me with food and your language."

  That made him laugh harder.

  He didn't, however, seem eager to talk about his family or his work. I did find out some details about him, things that were interesting and curious and so very sexy: He loved old Superman comic books, he disliked peanut butter, he'd run the Boston Marathon when he was in boarding school.

  I quickly texted Emily, telling her everything was going well, then moved over to the wide chaise lounge as Luca picked up their plates to bring them inside. I kicked off my wedge sandals.

  Luca paused at the foot of the chaise as I wriggled around, trying to get comfortable. "I saw you post a lot on Twitter, and not just about news stories."

  "Stalking me on social media again?" I fluttered my eyelashes dramatically.

  "Maybe."

  "The paper wants me to tweet stories and news tidbits. We're told to 'build our brand' as journalists."

  He nodded. "Right. Your brand. Um
, I don't do social media at all, and I'd like to ask you not to post anything about me. Okay?"

  As he walked inside, I considered his words. What was that supposed to mean?

  I finished my wine, enjoying the buzz while mulling many questions. Luca was so private, but he seemed interested in my life, which was a welcome change from James. Never had a guy been so curious about me. I wondered about Luca's motives, but that thought instantly made me sad. Maybe this was how relationships were supposed to be. With James, he was always the star, sucking up all the attention, never caring about the details of my life.

  Luca returned with a bowl of strawberries in his hand and sat next to me on the chaise. It was dark now, and he'd lit several candles in different hurricane lamps around the deck. I studied his face, captivated. His dark brows, his strong nose, the distinct angle of his jaw under his ear—everything about Luca was so masculine.

  And gorgeous.

  "Why don't you want me to post about you on social—?"

  With his thumb and forefinger, he plucked a strawberry out of the bowl, interrupting my question. "Can I feed you?"

  I nodded and opened my mouth. He rested the berry on my tongue. I chewed, a tiny, seductive smile on my lips. He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers, then fed me another strawberry.

  "You're so sensual when you eat," he murmured. "I like watching you."

  I didn't know what to say. My cheeks flared, and I lowered her eyes. I lay back, looking up at the summer night sky. Turning, he put the bowl on a nearby table, then sprawled on his side, looking at me.

  My eyes traveled to his linen shirt, and I gave in to temptation, tugging at his collar with my thumb and forefinger. "It's funny. I was under the impression Italian men wore expensive suits and stuff. You're always casual."

  "I'm in vacation mode. I do have a suit. And a collared shirt and real pants." His voice was smooth, like a caress.

  "I'd like to see you dressed up someday," I ventured.

  "I'll make that happen." He leaned in, planted a soft kiss on my cheek, then backed away.

  "Great music. I love down-tempo stuff," I murmured. I turned my body so I faced him, propping my ear on her forearm and mirroring his posture. "Have you heard this album from Thievery Corporation?" she asked. "It's my new favorite."

  "Which one is this? Is this Saudade? I love the songs on that."

  "Yes. What's that word mean, anyway? Is it Italian?"

  He shook his head. "Portuguese."

  "What does it mean?"

  "Hmm, it's difficult to explain in English…"

  Luca inched closer. I wasn't wearing a bra because my dress had built-in support, but when my nipples hardened, they still showed through the fabric. The downward flicker of his eyes meant he noticed.

  "Saudade." He drew the word out. "Saudade is an emotion. It's kind of the love that remains after someone is gone. How do you say in English, 'longing'? But it's more than that. It also refers to the love left behind after someone dies. Or a feeling for a person in your life right now who is going to disappear in the future. It's a little complicated."

  He blinked slowly as he spoke, and I wondered if he was thinking of someone specific. I was well acquainted with the feelings he described.

  Luca's bare feet found mine, and his toe trailed across my arch. A current shot up my leg, and I grew even more nervous. We stared into each other's eyes, long enough that I thought my heart would burst, it was beating so fast.

  A new song played, sung by a woman with a sexy, ethereal voice. Luca studied my face, his eyes resting on my lips as he spoke. "This one is my favorite. 'Sola in Citta.' It's the only song in Italian on the album. The lyrics are beautiful."

  "Translate for me."

  Luca trailed his fingers up and down my bare arm, and goosebumps flared across my skin. "It's about a person in a new place looking for someone."

  He spoke in a quiet, velvety tone. I shut my eyes, hoping to steady the slight dizzy feeling in my head. Was it the wine or him? I inhaled, taking in the aroma of the ocean and his skin. He smelled so good. Spicy and warm and edible.

  Luca's hand shifted to slide deeply into my hair, his palm caressing my neck and his thumb stroking my jaw. My entire body ached with desire, but I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted. A kiss? A touch? Sex? I opened my eyes to look at him as he translated the lyrics.

  "The first line goes, 'Where are you?'"

  He spoke in a near-whisper, and I melted.

  "Then it goes, 'I need to meet you.'"

  I realized I was holding my breath.

  "'I want to feel you close.'"

  I heard my heartbeat in waves inside my ears, and my eyelids fluttered shut.

  "'I want to hold you close to me.'"

  The song ended, and Luca's hand was still in my hair. He said, "Skylar."

  "Luca," I whispered.

  "You know what I've thought about all week?"

  He didn't wait for an answer, just put his lips to mine, kissing me with force. I pulled back, breathless, and shook my head.

  "This," he said. "I wanted to feel your lips."

  I lay on my back, and he was suddenly above me. He stroked the front of my neck with his thumb, and my whole body trembled. Sliding my hands onto his arms, I could feel the softness of his linen shirt under my fingertips and his hard muscles beneath the fabric.

  "And kiss your face," he said, grazing my cheek. "And kiss your eyes."

  Luca brushed his mouth against my closed eyelids, one after the other. I was swimming in need. Never had anyone kissed me so sensually.

  "Bellissima," he whispered.

  He kissed me again, and grasped a handful of my hair and moved my head so my ear was next to his mouth. I loved how he moved me around, positioning me exactly the way he wanted. I longed to let him do whatever he desired, and my willingness to give in scared me.

  Too soon. Too soon.

  And in my lusty fog, James's unwanted voice intruded. Your skin is too warm, he'd criticized. What's wrong with you? And a million other complaints…

  Luca pressed his lips behind my earlobe and trailed them down my neck. A bit of perspiration clung to my hairline. I wondered if he liked the way I felt, if I was the right temperature for him, if I was right for him in any meaningful way or if he was just sating a passing urge.

  Already I could see myself falling hard for him, and I didn't need that right now. He'd surely been with lots of women. He was too gorgeous. Too worldly. Too confident.

  He will break my heart.

  My thoughts dissolved as his tongue collided with mine and I caressed his chest.

  He moaned a little as he kissed and nibbled on my lower lip. One of his hands was on my thigh, inching the fabric of my long skirt upward. His touch was slow and teasing, and by the time he had worked the hem up to my knee, my skin sparked beneath his fingertips.

  My skirt slid up, and he pressed himself against me as we stretched out. Our bodies were crushed together from chest to hip, and our legs tangled. His erection pressed into me, and I opened my legs wider, wondering if I'd be able to resist him.

  Luca propped himself up on his forearms and gazed at me. His lips were red and kiss-stung. I opened her mouth to speak.

  "Do you have a question for me?" he asked, amused, kissing my nose.

  I giggled. "Were you the—?"

  With a mock roll of his eyes, he interrupted, "Guy who helped the plane crash victim?"

  Our eyes locked, and we both laughed.

  "You're kind of a pest, Skylar Shaw. But you're a sexy pest."

  "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

  "You should."

  I ran my hands up the sides of his torso, feeling the wonderful muscles there. Slipping my hands under his shirt would be perilous, yet I needed to touch his bare skin.

  "You did help the guy after the crash, didn't you?" I pressed. "You're the good Samaritan."

  "Oh, I am good. Very good."

  With a slow thrust, he pressed his hips hard
er, creating a delicious friction between my legs. I sucked in a breath, and said, "I have no doubt about that."

  "But I want you to find out just how good."

  He kissed me, and I tried to will away the throbbing need that had invaded my body. Luca paused and gazed at my breasts. With the lightest brush of his thumb, he stroked a nipple poking through fabric, and my mouth opened in a tiny gasp.

  "For argument's sake, Skylar," he said, "let's pretend I am the person who helped the plane crash victim."

  His voice was raspy, and I nodded, trying not to whimper with desire as his thumb continued stroking. "Okay. And?"

  He lowered his head and softly closed his lips around my pointed nipple through the fabric, tugging just enough to send a ripple of fresh heat through my body. Now I was unable to contain myself, and a small noise came from the back of my throat. Luca replaced his mouth with his hand, and he stared at me as he cupped my breast.

  "Would you be able to write an article about me now that we've kissed? Now that I've run my hands through your hair? Now that you've felt how much I want you? Would that be ethical? Can you write an impartial article under these conditions about someone who can't stop thinking about you?"

  I studied his face and released a breathy laugh. "Why are you giving me an ethics lecture?"

  I couldn't take it anymore. With my hand on the back of his head, I eased him toward me, kissing my way up his neck until I found his ear, and then put my lips to that soft lobe and nibbled until he groaned.

  "Why are you driving me crazy, Skylar?"

  I ran my hands under his shirt and over the smooth skin of his lower back. The sensation was divine. Then I panicked a little. Sucking in a breath, I noticed my skirt was hiked to my upper thighs and my underwear was showing. He was grinding into me.

  It was time to slow this down—way down—because I didn't want a repeat of James. I didn't trust myself to be able to read Luca's true motivations or character. And I didn't want a one-night stand, no matter how much I lusted after this guy. And I sure didn't want to get involved with another man who would just put me down and make me feel like crap.

  Not that Luca had given me any inkling that he would do such a thing.