Dirty Lies

by Lush, Tamara

  Nearby, the alligator floated ominously, its bulging eyes watching me.

  I picked up my sandals and stuffed them in my purse. I looked down. And I thought Skylar's coffee had ruined my pants! Gianni's blood was so red, so bright, against my white jeans. Almost like a candy cane at Christmas.

  A plan gelled in my mind. If I could make it out of this awful park, I'd strip to my black lingerie in the car and wrap a towel around my waist as if I'd just been to the beach.

  I walked away quickly, then ran and ran, my feet slapping the wooden boardwalk.

  The green thicket of jungle on either side threatened to crush me.

  Chapter Forty-One

  More Questions

  SKYLAR

  My plan to back away from Luca had fallen to the wayside the hour I walked into his house, the minute he kissed me, the second he put his arms around me in a long embrace. No man had ever treated me this tenderly, this carefully.

  On Friday night, Luca cooked. He gave me a foot massage. He tried to teach me how to play Scopa, a card game from Naples, but we ended up laughing too hard as he explained the rules, so we abandoned the effort.

  Saturday, we lounged in bed and he read Italian news on his laptop while I scrolled through the New York Times on my iPad. We read passages of articles to each other, or began conversations with, "Did you know?" and "Wow, listen to this!"

  We spent at least an hour reading aloud from the Twitter feed of Florida Man, an account that posted funny, crazy stories about weird Florida stories. I'd followed the feed earlier in the week and showed it to Luca. I'd known he'd love it, even though he wasn't on Twitter.

  "Oh God, listen to this one. 'Florida Man goes to police to report stolen drugs,'" Luca read, practically crying he was laughing so hard.

  "No, no, how about this one?" I cackled. "'Florida Man surprised to learn mannequin he brought to dump is actually real dead body.'"

  I was so comfortable around him. This weekend was all about us. Like we were a thing.

  Despite all my recent concerns, it was like we'd known each other forever. He didn't stop touching me as we lazed about. His leg was always on top of mine, or he would lean over while reading and nuzzle my shoulder, or play with my hair. Every now and then, he'd give me a devastating deep kiss that sparked my skin, then turn back to his laptop.

  It was interesting how much attention Luca gave to the news. He devoured several different newspaper websites from around Italy, and I tried to sneak glances at his screen. He spent a long time on an article with a headline that had the word "Camorra" in it.

  I wondered about his parents, and probed gently at various points in their conversation. Had I been interviewing him, I wouldn't have hesitated to pepper him with questions, but because I was becoming attached and knew he was hiding something—pain or something darker—I treaded lightly.

  "What's Italy like?" I asked, interrupting his reading. "I've always wanted to go. Everyone always talks about Tuscany and the food. My mom used to love that movie, Under the Tuscan Sun."

  Luca shut his laptop and held it in his hands. He didn't meet my gaze. We were both sitting upright, propped up on pillows.

  "I wish Italy was that appealing in real life," he said. "I wish it had that magic on my people. That's not the Italy for the Italians."

  I scowled. "What do you mean? I thought Italy was like a paradise."

  "The country is a disaster, amore. There's been decades of political corruption. Incompetent politicians. Fraud. And the organized crime is completely out of control. The violence, the fear that the Camorra and the other groups bring to the country…it's something you cannot imagine."

  Luca inhaled, and I watched him clutch his laptop, the veins in his hands straining from his grip.

  "What's happened to my country makes me angry. I spent many years in a rage because of it. Everyone stays quiet, and the whole corrupt situation just continues while things get worse for the average Italian— who is apathetic and just worried about surviving day-to-day. If you don't watch out in America, things could become like that here too."

  I shook my head. "What do you mean? That sounds nothing like the United States."

  "Amore. You're still young and…what is the word in English? Naïve? Yes. You're naïve. You haven't noticed how most people in your country are apathetic, just like in my country. Apathetic people don't vote, and this means the worst leaders get into office. It's ripe for corruption here, whether you want to admit it or not."

  I wasn't sure what to say. His usual honey-toned voice was cold and jarring. This flash of emotion was tied to Luca's past, I knew. How could it not be, given that his parents had died in that fire, maybe tied to a Mafia syndicate?

  But his assessment of the U.S. seemed wrong to me. He was basically saying I knew nothing because I was young. And I was somewhat annoyed he hadn't come clean about his past.

  "That's a cynical view of America," I said. "And of your own country."

  Luca stared at me for a moment then relaxed his grip on his laptop. He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, and his expression was wistful. "I'm sure someday you'll get to Italy, amore, and you'll see only what's good and right. As an American—as a tourist—you'll only see la grande bellezza. The great beauty."

  He opened his laptop again and continued to read.

  I went back to my iPad and tried to read an article in The Miami Herald, but Luca's words distracted me. I put my tablet on the nightstand, about to say something, but he scooted down and folded me in the crook of his arm.

  I reached over his chest to run a finger over the tattoo on his bicep.

  Chi più sa, meno crede.

  The more one knows, the less one believes.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Summer Fling

  LUCA

  I mulled over Skylar's questions about Italy as I held her close. She napped in my arms, her head resting against my chest. A part of me wanted to tell her about my past, and about what I'd just discovered from Federico.

  I longed to say I was just like her, a curious journalist, one who had traded great success with a slice of hell. I wanted to tell her my memories of the two people who raised me.

  It was difficult for me to think of them as my parents anymore, given all Federico had revealed. And yet, I still loved them fiercely. The man I had called papa, the brave prosecutor. My mother, the primary school teacher. The summers we'd spent in San Mauro la Bruca at the country house, picking oranges, and the smell of the olive trees near my grandparents' villa.

  How my mother taught me to cook. How I loved hiking the hills in comfortable silence with my father. Now, those memories were confused. Polluted. After years of explaining others' lives as a journalist, I was no longer certain how to explain my own.

  I longed to tell Skylar about my book, Uomo di Sangue—Man of Blood—about Naples' most powerful Mafia boss. It had been a bestseller for eighteen months in Italy. I was certain Sky would love to hear stories about covering Mafia murders, about my off-the-record sources in the Italian government. About how I started as an intern at Il Mattino, then became a popular political blogger, and finally, my career as an author.

  I wanted her admiration and desired her approval.

  It would take years to share everything, though—years we didn't have. Could never have. Or maybe, once Bruno Castiglione was convicted in court, I could begin life anew. With Skylar.

  Was that a possibility?

  No. This was sex. Not a relationship. It had to stay that way.

  As I kissed the top of her head, she stirred and opened her eyes. Smiling, she rolled over onto her back. I took this as an invitation to slide on top of her and enjoy her little noises of pleasure as I kissed and ran my tongue over her breasts and lower. She now trusted me enough to sleep nearly naked.

  I dragged my half-open mouth over the velvety skin of her stomach. The tiny freckle near her belly button drove me crazy. I kissed it, and she made a soft “mmm” noise. Which also drove me crazy.
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  "Open your legs, mia cara." I positioned myself between her thighs.

  She still had her underwear on, simple white cotton bikinis. I stroked her over the damp fabric, then hooked my finger into the panties and raked the cloth gently against her, teasing her.

  Wanting to see all of her up close, I sat up and slid the underwear off, then spread her legs again. It was impossible for me to describe how she looked down there, because it was perfection. Flicking my tongue into her wetness, I groaned. I was growing harder by the second.

  "Do you have any idea how much I want you?" I said in a gruff voice. It was the first time I'd alluded to my need to have sex with her, and she responded with a foggy, lust-filled smile. Why had I encouraged her to tease me? This was all my idea.

  Skylar was so wet, and she whimpered while running her hands through my hair. She tasted warm and sweet, and I couldn't get enough. She was so deliciously tight, I had a difficult time believing I wouldn't hurt her when I finally entered her, however gently.

  "Why are you stopping? I don't want you to stop." Skylar tried to catch her breath as I kissed her thigh, and she gave my hair a petulant tug. I moved up her body so I could whisper in her ear.

  "Show me."

  Breathless, she responded. "Show you what?"

  "I want you to touch yourself. Please?"

  She bit her lower lip and smiled lustily.

  I knelt between her spread legs, and Skylar caressed her breasts and stared at me with a wicked smile on her face. Her hands pinched and twisted her nipples, and she feathered her fingers across her stomach, inch by inch. My breath hitched when she spread herself even wider.

  She was putting on a show that was dirty and sweet. I started to stroke myself.

  "No," she whispered. "You have to wait."

  I groaned and squeezed her legs, watching a flush bloom on her chest. I was ready to explode.

  "I love giving you orders."

  "Tell me what else you want me to do." My voice cracked with lust.

  "Your fingers. I want them in me."

  She opened her legs even wider then, and I plunged two fingers into her while grazing her clit with my other hand. Skylar cried out, arching her back, unable to hold on any longer. I became even more turned on while watching her.

  "Now," she murmured. Her voice was soft, but the way she looked me straight in the eye was insistent—demanding. She cradled her breasts, her hair spilling over on the pillow.

  God, she was gorgeous.

  Without hesitation, I straddled her just above her waist. Grabbing her hands, I tore them off her chest, then, stroking fast, violently even, I positioned myself above her breasts and rubbed the tip slowly on her nipple, making her suck in a breath.

  Unable to control my body any longer, the sensation of her breast on my sensitive skin plunged me into a deep orgasm that started in my thighs and moved upward. I pumped myself hard a few more times, then released onto her skin, hot spurts accompanied by a long, guttural moan and a body-quaking spasm.

  I gave her a hesitant glance. "Sky, I'm sorry, is that what you wanted? I just…I couldn't control myself while I watched you."

  "That," she said, grinning, "was so hot."

  Dropping onto all fours, I chuckled and dipped to kiss her deep. "I've never wanted a woman as much as I want you," I whispered.

  She rolled her eyes and quirked the corner of her mouth.

  "What?" I asked. I rolled over, plucked three tissues out of a box, and began wiping her skin.

  She shrugged.

  "You don't believe me." I planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "Why?"

  "You won't tell me anything about your past, and you don't share many details about your present. And you don't want anything long-term with me. Why should we go any further?"

  I sat up and sighed. "Have you ever thought it might be dangerous for you to know about my past? That it might be dangerous for you to be part of my future?"

  She stared. "Why? Tell me why that would be."

  I stared back at her, my previous gentle mood evaporated. "Stop asking questions, Skylar."

  She flashed me a defiant look and muttered something about how that wasn't possible.

  Holding a hand above her breasts, she climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom. Relieved to be rid of her persistent questions, I rolled onto my back and shut my eyes. My heart was racing, and not just because I'd just had a mind-blowing orgasm.

  My plans for casual, no-strings sex were going to hell. I had to stop myself before either us became too attached.

  But who was I kidding? I was already too attached. Her words danced in my mind: "This is perfect."

  I'd agreed, while adoring every one of her kisses.

  We are perfect together.

  Yet what did that mean? Maybe in another life we could have been perfect together. Now, after all the pain I'd caused, I could never be perfect with anyone.

  Who would want a damaged man with no home, no roots, no compass? A man who barely knows who his real father is? A man whose work got his family killed? Skylar needed a guy with stability, and I wasn't stable at all.

  No, Skylar Shaw needed to remain exactly what she was: a summer fling.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Interrupted

  SKYLAR

  The next morning, I woke when Luca slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. To my surprise, he didn't go downstairs to make coffee afterward. Instead, he climbed through the gauzy curtains hanging from the canopy rails and got back in bed, kissing me. He smelled like mint.

  Still sleepy, I used the bathroom too. When I returned, I paused after parting the curtain. Luca had fallen back asleep, and the sheet only barely covered his hips.

  Wow.

  His mouth, full and sensual, was relaxed and supple, his breathing deep. Reaching out to him, I stopped myself from touching his lips.

  Would I ever tire of this insatiable attraction? No. He was breathtaking, that bronze skin against the white covers. Like a Roman god in repose. My eyes went to his muscular chest, then to the tantalizing trail of hair below his bellybutton. Just thinking about what was beneath the sheet made me flash hot.

  Stripping off my T-shirt and panties, I slid under the sheet next to him, wrapping my bare skin around his body. God, he felt good.

  He shifted, circling me with his arms. He moaned a little when I softly bit his neck. He tilted my face up and pressed his lips to mine.

  Then my phone rang, the ridiculous, chirpy song blaring from the nightstand. I rolled over to check.

  Dammit, it was the paper.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Breaking News

  LUCA

  I watched Skylar's face go from hazy and sensual to panicked and wide-eyed. The sensual mood shattered.

  "Crap!" she whispered.

  It was a good thing she didn't understand Italian, because I couldn't control myself, either. I said something really vulgar out of frustration.

  I'd hoped this would be the morning she'd want to have sex. I was so fucking horny.

  "Do you have to get that?" I bit out as she lunged for the nightstand, fighting with the curtain. I tried to help her find the opening, and it was almost comical how we were tangled together, our hands madly pawing at the fabric.

  Comical, if it weren't for my raging hard-on.

  "I do. It's the paper. I have a special ringtone for my editor."

  I groaned and shifted in the bed. This was the problem with dating a reporter.

  She put the phone to her ear. "Jill!" she said, breathless.

  As Skylar talked, my hand slipped below the sheet and I adjusted myself. I longed for release and took my hand away from my cock. Shifting to Skylar, I spooned her and cradled her breast as she talked. Her nipple was still hard, and the first thing I'd do when she got off the phone was to put it in my mouth. She had such round, beautiful breasts, and I pressed my erection into her backside.

  Fuck. This woman would kill me.

  I rubbed against he
r body. She lightly swatted my leg, which I'd slung over hers.

  "An escape? No way. That's crazy. Of course I'll come in to cover it. I'll be there in a half hour, tops."

  Rolling onto my back, I shut my eyes and groaned inwardly. So much for release.

  Cock-blocked by an editor.

  I heard her tap her phone forcefully and set it on the nightstand. She flipped over and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth.

  "I'm sorry. I have to go to work. There's been an escape at the primate sanctuary. A monkey's on the loose."

  I opened my eyes. "Don't apologi—wait, what? A what?"

  She giggled. "Did you know there was a primate sanctuary on the other end of the island? Near the bridge?"

  "I didn't."

  "Well, apparently one of the monkeys escaped. A macaque that was a retired movie actor."

  Laughter exploded from my mouth. "You're kidding, right?"

  "No. I'm not. This is big news. Neighbors are worried about Ebola. I have to write a story. Jill says I'm the best reporter to cover this because I love weird news."

  Still laughing, I grabbed her and wrapped my arms around her body, hugging tight. Despite my sexual frustration, her decision just endeared her to me even more. I'd have done exactly the same thing once upon a time. "Just come back after you're done, okay? I'll make you dinner and we can finish what we started."

  She kissed me. "I will. And thank you."

  "For what, amore mio?"

  "For being so understanding. Most guys would be upset about this—interrupting what we were doing to cover a story about a monkey. It's not easy dating a reporter."

  I grinned. Studying her gorgeous face, I knew I had to come clean about my secret. And soon. She deserved to know. Maybe when she came back.