by Tamara Lush
She inhaled deeply and forced herself to stop crying. Why was she sobbing, exactly? She had nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe she should have told Luca earlier that she had pried into his life, but still, he had no reason to be so angry. No, she was the one who should be mad. She had let someone new into her heart, and once again she had made the wrong choice.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
* * *
A full blown panic-attack gripped Luca’s chest as he listened to Skylar drive off. He tried to catch his breath and steady his mind. She knew about his family and hadn’t said anything? How long had she known? Since the beginning?
Something had snapped in him when she mentioned his parents. He’d wanted to be the one to tell her if he had chosen to tell her, which he hadn’t. But he’d been about to. Still, this felt like a betrayal, especially since he was still nursing the rawness of his uncle’s revelation. Skylar had researched him as if he were a common criminal. As if she didn’t trust him.
He snorted. Like he hadn’t done the exact same thing to her. Although, he probably wouldn’t have backgrounded her if the Mafia wasn’t after him. No, he would have trusted her, probably, because she was a reporter and he assumed that journalists were more honest than regular people. And yet, he’d assumed that he could look into her past for whatever reason but she didn’t have the right to inspect his. God, he felt like such a hypocritical asshole. He shouldn’t have yelled at her, shouldn’t have uttered those brutal words.
Not okay.
Why can’t I just be a normal person with a normal life?
Luca held his head in his hands and slumped onto the kitchen counter. Why hadn’t he just told her the truth? Why didn’t he tell her that he was a journalist? An author? That he wasn’t in the Mafia?
He wasn’t thinking straight. Walking into the study, he sat and poured himself a big glass of his uncle’s expensive Irish whiskey. He downed the glass and poured another. Maybe it was time to move on from Palmira.
But was he ready to say goodbye to Skylar?
CHAPTER THIRTY
Stupid, she knew, but Skylar hoped Luca was reading her Twitter feed as she snapped a selfie of herself, Matt and some guy from advertising as they sat at a table at the Iguana. Her cleavage looked awesome in the low, U-neck cotton dress, one of many she had bought on sale in anticipation of a hot Florida summer.
She posted the photo on all of her social media accounts. The previous weekend, when she and Luca were getting along, she’d persuaded him to sign up for Twitter under a fake, anonymous account name _Italy-Man111_ and he’d followed her. So maybe he’d see her post.
“After deadline. #VodkaRedBull. #80snight #Partylikeajournalist.”
She slammed back her first drink quickly then sipped her second because her stomach was approaching Queasytown. Her stomach had been like this for days, ever since she and Luca had their fight. Now it was Friday night, five days later, and she was at the Iguana listening to stupid ’80s music. She should have tried to join in the conversation with her newsroom friends about that day’s selection of front-page stories, or about the massive layoffs at several Florida papers, but talking about journalism held no appeal. Instead, a memory of Luca drifted into her mind. They had been on the beach one afternoon the previous weekend and he had kissed her ferociously, as if it was the final kiss of his life. She got sweaty behind her knees just thinking of it.
When she snapped out of her reverie, her friends were still talking. The thought of never kissing or touching Luca again made her stomach hurt more. Scooping up her phone, she checked her messages, voicemail and email for the thousandth time.
Like he’d ever messaged her or emailed her. Really, he had only ever called a few times and never left voicemail. He had left no trace of himself in her life, and it almost made her sob when she realized that he probably wanted it that way.
Thank God she hadn’t had sex with him. At least she was getting out of this relationship with a gossamer-thin thread of dignity. At least, until she got drunk enough to call him. Annoyingly, she had left some clothes and her favorite lipstick at his house and she thought about drunk-dialing him when she got home. She imagined teasing him on the phone, enticing him into coming to her house…
No. She was still angry at him for acting like an ass.
The DJ said something about how that evening was called The Flashback Café, and he said he was going to play some classic, slow-dance ’80s songs. Skylar rolled her eyes at Matt, who chuckled.
Matt. He was single. He was cute. Maybe she should hook up with him to forget Luca. He had driven her to the Iguana tonight, so maybe he’d been thinking along the same lines.
No. Screwing Matt was a shitty idea if she’d ever had one. Imagine if she did and they had to face each other in the newsroom or go on another assignment together? She shuddered as the possible complications such a scenario would cause.
A song came on, and Sky recognized it as one her mother had loved. It had been Heather Shaw’s favorite song in the world, in fact, which was why the first gospel-like strains of “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” plunged Skylar into an even darker mood. Her mother used to sing this to herself while brushing her hair, looking into the mirror in their tiny log cabin bathroom.
The lyrics were so sad. Had her mom been thinking about Skylar’s dad as she sang? Skylar had never asked, and she fought back tears when she realized that she would never ever get the chance to ask her mother anything again.
Fuck. I am a mess tonight.
She turned to the group and pretended to be interested in the conversation. Nodding and emitting mmm-hmm at appropriate times made her feel a bit more normal, like she was getting back to real life.
“Dude, you want a fireball shot? You’re getting a fireball shot. You look like shit,” Emily yelled.
Skylar winced then laughed. She had told Emily about her fight with Luca.
Older couples packed the dance floor. Matt tilted his head at them and looked at her with hopeful puppy-dog eyes. “Dance?”
Skylar shook her head and took a big swallow of her drink, pretending to inspect her napkin.
Mercifully, the song ended. Skylar looked up, and Emily plopped the fireball in front of her. She grabbed it, closed her eyes and tossed it back. She grimaced as the candy-spicy liquid slid down her throat, then opened her eyes and saw…Luca?
He stood on the other side of the room, staring at her across the dance floor, leaning against a post. He wore charcoal gray pants, like a businessman. Black shoes. A white, button-down shirt, also very businesslike. His stubble was longer, practically a beard. Everything on him looked dark and brooding. His eyebrows, his hair, his gaze. He was even smoking a cigarette, which should have turned her off. But it didn’t. Not even a little. The way he raised the cigarette to his lips and squinted at her then exhaled was thrilling. Bad in every good way possible. The intensity in his eyes left her breathless.
Emily jabbed her in the ribs. “Matt’s going for more shots!”
Sky didn’t respond, just quietly touched her friend’s arm with her fingers and stared as Luca moved toward her, languidly, dangerously. Her mouth felt wet, and as he got closer she saw that his eyes almost seemed colorless.
“Oh. Oh!” Emily’s hand gripped her forearm. “Is that Luca?”
He walked up to their table, and every woman within a ten-foot radius, including Skylar, was speechless. He stood nearby and with a glance looked down at an ashtray, casually crushed the cigarette into it. He lifted his gaze to her, and the corner of his mouth turned into a half-smile.
Was it apologetic? Commanding? Regretful? She had no idea.
Skylar swallowed. Anything she could say in that moment—introductions to her friends, a reprimand for being mean, a simple hello—seemed inadequate. Stupid. So she grinned nervously.
Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” came on, and Luca held out his hand.
“Dance?”
Skylar looked around at her friends, who
were all either swooning or gaping. Even Matt, who was passing out shots, was grinning. They were of no help now. She tried to laugh away the drama of the moment and shrugged.
Luca leaned close to her ear. “I’m sorry, Skylar. I’m here to apologize.”
Her heart racing, she stood up and slipped her hand into his. He pulled her to him, and the heat of his body was magnetic. She couldn’t detach herself if she tried.
“This is like a cheesy Eighties video,” she whispered as the lights dimmed and colored disco lights bubbled around the room. The song playing was all power chords and theatrical lyrics. How people spent a decade listening to this was beyond her. But, shit. It seemed to capture everything she was feeling.
Smiling and flashing those half-lidded, sensual eyes, Luca led her onto the dance floor. Right to the middle. Memories of eighth-grade dances and awkward moves with boys in a cold gym in Vermont popped into her mind and Skylar giggled. The vodka made her a little dizzy and floaty, and the idea that she was slow-dancing with this dark, delicious man at a place called the Sloppy Iguana on a hot Florida night made her laugh harder.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close, pressing his lips near her ear and his hands spanning the small of her back. His nose grazed the side of her temple, and she noticed that he smelled faintly of tobacco and spicy limes.
“Bellissima,” he whispered. “You look gorgeous tonight.”
“How did you know I was here?” she murmured.
“Uh, you told the world on Twitter.”
She smiled into his neck. So, he had been reading her Twitter feed. Moth, meet flame.
“Why are you all dressed up like that?” She pulled back to look at him and traced his jaw with her finger. His almost-beard was soft, and she wanted to bury her nose in his face. So she did.
“You said you wanted to see me in something other than shorts and a T-shirt. Do you approve?”
Her fingers stroked his neck under his collar. “I do. A lot.”
They held each other and swayed.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
He sighed. “I don’t. I quit a year ago, but I was particularly stressed out today. I’m sorry I stink.”
She pulled back to look at him and wondered what had made him anxious; they’d had their fight days ago. “Are you here to yell at me more? You were a jerk last weekend, you know that, right? I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
His lips were close to her ear, and she shivered, feeling herself get wet from his voice. That was so unfair.
“No. I’m not here to yell at you. And yes, I’m aware I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”
“Hmm. Are you here to tell me I’ve had too much to drink? Because I have.”
“No.”
“Are you here to tell me to stop snooping into your past?”
“Not at all.”
She stroked the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. God, how she had craved him. Missed him. Those stupid song lyrics matched her feelings. Big, dramatic, messy.
“Then…why are you here?”
“To dance with you.” He kissed her forehead as they moved in a slow circle. “To kiss your gorgeous mouth.”
They stopped swaying to the music and he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her deep as the older couples danced around them. He didn’t hold back with his lips, or with his tongue, and Skylar had never before been kissed in such a wicked, sex-could-happen-at-any-moment way in public. He tasted like cigarettes and smelled like coffee, and it was shocking that she wasn’t turned off by his smoking. His big hand grasped the back of her head, and she felt like she was falling.
Falling in love.
Exactly what she didn’t want. But couldn’t help.
“And again, I came to apologize to you. I’m sorry I was such an asshole. You were just doing what comes naturally to you as a reporter. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. You were right to look me up. Florida’s a messed-up place. You need to be careful and protect yourself.”
She nodded, and he kissed her again then hugged her nice and tight, spinning her around and lifting her off the ground. She had so many questions but let them all slide because his hand went into the hair at her nape, his other pressed on her lower back and her body flooded with arousal. He drew her against him, and they swayed together.
“I’m also here to take you home with me. Is that okay? We need to talk.”
“Yes,” Skylar murmured. “But can we finish this dance?”
“Absolutely.”
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked after a moment.
He shook his head and frowned, stroking her back. “Not here. Not now. Later, okay?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she clung to him as they moved, concentrated on how it felt to be in his arms. She was whole. Complete. Loved.
It was time she stopped denying herself what she really wanted. Tonight would be the night that she gave herself to him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
There was no doubt that Luca loved the reporter.
Annalisa stood in the shadows of the Sloppy Iguana, watching the two dance. It was too crowded for her to be detected, and she wore no makeup, a baseball cap and a ridiculous Tampa Bay Buccaneers jersey that she had picked up at a gas station. Her hair was in a ponytail and she wore her glasses instead of contacts and unflattering khaki shorts. And, horror of all horrors, sneakers. With socks.
She looked like an American. A caricature of an American. Plain, unstylish and fat. She couldn’t wait to strip off these unflattering, scratchy clothes that she had bought at a giant warehouse store. Buying those clothes, some disgusting microwaveable food and bottles of water—it was the only time she’d left her hotel room since the murder. Although she had wanted to stalk Luca at his house, she didn’t dare leave. Not for several days. But then her curiosity about Skylar had gotten the better of her, and by Friday afternoon she’d followed the American girl from the newspaper to her house to the Iguana. Annalisa noted that Skylar had gotten a ride to the bar with a man, and she wondered if Luca was no longer in the picture. Had hoped.
Now, seeing Luca and Skylar practically devouring each other in public, Annalisa knew otherwise. He’d never publicly displayed this kind of affection for her.
Lifting a gigantic glass of iced tea to her mouth—why were all beverages in America bladder-busting sizes?—she watched as Luca smoothed Skylar’s long hair from her face with gentle hands. He kissed her nose then hugged her, squeezing his eyes shut.
She’d considered going over and standing there, waiting until they both noticed her. Telling Skylar that Luca was hers and hers alone. She would watch as Skylar’s placid, blissed-out face exploded with hurt… But as she watched the two of them nuzzle and whisper to each other, it was Annalisa whose heart was pulverized. Luca had never kissed her nose. Never danced with her. His eyes had never flickered up and down her face intently like they were doing with Skylar.
No. She would not let him replace her in his life. He couldn’t just erase her like a few words from his work-in-progress.
Especially not since she’d killed her cousin’s hit man for him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Why did you let Matt drive you to the bar?”
They were in Luca’s Mercedes, and he gripped the steering wheel with one hand. The other reached for Skylar’s, and her touch warmed him, made him feel safe. It was exactly what he craved after not seeing her for a week.
She shrugged and turned her head to look out the window then rummaged in her purse and took out a tin of mints. She fed him one, and he was grateful after that cigarette. “He lives near me. I felt like drinking, and he offered. Why?”
Why, indeed? Why was he even here? Why, when he was hours, possibly minutes, away from telling her that he was leaving Florida soon? He wasn’t being fair to her, and he knew it. And yet, the idea of her being with another man sent a violent anger through him that he had never before experienced.
�
�Just curious.”
His mouth felt tight, tense. As he pulled into his uncle’s gated community, he braced himself for the inevitable talk once they got inside the house. Over the past few days alone he’d brooded and drank and smoked. Then he’d prepared a speech about how he simply couldn’t handle everything that had been thrown at him in the past few weeks, between his uncle’s crazy revelation and his own, equally insane feelings for her. He was getting too close and that scared the shit out of him.
Really, he should have just texted a goodbye. But there was no way he’d be that cruel to her. And he also shouldn’t have gotten dressed up. At the very least he could have simply driven Skylar to her house and ended it there. Selfishly, though, he wanted her for this one last night. It wasn’t even about sex, because they hadn’t had it and he wasn’t about to make a final plea. No, he just wanted to sleep next to her. To hold her in his arms for eight hours straight. Which was probably more damaging and dangerous than making love to her then vanishing. For both him and her.
Maybe he would wait until the morning to tell her. That would be better. She was tipsy and he didn’t know what her reaction would be. Better to tell her everything when she had a clear head.
A wave of guilt splashed over him. Saying goodbye was exactly what he didn’t want to do, but he saw no other way to avoid the inevitable pain, or worse, that would follow for both of them if he stayed. Maybe he could come back when times changed and he could be a normal person again. If he ever felt like that could happen. If she would take him back.
He opened the garage, drove inside and then killed the ignition. As the door shut behind them, he paused, staring at the glove compartment where he had put his gun before going into the Iguana. Should he take it out in front of Skylar? Reveal that little bit of his life so she could witness the insanity firsthand?
“Did you forget something?” she asked in a soft voice, putting her hand on his forearm and rubbing gently.