by Julie Leto
Marisela whipped off the blanket, stretched in her ratty sweatpants and T-shirt, attempted to hand-comb her unbrushed hair, and decided enough was enough.
“Okay then. So I’m not fired?” she asked, hands on hips.
Ian chuckled. “Did I miss a termination worthy offense?”
“Leo Devlin? Gun? Blood? Brain bits? Ring a bell?”
With a shake of his head, he snagged another cookie. “He ordered the deaths of innocent men and shot Yizenia in the back. The man was a coward. No one at Titan holds your reaction against you, if that’s what you’ve been thinking.”
A knock on the front door sent Lia scurrying by them to open it, but Frankie didn’t wait for an invite to come inside. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he stopped and eyed Marisela up and down.
“Ever heard of a shower?”
He softened his remark with a slow smile that spawned a flush of heat from deep within her. Yeah, she’d heard of showers. Had had a really interesting one with him what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Ian stood, straightened his unwrinkled slacks, and cleared his throat. “I’m off, then.”
Marisela smirked. “You came all the way to Florida just to fill me in on the post-mission details?”
“I have other business here,” Ian replied, his eyes twinkling in Lia’s direction. Twinkling? Marisela stood up straighter, trying to hook into the vibe shooting between her boss and her best friend. Okay, what’s up with this shit? He just confesses to wanting her and now he’s flirting with her friend?
Just like a man.
“Your cookies were delicious, Ms. Santorini,” Ian complimented.
Lia smoothed her hand over her long, dark hair. And was she blushing?
“Thank you. Anytime you want a batch…”
Marisela cleared her throat, trying not to blanch. Lia responded by crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“Where are you off to, Mr. Blake?” Lia asked, ignoring Marisela’s guttural warning.
“Ian, please.”
Marisela and Frankie exchanged nauseated glances.
“My sister has suggested that for a while, perhaps Marisela would benefit from running a few less taxing operations. We’re reopening our temporary Tampa office. We’ll offer private investigative work. No guns, explosives, car chases, assassins, or malevolent, power-hungry political backstabbing.”
Marisela frowned. “Sounds boring.”
Ian grinned and walked toward the door. “With you in charge, I doubt that will be the case.”
He nodded and left.
“Me? In charge?” Marisela asked Frankie, who shook his head in disbelief.
“Brynn ha perdido su mente.”
Lia strolled by Frankie on the way back to her bedroom, her scowl at Marisela’s ex a deep contrast to her flirtation with Ian. “She’s not the only one who’s lost her mind.”
“What was that about?” Marisela asked once Lia left the room.
He adjusted his duffel. “Lia’s pissed at me.”
“Lia’s always pissed at you. And she usually has a damned good reason. What did you do this time?”
Dropping his bag to the floor, Frankie wrapped his hands around Marisela’s waist and tugged her close. She was sure she smelled of cookie crumbs and coffee, with a whiff or two of wine and rum and the pizza she and Lia had ordered last night. Frankie didn’t seem to mind.
Sensations surged through her, reminding her that blocking herself off from the world never worked. She needed to get out, party a little, maybe take a day trip to the beach. She was home. And now, she had a chance to work here for a little while, likely until any heat on Titan died down. So far as she knew, no one even knew she’d been at the Devlin mansion that afternoon. The bullet in Devlin’s skull and the one in Yizenia’s gun stolen from Brynn, matched. Once Titan explained their ties to Yizenia and how they’d tried to detain her, the whole mess would blow over.
And she still had a job.
“Will you be working under me?” Marisela asked, tilting her head back so Frankie could nibble on every inch of her neck.
“If I’m lucky.”
She stepped back and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m serious. Are you going to be in the Tampa office, too?”
All signs of desire dropped from Frankie’s face. “No, Marisela. I quit Titan. For good. I’m on my own now.”
“What?” She stepped back for a second, regained her equilibrium, and then shot forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Why?”
“I got a better offer.”
“From who?”
He shrugged. “From me.”
Marisela swallowed hard, trying to contain the swirl of emotion twisting through her. Frankie leaving? Frankie not her partner anymore? Frankie heading off into an unknown situation without her there to watch his back?
Her mind somersaulted back to her final showdown with Yizenia and Devlin. Circumstances had forced Marisela to handle the situation on her own, and while she’d been wallowing in what she’d thought were bad decisions, neither Ian nor Brynn seemed to second-guess her choices. Marisela still didn’t know how she’d permanently reconcile her killer instinct and her quest to stay on the side of the good guys, but at least she still had the opportunity to find out.
If she stayed with Titan.
She’d miss Frankie. She knew that. Standing on her own two feet was the next step—just like Frankie cutting loose from Titan was his. Frankie was her friend, her lover, and…her safety net. It was time to drop the webbing and face life and her career on her own.
But just because she didn’t need Frankie on the job didn’t mean she didn’t need him at all.
She grabbed Frankie’s sleeve and yanked him forward, smashing her mouth to his in a kiss that would brand his flesh for a good long while. Behind her, she heard Lia’s footfalls skitter across the hardwood floors, then the distinct sound of her bedroom door clicking shut.
“Remember that shower you mentioned?” Marisela asked. “I think I might need a little help with it.” She whipped the old T-shirt over her head. Her breasts warmed under Frankie’s heated stare. “The showerhead in the guest room is a little…tight.”
Frankie licked his lips, and when she imagined that tongue flicking over her nipples, she nearly cooed.
“No one fixes tight like I do, vidita.”
No regrets, Ian had reminded her. She’d lived her life that way for a hell of a long time and, so far, things had worked out pretty damned good. And the minute Frankie slipped his hands around her waist, she knew the future was definitely looking up. She merged her mouth with Frankie’s, reveling in the demanding push and pull of his tongue with hers. Frankie might be striking out on his own, but he wasn’t gone yet. And who knew? Maybe she could convince him to stick around just a little while longer.
Or maybe not.
Her future was wide open—and Marisela couldn’t wait to dive in and see what happened next.
* * * * * * * * *
Did you miss the first book in this series? Here’s an excerpt!
Already read Marisela’s first adventure? Click here to read a teaser for the third installment, Talk Dirty To Me.
Afterword
Thank you so much for downloading and reading Dirty Little Lies. The story is a sequel to my first Marisela Morales sexy suspense, Dirty Little Secrets, so if you missed seeing how she got mixed up with Titan International in the first place, I hope you’ll look it up!
I’m currently working on a third Marisela book, Talk Dirty to Me. If you’d like to be among the first to know when the book is released, please go to my website, www.julieleto.com, and subscribe either to my website updates (the link is in the upper right hand corner) or to my newsletter. I only send out a message about once a month and I will never share your email information with anyone else.
Lastly, since word of mouth is so critical to readers and authors alike, I would really appreciate it if you’d pop back to Amazon and leave an honest review of this s
tory. It just takes a minute or two, but your opinion is priceless!
REVIEW DIRTY LITTLE LIES
Happy Reading!
Other Works By Julie Leto
Dirty Little Secrets (Sexy Suspense)
Sex, lies and lethal weapons…
Praise for Dirty Little Lies:
“Stephanie Who? Readers looking for a genuine and credible bad-ass kick-butt heroine may want to check this book out.”
Mrs. Giggles
“Readers who love a great kickass heroine, propulsive action and plenty of steam shouldn't miss Dirty Little Secrets.”
Leigh Thomas
All About Romance
“Get out the ice and set your fans on high! Julie Leto's Dirty Little Secrets will set you on fire the minute you pick up this steamy, high-speed book of love, action, and adventure.”
Anne Lum,
Writer's Unlimited
OVERVIEW:
— A disgraced bounty hunter pursues her sexy ex
— The secret agent on the run catapults her into his treacherous underworld
— Is her super-sexy lover her ticket out of a mundane world--or is he setting her up to crash and burn?
To purchase Dirty Little Secrets, click here.
Dare Me (Sexy Suspense)
Given the choice between great sex and saving the world…why not do both?
Praise for Dare Me…
“Dante is uber male, sexy, smart, full of himself yet underneath it all he knows he screwed up and wants to get Macy back. Sigh. This is a hot, fun quick read.”
Brenda
Goodreads
“Moved really fast and full of smart characters.”
Elizabeth Brown
Amazon reader
“Steamy hot…”
Diana Ketterer
All About Romance
OVERVIEW
— female James Bond submits to seduction to save the world
— suave super-spy risks everything to win back the woman he betrayed
To purchase Dare Me, click here.
Phantom Pleasures (sexy paranormal romance)
Want a late night ghost story where your goose bumps won’t be from fear?
Praise for Phantom Pleasures:
“Ms Leto is in top form here as she strikes the perfect balance between moving the story along and filling the reader in on details.”
Mrs.Giggles
“The actual storyline itself is fanciful and well told. Julie Leto created a tale about Gypsies and magic, curses and love, lost brothers and missing civilizations.”
Cherise Everhard,
Amazon Top 1000 Reviewer
OVERVIEW
— a powerful nobleman, trapped in time
— a modern woman inherits a haunted castle
— will she submit to the phantom’s dark magic or free him from his prison–and her heart—forever?
To purchase Phantom Pleasures, click here
Dirty Little Secrets (Excerpt)
One
“I REMEMBER WHEN you used to stroke me like that.”
Marisela Morales punctuated her pickup line by blowing on the back of Francisco Vega’s neck. She watched the soft downy strands on his nape spike and knew her luck had finally turned around.
His fingers, visible as she glanced over his shoulder, drew streaks through the condensation on his beer bottle. Up and down. Slow and straight. Lazy, but precise. He toyed with his cerveza the same way he’d once made love to her, and for a split second, a trickle of moist heat curled intimately between Marisela’s thighs. For the moment, the part of her Frankie used to oh-so-easily manipulate was safe, encased beneath silky panties and skin-tight, hip-hugging jeans.
Tonight, she’d have him—but on her terms. The hunter had found her prey. Now, she just had to bring him in.
“I don’t remember taking time for slow strokes when you and me got busy, niña.”
Marisela sighed, teasing his neck with her hot breath one more time before she slid onto the bar stool next to his. She’d been trying to track the man down for nearly a week. Who knew Frankie would turn up at an old haunt? Since they’d parted ways, Club Electric, a white box on the outside, hot joint on the inside, had changed names, hands, and clientele a good dozen times. But a few things remained constant—the music, the raw atmosphere—and the availability of men like Frankie, who defined the word caliente.
Like the song said, Hot, hot, hot.
“We were young then,” Marisela admitted with a shrug, loosening the holster strap that cradled the cherished 9 mm Taurus Millennium she wore beneath her slick leather jacket. “Now, I’m all grown up.”
Marisela wiggled her crimson fingernails at Theresa, the owner of the club. The way the older woman’s face lit up, Marisela figured she was going to get more than a drink. Damn. Marisela loved Theresa as if she were her aunt, but now wasn’t the time for…
“Oh, Marisela! Mija, how can I thank you for what you did?”
The sentiment was as loud as it was sincere. So she’d done a nice thing for Theresa. The world didn’t have to know. Good deeds could ruin her reputation.
And a simple thank-you wasn’t enough for Theresa. She stepped up onto the shelf on the other side of the bar and practically launched herself into Marisela’s arms. Rolling her eyes at Frankie, Marisela gave the owner a genuine squeeze. She deserved as much. She was a good listener, kept great secrets and mixed the best Cuba Libre in town.
“De nada, Theresa,” Marisela said, gently disentangling herself. She appreciated the woman’s gratitude, but she had work to do.
“Anything for you. Anytime. For you, drinks are on the house from now on, okay? You and…your friend.”
Even as she tried to be the courteous hostess, Theresa’s voice faltered when her eyes met Frankie’s. Marisela’s ex hadn’t been in the neighborhood for years. And in that time, he’d aged. His skin, naturally dark, now sported a rough texture, complete with a scar that traced just below his bottom lip. His jaw seemed sharper and his once perfect nose now shifted slightly to the right—likely the result of an untreated break. Even if he hadn’t matured from a devilish boy to a clearly dangerous man, he likely wouldn’t be recognized by anyone but Marisela and a few others who’d once known him well—the very “others” Marisela had made sure wouldn’t come into Club Electric again, on Theresa’s behalf.
“I never say no to free booze,” Marisela answered. “Gracias, Theresa.”
Theresa blew Marisela a kiss, patted her cheek, then moved aside to work on her drink. To most people, a Cuba Libre was just rum and Coke with lime. To Marisela, it was a taste of heaven.
“What did you do for her?” Frankie asked, his voice even, as if he wasn’t really curious.
Marisela knew better. She slid her arms on the bar, arching her back, working out the kinks in her spine while giving Frankie an unhampered view of her breasts. She didn’t want him to waste his curiosity on what she’d done for Theresa; she wanted to pique his interest another way.
“Last week, las Reinas chose this bar as their new hangout. Not quite the clientele Theresa has in mind. Gangs aren’t exactly good for business. I politely asked them to pick someplace else.”
“Politely?” Frankie asked, his dark eyebrows bowed over his hypnotic eyes. “Last I remember, las Reinas didn’t respond well to polite.”
Marisela shrugged. She’d earned a great deal of respect from her former gang by choosing to bleed out. She’d used every fighting skill she’d ever learned, every survival instinct she’d ever experienced, to escape a lifelong bond to the gang. But she’d survived. Barely.
“They’ve learned some manners while you’ve been gone. Lots of things have changed. Like,” she said, snagging his beer around the neck and taking a sip, “I don’t settle for fast and furious no more.”
Frankie didn’t move a muscle. “Is that so?”
She smoothed her tongue over her teeth, then licked the lip of his bottle, careful not to smudge her ruby red lipstic
k. He snagged his drink back and chugged, his gaze locked on her mouth. Frankie always had a thing for her lips. Marisela thought they resembled something between Angelina Jolie and a grouper, but Frankie considered her thick, pouty flesh mighty fine. A detail she intended to use to her advantage, now that she’d found the man.
Theresa delivered her rum and Coke, tall and icy with a wedge of lime. After another wary glance at Frankie, she left them alone.
“So you come here a lot?” he asked.
“Where else am I gonna go? This is West Tampa, not Miami. We’ve got one club and this is it.”
“There’s always Ybor City.”
“If you don’t mind drunks who can’t dance and ridiculous cover charges. This is still the neighborhood hot spot. You’d know that if you came around more.”
“I’ve been busy,” he answered, draining the rest of his beer.
She sipped her spiked cola. “And how was prison?”
He chuckled, slid his beer bottle away. “Big party,” he quipped. “I got out two years ago.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard.”
He snorted. He likely knew as well as she did that the precise location and activities of all the neighborhood kids—young, old, and in between—were reported, catalogued, and reported again from the shiny vinyl chairs of Viola’s Beauty Parlor, two blocks south of Columbus Drive. Their mothers both had standing appointments every weekend. And thanks to Aida Morales’s devotion to the Saturday morning religion of gossip and speculation, Marisela knew precisely what Frankie had been up to over the last decade as if she’d been there herself. Gang. Prison. Dock work in Miami. Nothing too complicated.
Then a week ago, he’d shown up in Tampa uninvited and unexpected. After less than an hour in town, he’d been arrested for possession. Thanks to his parents, he’d made bail—and then he’d promptly disappeared.