Dirty Lies Page 12

  "How did you know I love chocolate?"

  He softly bit my neck, and a shimmer went through me from head to toe. "I guessed. You probably haven't had the good stuff, though. I'll have to find you some real Italian chocolates."

  My heart fluttered. I'd make him espresso and eat chocolate with him anywhere. He spun me around, and we swayed a little.

  "Do you like this music? It's jazz. Chet Baker." He kissed me on the forehead.

  I nodded. The music, the coffee, him. It practically made me giddy.

  After a few minutes, the Bialetti percolated. I opened the lid a half-inch, and watched the thick coffee bubble up into the top chamber.

  Luca chuckled. "It can explode if you're not careful."

  I shot him an alarmed look.

  "A Bialetti once exploded on my mother when I was ten," Luca said, continuing to laugh. "I remember the whole unit just went POOM and coffee splashed up to the ceiling. Come to think of it, I believe every Italian family has coffee on their ceiling because of an espresso explosion."

  "Uh, thanks. When I'm not with you, I'll stick to my iced coffee."

  Did it make him sad to think about his mother? A hint of a shadow in his eyes told me the answer to that question.

  "I can't believe you're single. You seem too good to be true. You're handsome, you're smart, you make great food." I tried to say this with a playful grin.

  He sighed and shifted away, then took the pot off the stove and poured more into our cups. His shoulders rose with tension, and I cringed, worried I'd said the wrong thing and wondering if he would explode like a Bialetti.

  His voice was serious. "I'm single, I've told you that. My longest relationship was with a woman for a month or so in Italy, but I broke up with her. We just didn't…I dunno. I didn't feel a spark for her. I haven't had anyone serious in my life ever. I'm not really a good… Let's just say, I'm not really the relationship type."

  "What was her name?" I didn't even know why I was torturing myself by asking.

  Luca frowned. "Annalisa."

  A stab went through my gut. Was it jealousy for this Annalisa woman who'd been lucky enough to spend a month with him? Or disappointment? Both?

  A competitive feeling welled inside me, similar to when I was working on a news story. I wanted not only to be the best, but the only. I'd felt this weird competitiveness when James talked about his ex. I wanted to be better than any woman who had come before me, and Annalisa was no different.

  "What was wrong with Annalisa?"

  "She…she…" Luca's voice trailed off, and he waved a hand in the air in a circle, as if trying to find the right words.

  Trying to stay casual, I sipped my coffee and wondered what Annalisa looked like. She had a beautiful, feminine name. I conjured images of a petite and fashionable European woman. Probably extremely cosmopolitan and well-traveled. Spoke multiple languages effortlessly. Surely she possessed a slightly aloof nature, a practical breeziness, an effortless thinness.

  Pretty much the opposite of me in every way.

  Luca stammered, and I didn't respond. It was a reporter's trick to stay silent and hope the other person continued talking.

  Luca rotated the little white cup on the granite counter with his fingertips and didn't look at me. He sighed, then said, "Sky, I think it's best if we set some ground rules about this. I won't ask you any questions about your past if you don't ask any questions about mine."

  I frowned. "But I don't mind if you ask me questions. I don't have anything to hide. I have no problem telling you about my ex-boyf—"

  Luca interrupted, putting a finger over my mouth. "I don't want to know. I don't want to imagine another man touching you. That's one of the many reasons why I don't want to talk about our pasts. I have a jealous streak."

  "Okay. Fair enough. But why do you have a problem with talking about your past?"

  He chewed on his bottom lip. "It's really complicated, amore. I don't want to involve you in it. That's all I'll say."

  I sent him a skeptical, cynical look, then remembered how his parents died and softened. "Complicated how?"

  "I'm not going to talk about it with you," he said in a flat voice. "My past, your past…none of it is important anyway. What's important is right now, this moment. Live in the present, that's all I'm trying to do. That's all I can do, no? It will make us a lot easier."

  "What is going on with us?" I pointed my finger at him, then at my chest.

  There was a long pause. "I don't know. Let's not label it."

  "And the future? Is talking about that off-limits too?"

  "Yes." His tone was razor-sharp.

  "Why?"

  He shook his head, a mournful look on his face. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room. "I…I don't know how long I'll be here in Florida. I can't promise anything. I don't want to make a promise I can't keep."

  Feeling a sharp pain in my stomach, I vowed to maintain distance. This was only casual fooling around, friends with benefits. My first impression of Luca had been correct.

  He wasn't boyfriend material at all.

  And yet, I didn't want this to end. Not yet. I wasn't willing to walk away. No, I had to create some boundaries of my own—some parameters so I could continue to spend time with him and keep my dignity intact.

  "Okay, well…I have a rule too, Luca."

  His gaze dropped to my face. "What is it?"

  "As long as we're doing this," I waved my hand between us, "you don't screw anyone else."

  "I'm not screwing anyone else."

  "Or 'make love.' Or fare l'amore, or whatever."

  "Very good on the pronunciation." He cracked a smile.

  "Don't turn your Italian charm on me. I tried to make my voice steely, but allowed a grin to slip. "If we're going to continue to be together, while we're together, I need to be the only one. That's the trade-off. I don't ask you about your past, you don't fuck anyone else."

  A little smile crept onto his lips. "I like a woman who knows what she wants. Okay. Agreed. I can do that."

  I nodded slowly. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

  He kissed me, then suggested we take the coffee and some biscotti up to the second-floor terrace, off his bedroom. As we carried everything upstairs, I considered informing Luca he didn't need to worry about me falling in love with him.

  I wasn't ready for a relationship. I didn't want a boyfriend, not really.

  Of course, if I did want one, he'd be exactly like Luca.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Spy

  ANNALISA

  What the hell is this? I looked down and scowled.

  The Gulf of Mexico looked pretty and sparkly and blue, but it was as warm as a bath.

  Wearing an ugly, hot pink one-piece swimsuit I'd bought to blend in with the rest of the Americans, along with a floppy hat and big sunglasses, I waded out until the water was hip-deep.

  Using the address the bureaucrat gave me, I located Federico's house with relative ease.

  I wasn't ready to bribe the guard for information, not yet. Since the house was so close to the public beach, I didn't want to attract attention by lingering at the gate, so I went out just far enough in the water to spy from a distance through a tiny pair of binoculars. Surely if Luca stood on the terrace of that big house, he couldn't see me.

  My foot touched something underwater, and I kicked frantically, nearly dropping the binoculars in the water. The hotel desk clerk had warned me about stingrays hidden in the sand, and the very thought of touching one with my toes turned my stomach.

  I hoped it was just a rock or a shell. Even the idea of sea grass disgusted me.

  I slowly turned to face the beach and slipped off the sunglasses. The binoculars weren't as effective if I used them over the sunglasses, I'd discovered. The glasses were attached to a strap that matched my suit, and the whole clunky ensemble dangled around my neck. I'd never looked so unfashionable in my entire life, but the whole point of this stupid getup was to blend in.

/>   Normally, I loved attention and standing out in a crowd. I knew that would be dangerous here on this little, boring island where everyone looked old and sunburned.

  Thank God there weren't many people here on the beach today, and they all seemed too absorbed in sunbathing or reading to notice my odd behavior. Then again, this was America, where everyone let their freak flag fly. No one cared if I was spying on houses.

  People probably thought I was a birdwatcher, looking at those scrawny white birds with legs that resembled sticks.

  Adjusting the binoculars, the terrace of Luca's home came into focus. I spotted a familiar, black-haired head. A little cry leaked out of my mouth, and I had to lower the binoculars to regain composure. I looked around to see if anyone heard me. No.

  Slowly, I raised the binoculars. It was him.

  My Luca.

  I drank in the sight. He was even more bronze and muscular than when I last saw him. Yummy. The shaking in my legs made me unsteady in the water, and I took a few slow steps toward shore, keeping my eyes on him. I couldn't wait to see him up close, to feel the hunger and desire in his grass-green eyes.

  Then another figure came into view. A woman. A rival.

  I sharpened the focus on the binoculars and sucked in a breath when I saw Luca wrap his arms around the person. Did he just kiss her temple? Was I seeing things? He smoothed her hair back and kissed her on the mouth.

  "Shit," I whispered softly.

  My rival had dark hair, wore a sloppy T-shirt, and from the shape of the nose and the plump lips, she looked like Skylar Shaw, the local reporter. She had a wide ass. I scowled. Swaying palm tree fronds blocked my view, and I lowered the binoculars, my mouth drooping along with my mood.

  Fuck. How much time was he spending with this Skylar woman? Surely she was just one of his many conquests.

  This complicated things. It would be trouble if the American became involved.

  I shuffled through the water. I didn't want to hurt anyone, much less a reporter. I liked reporters, because I had been one. And I believed in girl power and sisterhood and all that.

  But I'd come all this way and wasn't above eliminating a woman if it meant getting what I deserved.

  I raised the binoculars again, catching an eyeful of his glossy dark hair and muscular back.

  What I deserved was Luca.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Awkward Pauses

  SKYLAR

  Setting my coffee on a table, I stood at the terrace railing and looked out at the view of sand and water.

  "You must have had a great view of the plane crash."

  Luca leaned on the rail, his back to the Gulf. The corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile.

  "You did see the crash from here. And you didn't tell me. You're so bad," I teased, then pointed. "That's where I do yoga."

  Glancing at him again, his head was bowed, and he was biting his bottom lip, grinning.

  "Have you seen me do yoga?" I asked, astonished.

  He nodded. "Confession time. Yes."

  Laughing, I stood in front of him and squeezed his forearm. "You have? Why didn't you come join me? Or say hello? Or did you just enjoy watching me bend over?"

  Still grinning, he scratched the back of his head, then went to sit on a chaise and rested his coffee next to mine. "It was the Saturday after we saw each other at that store. You were right there, practically in my backyard. And you were really flexible. Sexy. I did enjoy watching you bend over, if you want to know." He paused. "I'm not usually this much of a pervert."

  Could he be any more adorable?

  I kissed him, laughing. When I turned away, he swatted my ass, and I yelped, giddy. He grabbed my wrist, then pulled me into his lap. Sliding his arms around my waist, he pressed his mouth to mine.

  "How did you get so good at yoga?"

  "My mom taught it. I practically grew up in her studio, but then I took lots of classes and even taught little kids during summers in high school."

  My mom also worked at a health food store until six weeks before her death to make ends meet, but I didn't reveal that. I didn't want Luca to know if it hadn’t been for my mom's job at the health food store, we wouldn't have had money to eat. Or that one January when I was twelve, my mom didn't make enough to pay for heating oil and we wore coats inside all winter long.

  "Did you learn to meditate and everything?"

  "I grew up a New Age hippie kid."

  "What does a New Age hippie kid do? Were you on a commune?"

  I grinned. "No. But I had friends who were. They had a house rule that they couldn't smoke pot until they were thirteen."

  Luca shook his head, chuckling.

  I rolled my eyes. "My mom was into a lot of fake spirituality. Lots of talking about peace and love and respecting the inherent worth and dignity of all human beings."

  "It sounds kind of nice, actually."

  I shrugged, not wanting to get into how all that inner peace didn't help my mom die in a calm way. Something about telling Luca the story of my mom made her sad. Chemotherapy and radiation had made for lots of suffering, enlightenment be damned.

  "Yeah, it was good, mostly. I learned to meditate when I was a toddler, that's what my mom said. I don't do it as much as I should now, though."

  "That must be why you seem so calm on the outside. Strong."

  I tilted my head. Was this his way of saying I was cold and passionless? I wriggled out of his arms. "And on the inside, what? Emotionless? Vacant? Stupid?"

  "God, no. Not even close. What?" he asked, looking surprised. "I was paying you a compliment. You seem really mature for twenty-two. Balanced. I love how calm you are. I grew up around Italians. We're excited and crazy all the time. Loud."

  I shrugged and ran a few fingers through his short hair. "My…um, calmness, whatever you want to call it, is a sore point. My ex-boyfriend used to tell me I was cold and frigid. Oh. Sorry. We're not supposed to talk about our pasts."

  "No. Actually, I want to hear about this stronzo. That means asshole. Stronzo. I want to know exactly what he did to you so I can figure out how to undo the damage. Who was he?"

  I let out a snort and slipped off Luca's lap, settling next to him on the chaise. "James was an editor at the newspaper where I interned. We started dating after my internship was over. He was a lot older than me, but I liked him. He was interesting. Told good stories. He was a former war correspondent. At first, we got along really well."

  "And what happened?" I noticed Luca looked at the sky as I spoke.

  "It's difficult to say. He just became gradually more…I don't know, demeaning. Abusive. He got laid off from the paper. He'd tell me I was boring in bed. He told me I was getting fat. It was like a slow erosion of my confidence. Then he got a little physical with me. Once, when he didn't like something I was doing…um, sexually, he pushed me off the bed. Like, pushed me. Hard."

  Luca said something in Italian. "Sorry. I use the nastiest words in my native language. Skylar, why did you stay?"

  "I don't know. I thought that he would become nicer, that he was just under pressure. It sounds so stupid and lame now. And I guess my self-esteem took a hit and I was too ashamed to say anything to anyone."

  "But you broke up with him?"

  "Yeah. I worked up the courage after he invited another woman to his house to fuck me. On my graduation night."

  Laughter exploded from Luca's mouth, and my heart sank. He must have seen the troubled look on my face, though, because he sobered and reached for my hand. "Skylar. I'm not laughing at you. I'm just shocked. I can't believe anyone would do that to you. It's so absurd and rude."

  I shrugged. "I dunno. I think all men want threesomes. He was just upfront about it. And an asshole."

  Luca groaned. "No. All men don't."

  "Please. I'm sure you've had threesomes. You probably have women throwing themselves at you."

  "Skylar, I can't deny I've had a past. But I'd never share you with anyone, man or woman. It would make me crazy to se
e anyone else touch you."

  The sound of the soft waves of the Gulf filled the silence.

  "And yet, you don't want a relationship, so what does it matter?"

  Luca licked his lips, and I wondered if I'd been too caustic, self-sabotaging this fledgling relationship before it had a chance to hatch. Suddenly, I didn't feel like hanging out with him—was embarrassed about spending so much time wrapped up in him when he probably would never reciprocate my feelings.

  "I think I'm gonna go. I have lots to do today. I had a really good time with you."

  God, this was awkward.

  His green-gray eyes clouded and flickered downward for a brief second. Was he disappointed? No, he was probably glad to get rid of me.

  "Okay. I'll call you, or text. But you can too. You know that, right?"

  I smiled, but a sad feeling settled in my chest. "Yeah. I do."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A Taste Of Normal

  LUCA

  Why the hell did she have to leave? Why hadn't I tried harder to make her stay?

  More importantly, why did I care so much?

  Sitting before a blank screen of the computer, I sighed. Maybe I should drive to the store for cigarettes. Writing was easier while smoking. It made me think more fluidly.

  All the reporting notes for the second book on another Mafia family were transcribed, and I had an outline. But tonight, I didn't feel like creating sentences or paragraphs or chapters. Grabbing two pens, I tapped them on the desk like drumsticks, the sound matching my quick-beating heart.

  I wanted to lounge more on the sofa with Skylar. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to listen to her sexy, throaty laugh.

  That little taste of normalcy, of watching a movie, of sleeping next to her and waking to her kisses, was so seductive. The intimacy and cozy cuddling was just part of it, though, and a gnawing need still raged inside me.