Dirty Lies Page 19

  "Dance?"

  I looked around at my friends, who were all either swooning or gaping. Even Matt, who was passing out shots, was grinning. They were of no help now. I tried to laugh away the drama of the moment and shrugged.

  Luca leaned close to my ear. "I'm sorry, Skylar. I'm here to apologize."

  My heart racing, I stood up and slipped my hand into his. He pulled me to him, and the heat of his body was magnetic. I couldn't detach myself if I tried.

  "This is like a cheesy eighties video," I whispered as colored disco lights soared around the room. The song playing was all power chords and theatrical lyrics. How people spent a decade listening to this was beyond me.

  But shit. It seemed to capture everything I was feeling.

  Smiling and flashing those half-lidded, sensual eyes, Luca led me onto the dancefloor. Right to the middle. Memories of eighth-grade dances and awkward moves with boys in a cold gym in Vermont popped into my mind, and I giggled.

  The vodka and the shot left me a little dizzy and floaty, and the idea that I was slow-dancing with this dark, delicious man at a place called the Sloppy Iguana on a hot Florida night made me laugh harder.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he pulled me close, pressing his lips near my ear as his hands spanned the small of my back. His nose grazed the side of my temple, and I noticed he smelled faintly of tobacco and spicy limes.

  "Bellissima," he whispered. "You look gorgeous tonight."

  "How did you know I was here?" I murmured.

  "Uh, you told the world on Instagram."

  I smiled into his neck. So, he had been reading my Insta feed. Moth, meet flame.

  "Why are you all dressed up like that?" I pulled back to look at him and traced his jaw with my finger. His almost-beard was soft, and I wanted to bury my nose in his face. So I did.

  "You said you wanted to see me in something other than shorts and a T-shirt. Do you approve?"

  My fingers stroked his neck under his collar. "I do. A lot."

  We 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."

  "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 my ear, and I shivered, feeling myself get wet from his voice. It was so unfair, the effect he had on me.

  "No. I'm not here to yell at you. And yes, I'm aware I was a jerk. I'm sorry."

  "Hmmm. 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."

  I stroked the back of his head, running my fingers through his hair. God, how I'd craved him. Missed him. Those stupid song lyrics matched my feelings. Big, dramatic, messy.

  "Then…why are you here?"

  "To dance with you." He kissed my forehead as we moved in a slow circle. "To kiss your gorgeous mouth."

  We stopped swaying to the music. He cradled my face in his hands and kissed me deep as the older couples danced around us.

  He didn't hold back with his lips or tongue. I'd 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 I wasn't turned off by his smoking. His big hand grasped the back of my head, and I felt like I was falling.

  In love.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Pulverized

  ANNALISA

  There was no doubt Luca loved the reporter.

  I stood in the shadows of the Sloppy Iguana watching the two dance. It was too crowded for me to be detected, and I wore no makeup, a baseball cap, and a ridiculous Tampa Bay Buccaneers jersey I'd picked up at a gas station.

  My hair was in a ponytail, I'd slipped on glasses instead of contacts, and had on unflattering khaki shorts. And, horror of all horrors, sneakers. With socks.

  I looked like an American. A caricature of an American. Plain, unstylish, and fat. I couldn't wait to strip off these unflattering, scratchy clothes I'd bought at a giant warehouse store. Buying those clothes, some disgusting microwaveable food and bottles of water—it was the only time I'd left the hotel room since the murder.

  Although I'd wanted to stalk Luca at his house, I didn't dare leave. Not for several days. But then my curiosity about Skylar had gotten the better of me, and by Friday afternoon, I'd followed the American girl from the newspaper to her house, and then to the Iguana.

  It was interesting how Skylar rode to the bar with a man, and I wondered if Luca was no longer in the picture. Had hoped, for Skylar's sake.

  Now, seeing Luca and Skylar practically devouring each other in public, I knew otherwise. He'd never publicly displayed this kind of affection for me.

  Lifting a gigantic glass of iced tea to my mouth—why were all beverages in America bladder-busting sizes?—I 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.

  I'd considered going over and standing there, waiting until they both noticed me. Telling Skylar Luca was mine and mine alone.

  It would be so fucking satisfying to watch Skylar's placid, blissed-out face explode with hurt…

  But as I stared at the two of them nuzzle and whisper to each other, it was me whose heart was pulverized.

  Luca had never kissed my nose. Never danced with me. His eyes had never flickered up and down my face intently like they were doing with Skylar.

  No, I would not let him replace me in his life. He couldn't just delete me like a few words from his work in progress.

  Especially not since I'd killed my own cousin's hitman for him.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  A Planned Goodbye

  LUCA

  "Why did you let Matt drive you to the bar?"

  We were in my Mercedes, and I gripped the steering wheel with one hand. The other reached for Skylar's, and her touch warmed me, made me feel safe. It was exactly what I 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 me one, and I was grateful after that cigarette.

  "He lives near me. I felt like drinking, and he offered. Why?"

  Why, indeed? Why was I even here? Why, when I was hours, possibly minutes, away from telling her I was leaving Florida soon? I wasn't being fair to her, and I knew it. And yet, the idea of her being with another man sent a violent anger through me I'd never before experienced.

  "Just curious."

  My mouth felt tight, tense. As I pulled into my uncle's gated community, I braced myself for the inevitable talk once we got inside the house.

  Over the past few days alone, I'd brooded and drank and smoked. Then I'd prepared a speech about how I simply couldn't handle everything that had been thrown at me in the past few weeks, between my uncle's crazy revelation and my own equally insane feelings for Skylar.

  I was getting too close, and that scared the shit out of me.

  Really, I should have just texted a goodbye.

  But there was no way I'd be that cruel to her. I’d needed to apologize for my shitty behavior last weekend.

  At the very least, I could have simply driven Skylar to her house and ended it there. Selfishly, though, I wanted her for this one last night. It wasn't even about sex, because we hadn't had it and I wasn't about to make a final plea.

  No, I just wanted to sleep next to her. To hold her in my arms for eight hours straight.

  Maybe I'd wait until the morning to tell her. That would be better. She was tipsy, and I 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 me. Saying goodbye was exactly what I didn't want to do, but I saw no other way to avoid the inevitable pain—o
r worse. Maybe I could come back when times changed, and I could be a normal person again. If I ever felt like that could happen. If she would take me back.

  I opened the garage, drove inside, and then killed the ignition. As the door shut behind us, I paused, staring at the glove compartment where I'd put the gun before going into the Iguana. Should I take it out in front of Skylar? Reveal that little bit of my life so she could witness the insanity firsthand?

  "Did you forget something?" She put her hand on my forearm and squeezed gently.

  I turned and looked into her eyes. A little smile crept onto her face, and I leaned forward for a kiss. Her insistent lips made everything I intended to say and do vanish from my mind.

  "No. Let's get inside," I muttered, and left the gun in the glove box.

  Chapter Fifty

  Complicated

  SKYLAR

  The second he locked the house and flicked on the lights, I pressed my body against Luca, pinning him to the door. I stood on my tiptoes to reach his mouth and ran my hands over his muscled chest. I wanted him—and would have him tonight.

  "I missed you." I unbuttoned his shirt and purred when I felt his hands cup my ass, hard.

  "I missed you too. I was a dick to you last weekend. I shouldn't have reacted like I did."

  I grabbed his hand. "No apologies. Upstairs?"

  "Wait."

  I stopped, and he put his hands around my waist, hauling me close. "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."

  I wrapped my arms around him, and he spun me, carrying me to the staircase. He set me on the first stair.

  We practically ran up the steps, and when we got in his bedroom, I kicked off my strappy sandals and climbed onto the middle of the bed. He followed, and I unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off. I dove for his pants, unbuckling his belt. He finished the rest, unzipping and sliding his trousers off.

  "Is this what you want?"

  "Yes." His voice had been gruff, but mine was firm and clear. God, he was beautiful. And caring. And smart…

  I almost let those three little words—I love you—slip.

  He pulled my dress over my head, then groaned when he saw my matching black lace bra and panties.

  "You are the best," he whispered.

  Unhooking my bra, he groaned when I guided his hands to my breasts. Then we maneuvered until I was sitting on top of him with my legs around his waist.

  We still had our underwear on, and he embraced me, his hands fanning my skin. Leaning me back, he kissed and sucked my nipples into stiff peaks. He was rock-hard as I ground into him. Little noises of excitement escaped my mouth. I couldn't wait to feel him inside me. I'd wanted this for far too long.

  "Luca." I leaned in and tilted his head so he looked at me. He was breathing hard, and his eyes flashed with need. "Tonight. I want you. I'm ready."

  To my surprise, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips together, then rested his forehead on my chest. This wasn't the reaction I'd expected. Panic crept into my chest.

  "What? You don't want to? You don't want me? After all this…?"

  Humiliating flashbacks of James telling me how inept I was at taking charge in bed ran through my mind, but I reminded herself to be calm. To listen.

  "No. I mean, yes. I do. More than anything. But, Sky, oh God. I can't. Not with a good conscience."

  I slipped off of him. It was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over my head. "What? Tell me."

  His eyes were still closed, as if he couldn't bear to look at me.

  "What's wrong?"

  A look of pure fear in that green-gray gaze greeted me when he opened his lids. He whispered, "It's not right. I might fall in love with you if we do."

  My eyes watered slightly, and I shook my head, not understanding. He might fall in love with me? That was a good thing, right? But why did he look so miserable? Was I missing something? I'd only had two vodkas and one shot. I was buzzed; not hammered.

  "What are you trying to say? I don't get it. Why—?"

  He interrupted. "Skylar. I can't make love to you. I'm leaving."

  My heart beat wildly, and I sank against the headboard. "What? Why? Does it have something to do with your parents? With me finding out about your parents? Is this why you wanted to talk to me?"

  Kneeling before me, he bent his head. He spoke in a slow, strained voice. "Things have gotten really complicated in the past few weeks. Much more complicated than I anticipated. Last week, my uncle told me…I can't even say it."

  "What? What did he tell you?" Why was he being so damn dramatic and cryptic?

  "That he's really my father. That's why I kind of flipped out on you. I felt like everyone was hiding something from me. They have been."

  "Holy shit," I whispered, floored and instantly sober. "I don't even know what to say."

  "I know. I don't either."

  "So, that's why you want to leave? Because of your uncle?"

  He sighed. "Sort of, but that's not all. There's also you."

  "Me?" I had the feeling I wasn't getting the entire story, but I tried not to act too skeptical or angry, yet anger rose in my chest. I felt like screaming at him.

  "Yeah, you. I care for you. And I wasn't looking for a relationship when I came here. Like I told you, I'm not boyfriend material. I can't give you anything good right now. Maybe not ever. I don't want to ruin your life."

  I let out a long exhale. "Why would you ruin my life if you care about me? I don't get it. You're being too complicated. Stop being complicated."

  He finally raised his head and looked at me. "I don't want you to understand. I don't want you in my world. It's too fucked up. It's better if I go and leave you with only good memories."

  I stared into his eyes. After several seconds, I spoke in a soothing voice. "Luca, are you in trouble? In the Mafia? Are you involved in something illegal? Just be honest. I won't judge."

  He licked his lips, shook his head, and gave a wicked, bitter laugh. "No. I'm not. And you can't help me."

  "Then what? What is it? You can trust me."

  I reached out to stroke his face, and he took my hand and pressed his lips against my palm. The gesture was so intimate, so sweet, my eyes started to water. I wanted to leave, wanted to beg him to take me home. But I also wanted to soak him up, spend as much time as possible with him before he vanished from my life forever.

  And I had to discover his secret.

  Coolly studying his hunched posture, I let out a sigh. "Luca, let's get into bed. Go brush your teeth. Let's talk more tomorrow. We're both too emotionally strung out now."

  He nodded and leaned in to kiss me before leaving. "I'm sorry. I haven't slept well since going to my uncle’s house in Miami. I'm pretty destroyed."

  While he was in the bathroom, I spun to sit on the edge of the bed and shoved the gauze curtain along the rail, away from my skin. I pulled my dress on because there was no way I'd sleep naked with Luca now that he'd rejected me—now that he was leaving. I felt a headache approaching and wished I hadn't drunk so much. Two drinks was my limit, and the fireball shot had been a shitty idea.

  My eyes went to the nightstand. A stack of books rested atop the little table. They weren't there the last time I was in his bedroom, and I also noticed a yellow legal pad. I picked up the pad and read the words, which were mostly Italian.

  I noticed a phrase underlined, though. Uomo di Sangue.

  My eyes went back to the table and landed on the first book in the stack as I set the notepad down.

  Uomo di Sangue, the title read.

  Hmmm. An interesting coincidence. Or was it? Maybe it was research for his master's thesis, nothing special.

  I heaved a sigh. Why was he leaving, just when we seemed to be coming to a breakthrough in our relationship?

  I sank back into bed, feeling wide awake and strung tigh
t with a crushing feeling of disappointment in my core. I was so close to cracking the code of Luca, of figuring out why he was so mysterious. Why he was holding back.

  Then again, it wasn't like I'd given myself totally to him. I'd held back too. Not much, but some. I hadn't told him my feelings were changing. And I'd denied myself pleasure. All because of my stupid ex and the insecurities he'd planted inside me.

  And now it was too late.

  I swallowed a lump of tears. No way would I let Luca see me cry.

  He came back into the room, looking defeated. After he clicked the light off, we snuggled close, as if our conversation hadn't happened. I was happy to let it stay that way. For now.

  His voice was thick with sleepiness. "Thank you for not asking too many questions tonight. I'm not in any shape right now for a conversation. You're so sweet and so good, Skylar. Too sweet and too good for me."

  I wasn't so sure of that. Especially not when I remembered something he'd said.

  He was lying on his back, and I wrapped an arm and a leg around him. "Luca?"

  "Mmmhmm?"

  "Why did you say you were close to falling in love with me?"

  "Because I am. You're the first woman I've felt anything for in…a very long time."

  "So, why me and not the others? What's so special about me?"

  He didn't answer. I hugged him tight, but said no more. It didn't seem like there was a point.

  Then he piped up, his voice a rasp. "Because I see myself in you."

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Before I could ask, he began breathing deeply, puffing out little exhales, and I knew he was asleep. I wasn't ready to drift off, though. My mind was wound up, and the muscles in my legs felt twitchy. Probably because of the Red Bull and our baffling conversation.

  Anger bubbled up inside me, and I considered leaving and walking home. I flipped onto my back. Eyes open, I stared into the dark. What were his secrets? How would I convince Luca to stay? Should I try to get him to stay, despite his shadowy life? Or should I just move on and chalk our encounters up as a hot, strange fling?