Dirty Lies Page 6

  I rubbed my eyes sleepily and admired the round ass and smooth legs of one student in the back row. She stood out because of her stunningly curvy body, and because she looked like the youngest one in the class by about twenty-five years. Her hair was the same color as Skylar's. Her body was a similar shape. She wore only a black sports bra and tiny black shorts while everyone else was in long spandex pants and baggy T-shirts.

  "Okay, turn to the back of your mats and go into warrior two," the teacher said in a strong voice.

  The students were facing me now, arms in the air. My eyes zoomed in on the half-naked girl with the nice ass.

  Oh Christ.

  It was Skylar. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail and her pretty face was flushed and shiny with perspiration. She seemed focused like a laser on the tip of her outstretched right hand.

  This girl was everywhere. This island was way too small. Or maybe she was teasing me by doing yoga near my house, figuring I'd see her.

  If only I could see more.

  A small smile crept on my face as I stared openly. Skylar was in excellent shape. Not rail thin, but toned and womanly. Her sports bra stretched tight across her chest, accentuating her cleavage. She had a perfect hourglass figure. Her tiny waist and flat stomach flowed into sexy, wide hips.

  She was still turned in my direction, and my stomach clenched. I was being ridiculous. Spying on this sexy woman made me feel like a teenager, but it also sent a thrill through my body.

  "Face the sea and put your feet in the sand on either side of your mat. Spread your legs wide," the teacher said.

  The class and Skylar turned away from me. Her ponytail hung down her back, between her shoulder blades. Her legs were a wide, upside-down V as her feet burrowed into the sand, and I saw there were no sharp angles anywhere on her body, only long, sensuous curves.

  Visions of her naked invaded my thoughts. I fantasized about gripping her ponytail in my hand as I kissed her with fury, imagined her plump mouth open, moaning with pleasure.

  Christ. I'm a pervert.

  I adjusted my cock, which was even harder now.

  I should take my uncle's advice and find another woman. Skylar was much smarter and more rational than my usual hookups. Too smart and too rational, which could lead to so many issues and complications. And then when I had to inevitably say goodbye…

  I shook my head and went to go inside, but couldn't tear my eyes away from Skylar's beautiful, bendy body.

  The yoga teacher called out more instructions. "Slowly fold over, keeping your back flat. Then move forward from the hips. Breathe."

  Skylar did, folding in half and resting the crown of her head on her mat. I stared at her, unblinking, my breathing shallow. Erotic visions tumbled through my mind, one after the other. A woman that flexible would be so much fun.

  Her shorts barely covered her ass, which was high and tight. If only she were here with me, bent over. Was she wearing anything beneath those shorts? I imagined sliding the fabric over her hips and entering her from behind so slowly, she'd beg. Then there was her sexy mouth, and how she would eagerly suck on my thumb, my fingers, my cock…

  A pair of all-too familiar feelings washed over me: loneliness and desire.

  I went into the bedroom, closed the French doors, and stripped off my shorts.

  I lay on the bed, stroking myself slowly, thinking of all the things I'd like to do to Skylar Shaw.

  Chapter Eleven

  Memories In Blood

  ANNALISA

  I lay naked on the bed in the hotel room. I'd hoped to leave for Palmira this morning, but instead, drew the curtains and jabbed at the buttons of the air conditioner.

  The Florida heat sapped my strength, leaving me sweaty, puffy, and lazy. Disgusting. I inhaled deeply and, as it often did when I was in bed, my mind went to Luca. Sometimes the memories turned me on, while other times, they made me feel lower than dirt.

  This was one of the low days. Probably because of the heat.

  The memories won't stop…

  One weekend, early on, Luca's parents had been away. Back then, he still lived with his family, like all young Italian guys. He'd invited me over and made dinner.

  He seduced me after we ate, whispering such sweet things. Then he turned commanding and dominant, and I adored that side of him too.

  "I think I'll keep you," I'd said after we finished, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

  A week later, he'd sent me a text breaking it off. That night, I broke into his house and pleaded with him not to end our relationship.

  I rolled over and plucked a razor blade from the nightstand. That text haunted my dreams, shattered my heart.

  Stretching the skin on my inner thigh taut with two fingers, I pressed the cold blade to my leg. With a slow, precise rake of the blade, I carved an inch-long shallow line next to two scars.

  When the tiny blooms of blood came, they brought relief from the memories.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Devil Drinks Coffee

  SKYLAR

  "You look unusually dressed up today. You got a job interview or something?"

  I watched as Matt, one of the photographers at The Palmira Post, eyed my little black dress. If someone at the paper looked nicer than usual, it was assumed by everyone they were searching for a job and their departure was imminent. But I only wanted to appear extra professional for today's interview with Federico.

  Oh, sure, I also wanted to look good for Luca. I had on a simple wrap dress—the one thing in my closet that made me always feel confident and beautiful. It showed off just enough cleavage. Too much, James had said when I'd bought it, but screw him.

  I hoped the patent leather nude heels looked serious and conservative while making my legs appear long. My thick hair was straight thanks to a marathon blow-dry session, and it hung down past my shoulders, although it was about to frizz due to the stupid humidity.

  "Whatever, Matt. I'm glad you wore your finest cargo shorts and polo shirt to take photos of Florida's best-known attorney."

  "Hey, he's a man of the people, right? He'll like me. I'm a man of the people too," Matt joked in his rich North Carolina accent. We were in Federico's driveway, about to walk up to the door. We'd arrived in separate vehicles at about the same time.

  "Damn, this is a nice place," Matt said in a low voice as we stood on the doorstep. "I guess we should've become lawyers."

  The home was a luxurious, two-story Florida beach mansion fit for a multimillionaire. The salmon-colored stucco and red barrel-tiled roof looked like lots of Mediterranean-inspired homes on Palmira. Squat palm trees lined a circular driveway, and a fountain with intertwined dolphin statues spurted water into a pool framed by a wide patch of tropical landscaping. It was the type of place everyone up north dreamed about.

  I rummaged around in my red leather handbag, making sure I had extra pens and paper. A nervous feeling invaded my stomach. I wasn't concerned about the interview, though.

  I was anxious about seeing Luca.

  I rang the bell. The door opened, and I beamed.

  Speak of the devil.

  "Ciao," he said. He was barefoot wearing faded jeans and a slightly tight white T-shirt. He appeared rumpled yet put together, as if he had crawled out of bed and donned an expensive yet casual outfit for a fashion shoot. The look was both lazy and lusty, and I imagined unbuttoning his jeans and sinking to my knees.

  Where had that thought come from? I inhaled with a start, desire coursing through me. These surges of lust needed to stop.

  "Hi," I managed to say. "This is Matt, the paper's photographer."

  The two shook hands, and Luca stepped aside to let us enter. Already, I noticed how he couldn't stop looking at me and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile whenever our glances met. I reminded myself to be professional and concentrate on my article and the man I'd come to profile. Like I'd been taught during school and my internship.

  Luca led us through an empty, high-ceilinged foyer. I spi
ed a grand, curving staircase leading to the second floor, but we walked down a long hallway that flowed into the kitchen, a large and gleaming space with stainless steel appliances and black marble countertops. I spotted an expensive-looking espresso machine and a blender I coveted for smoothies, but couldn't afford on a reporter's salary because it was four hundred and fifty dollars.

  Federico was sitting and reading The Post at a table nestled into a breakfast nook near a large picture window. He stood and extended his hand.

  "Skylar, it's great to see you."

  "You too, Mr. Rossi. This is Matt Reese, our photographer. Thank you for letting us profile you. I think Matt has another assignment, so maybe you should get the photo out of the way first."

  Matt nodded and turned to the older man. "Mr. Rossi, I'd like to shoot you in front of the tropical plants out front. I might need a light meter, though, and it's in my car. Want to come with me outside?"

  "That's fine, Matt. Luca can take care of Skylar here in the kitchen."

  Take care of? I slid onto a seat in the breakfast nook, my face burning. Had Luca mentioned our encounter to his uncle?

  Luca leaned near the sink, not speaking. It made me uncomfortable. He wasn't smiling, just appraising me with those eyes. Today, they looked more green than grey. He was so seriously sexy, I almost couldn't stand to be around him. I babbled and flashed him a big smile.

  "How's your week? Have you reconsidered whether you're going to give me the exclusive about being the savior at the plane crash?"

  Luca laughed. "You are very persistent."

  I grinned.

  "Have you ever had an authentic Italian espresso?" He rolled the 'r', and its sound reverberated through my body.

  "I've had lots of espresso. Every day, I usually have a shot of it in my iced coffee. The café near the paper makes a great iced red-eye."

  Luca raised his eyebrows. "Iced espresso. Hmmm. That doesn't sound authentically Italian to me. I'm going to make you the best coffee you've ever had."

  His playful smile looked boyish and cute and made my stomach flip-flop. I watched him move around the kitchen, taking out a small aluminum pot and a tin of java.

  It looked like he hadn't shaved in days. Black stubble covered his chin and the skin around his mouth. I normally didn't like men with facial hair, but on Luca, it looked primal and inspired an equally primitive desire within me. Would his stubble chafe my chin while kissing? He'd been clean-shaven the first time we kissed, and I shivered when I recalled the feel of his skin on mine.

  He put a small silver coffeemaker on the stove, then slid in across from me at the breakfast nook. His expression was serious.

  "Skylar, would you do me a favor?"

  "Sure." I tried not to stare at his mouth.

  "Could you not mention me in your article about my uncle? Would you do that for me?"

  I frowned. This was odd. Luca definitely had something to hide. "I wasn't planning on mentioning you. The article's not about you. But why are you so worried about being in the paper?"

  "I'm a really private person," he said.

  Private? That was all? Weird.

  I leaned forward. "Fine. I can do that."

  Luca beamed and extended his hand to sweep a lock of hair away from my face, which made my heart pound. He twisted the strand of hair around his forefinger, and said, "Grazie. Thank you. Your hair looks beautiful like that, all sleek. You also smell good."

  Federico and Matt's voices made me sit up straight, and Luca uncurled my hair from his finger, pausing to stroke my cheek for a half second. Startled, I shot him a warning glance as a flash of heat ripped through my body.

  This was going to be the most awkward interview of my life.

  Matt appeared, standing in the middle of the kitchen with several cameras hanging off his shoulders and neck while Federico took Luca's place at the table.

  "So," the older man said. "About this interview. I'm doing it on one condition. That you don't put my address in the paper."

  I arched my eyebrows. Did both Luca and Federico have something to hide? What a strange family—but jarringly handsome. Eyeing Federico, I wondered what Luca's parents looked like and if they too, were genetically blessed.

  "Okay," I agreed reluctantly. "That won't be necessary for the article. We don't put addresses in the Palmira People profiles. But your address is public record under Florida's open records law. Anyone can find you. Of course, you're aware of that."

  "Of course, my dear. But off the record…?"

  "Yes?"

  "This home isn't in my name. It's in the name of a corporate LLC. For tax and other business purposes."

  Was that odd? I didn't know. I needed to ask my editor later.

  Federico gestured to Matt. "Please sit down. Surely you have time for an espresso. Luca makes coffee the old-fashioned way, in a Bialetti coffeepot. We have that nice automated espresso maker, and he uses something that's sixty years old!"

  Luca grinned and took the pot off the stove.

  "He also doesn't use a microwave. Can you believe this guy?" joked Federico.

  "Oh, I'm with Luca, I don't own a microwave," I remarked. Luca nodded and grinned while pushing buttons on the stove.

  "Sky's a hippie girl," interjected Matt. "She's always trying to get everyone in the newsroom to eat kale and go to yoga."

  I rolled my eyes. Just because I was the daughter of a yoga teacher didn't mean I was a hippie. Sure, I'd been trying to eat healthier after gaining weight senior year at school, but it was better than living off pizza like everyone else at the paper. Still, I wasn't skinny. James had never let me forget I would soon be—as he put it—"a whale."

  Federico looked at her. "Where did you go to school, Skylar? Is this your first job?"

  "I went to Boston University. This is my first reporting job, but I interned at a paper in Boston. I had hoped to stay on there, but the newspaper business isn't so great these days. I need to learn how to shoot better video and take photos. I've talked Matt into teaching me some multimedia skills."

  Luca shot Matt a raised eyebrow and opened a cabinet.

  "She's not a bad photographer," Matt said. "But I'm guessing she won't be on Palmira long enough to learn anything from me. She's too good of a writer."

  Luca slammed the cabinet shut, making me jump from the noise. "Sorry," he said, taking the coffeepot off the stove. He poured espresso in four small cups and brought them one by one to us.

  "Sugar?" Federico asked.

  I shook my head. Matt nodded, and Luca pulled a small silver bowl out of a cabinet. He handed Matt a small spoon and set it in front of him.

  "Y'all must be European," Matt said, heaping sugar into his cup and stirring. "Only Europeans drink coffee this way, with tiny spoons and tiny cups. I'm partial to a 7-Eleven turbo brew in a big ol' Styrofoam thing."

  Luca winced. Matt gulped the coffee down and didn't notice.

  "I gotta go. I'm supposed to take photos of a hundred-and-three-year-old man at a nursing home. He's Palmira's oldest resident. It's been great meeting you both. Sky, I'll see you back in the newsroom."

  Federico eased his trim body to standing with a grunt. "God, my knees. Old running injury. Matt, I'll walk you to the door."

  "Ciao," Luca called to Matt.

  I sipped my drink. "It's delicious. It does taste different than the iced espresso. Less bitter. Maybe I'll switch."

  "You need to learn how to make it properly," Luca warned.

  "Maybe you can teach me." I grinned, more at the speed of my comeback than at him.

  Luca laughed. "Maybe I will. I'm impressed you're drinking it like a real Italian, without sugar. Your photographer has less refined taste, no?"

  "That's Matt. He's funny. He's a good ol' boy from North Carolina."

  "Well, he seems enamored by you, that's for sure."

  I smirked. What was that supposed to mean? Matt wasn't interested in me.

  And what if he was? Why would Luca care?

  Chapter Thi
rteen

  A Kiss In The Library

  SKYLAR

  Federico returned, and I shifted in my seat. "So, Mr. Rossi, let's start."

  "Of course. Do you mind if Luca stays and listens? He can learn how a professional lawyer handles an interview." The older man winked at me.

  "Absolutely. Of course he can stay." I didn't look at Luca. I wasn't sure I wanted him around because he was too much of a distraction. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the counter and staring. I had to mentally erase images of us kissing in the pool, my legs wrapped around the low V of muscles that dipped below the waistband of his shorts.

  I took my smartphone out of my bag so I could record the interview, and my pen tangled in the pages of the notepad. When I pulled the pad out of my tote, the pen clattered to the floor. Luca bent to pick it up. He handed it to me, and our eyes met. A zing of pure craving shot through my body.

  Federico chuckled.

  I steadied my shaking hands with a deep breath and asked my first question, feeling extra self-conscious.

  Federico responded at length, with a touch of superiority in his voice, and I wondered if arrogance was a Rossi family trait. Five questions took an hour for him to answer, and my hand hurt from writing so much. Still, I was getting into the rhythm of the interview. Federico was so detailed and interesting, with stories about big-money trials and his thoughts on the state's medical marijuana debate, I almost forgot Luca hovered nearby.

  Almost.

  I got to my next question and paused. The paper's feature editor wanted me to ask Federico his opinion of the best restaurant on Palmira. It was a stupid question. I had something a little tougher in mind. In fact, I had an entire list of hard questions to ask. I didn't expect Luca's uncle to answer most of them, but I went on a fishing expedition anyway. Sometimes, the best articles came from asking the most random questions.

  "Mr. Rossi, do you think you'll ever run for governor?"