Dirty Lies

NO REGRETS

One night. That's all I'd need. One night of crazy, wild sex. With a woman who could share an intelligent conversation in the moments between our carnal pleasure, no less. After everything I'd been through, didn't I deserve at least that?

As we stood in the den, I stroked Skylar's cheekbones with my thumbs. Finally, she was giving in.

The idea of spending the night with her made me rock-hard with anticipation. Oh, who was I kidding? I was already aroused from watching her in that sexy dress, grilling my uncle with those questions. The way she'd worn that knowing little smile was too alluring.

"God, you're so sexy." I groaned out loud, and she giggled.

"Stop."

"So, dinner. My uncle's leaving tomorrow, and I'm alone."

"Alone is bad."

I brushed my thumb over her lips again. Her eyes fluttered shut. So sensual, this girl.

"Thursday night at seven?"

She nodded and opened her eyes.

I grinned and slipped my thumb into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip and stared right at me. Devastatingly sexy. My cock throbbed with insistent need.

It would be so easy to take her right here in the study. Shut the door and fuck her on the couch. Or bend her over the desk and shove her little skirt over her hips. Or press her against the wall. But that wouldn't be right, not for the first time at least. If I was going to risk spending time with her, I wanted both of us to enjoy it.

For hours.

I took my thumb out of her mouth and kissed her forehead. "Let's get you to your car before I do something we both regret."

She laughed. "You're going to make me have regrets? I don't like the sound of that."

If only she knew.

"No regrets," I whispered, then quickly kissed her again.

Skylar followed me out of the study. We went outside and stood in the driveway, the sensation in my groin uncomfortably tight. Why couldn't I control my body around her?

"Do you like your little Italian macchina?" I asked, patting her Fiat 500's roof. I'd seen the car the night we first kissed, but was so stunned she didn't want to spend the night that I hadn't commented on her choice in autos.

"I...I love it. I bought it when I graduated from college. It's sky blue, after...um, my name. Sky." She paused and looked up at me. The fact that she was short was endearing. "That's kind of precious and silly, right? That I bought a car the same color as my name?"

I smiled. "I think it's...it's...adorable." And I did think that. Nervousness washed over me, as if I were a teenager talking to a girl for the first time. Actually, I hadn't even been this nervous as a teenager. I'd always been confident around women.

"I drove it down from Boston."

"You and your little car, all that way." I paused and peered in the window. "It's kind of messy inside."

"Yeah, I work out of my car a lot." She bit her lip, and a look of embarrassment crossed her face.

I straightened my posture. "Are you interested in the photographer?"

She turned, snorting. "Where did that come from? No. I told you I'm not dating anyone. And I'm trying not to date journalists."

Laughter erupted from my chest. "You're 'trying not to date journalists'?"

She shook her head. "My ex-boyfriend was a reporter. A former war correspondent. After we broke up, I figured I'd try to stay away from reporters, editors, photographers. They're too complicated."

"Probably a good idea." It was so hard to be serious in this conversation, under the circumstances.

She smiled in return. "Thanks again for the coffee. I'll see you Thursday. It's actually great for me. I don't have to go into the office Friday because I've worked overtime since the plane crash."

"Perfetto," I said. "Perfect. We can make it a late night. Or an early morning. Or something."

She laughed, and I leaned down, held her face in my hands, and gave her a long kiss on one cheek, then the other. When she let out a little sigh-moan, it took herculean willpower not to kiss her mouth again.

"Ciao, Skylar Shaw."

I went quickly inside. If I lingered, the urge would be too strong to push her up against the Fiat, grab a fistful of her hair, and kiss her long and deep in the hot sunshine. The thought of our bodies, sweaty and naked, made me swallow hard. Maybe we'd screw on the terrace lounge chair in the middle of the day.

Fuck, I was horny.

I padded into the kitchen. Washing the dishes gave my restless hands something to do, but Skylar's light pink lipstick stained the rim of an espresso cup and kept my mind on her.

It had been amusing to watch how she asked questions of my uncle. I was once a young, green reporter like that, naïve and filled with ambition. Those days were over, though, had been for years. Now I felt old and jaded. Skylar was still the sort of reporter who thought she'd find truth in everything she wrote. She didn't know yet that the truth was subjective on every story.

She'd learn soon enough.

My initial impression of her as an amateur was wrong. Dead wrong. All her articles were top-notch, and she'd been comfortable while talking with Federico. It wasn't easy for a new reporter to speak with such authority to a powerful man. She'd paused, scrunched her forehead a little, but looked at her notebook and asked the strong questions despite any reservation.

She had done her homework and researched Federico's finances—which seemed ethically challenged, I had to admit. He hoped to God my uncle wasn't involved in anything criminal, because I was putting full trust in the man. Still, I didn't have much choice. Federico was the only family I had, and the only person on earth who could help me.

I paused in reflection. His mother had spoken cryptically about Federico, saying he was a good man, but she hoped he would stay out of Italy for the sake of the family.

How I wished to go back in time and ask my mother what she meant. Soon, I'd get to the bottom of the tangled relationship between my parents and uncle. I didn't see how I could avoid it while staying on Palmira.

Speaking of hard questions, I shouldn't have asked Skylar if she was interested in the photographer. But I'd felt an uncharacteristic jolt of jealousy when Matt checked her out.

Of course that idiot thought she was beautiful. She was.

I emptied the grounds from the espresso pot into the trash, slapping the funnel containing the packed coffee against the garbage can.

So, she doesn't get involved with journalists.

We'll see about that.

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