Free Dirty Little Lies by Julie Leto Page A

scent as she could. In case she didn’t indulge again for a while. In case she found the means to resist. “Just because it feels good doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”
    He chuckled. “You sound like my mother.”
    Marisela yanked the comforter away from the edge of the bed, covering them against the air-conditioned chill. “Well, that’s one way to kill the mood.”
    Frankie laughed. “As if our mothers didn’t try to kill that a long time ago. Accept it. We’re meant to be together. Like coffee and milk,” he said, kissing the curve of her breast. “ Guayaba and cheese,” he continued, lowering his lips until he could flick her nipple with his tongue. “ Arroz y… ”
    “Hungry?” she asked, twisting out of his reach.
    He chuckled. “Not for food.”
    Marisela eased into the comforter, tucking the fabric between them and leaving him in the cold. She’d played long enough. Now, she needed sleep. And distance. Lots and lots of distance.
    “Too bad,” she said with a yawn, snuggling deeper into the mattress and allowing her eyes to close. “Because food’s all you’re going to get. If you call room service. From your room?”
    She expected an argument. Some sort of protest. Instead, when she peeked an eye open, she caught one last glimpse of his gorgeous culo before he put on his pants, grabbed his shirt, and turned to leave the room.
    When she sensed he’d swung back in her direction, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep. She heard his chuckle as his face descended toward hers and he brushed a soft, sensual kiss across her lips. If she’d had the energy, she might have slapped the smug expression she knew he wore right off his face. Or surrendered to the overwhelming urges coursing through her to drag him back to bed.
    But luckily for both of them, she was too damned tired to do anything more than fall asleep.
    * * *
    From his customized chair behind the antique mahogany desk that had once belonged to his father, Ian listened, eyes shut, to the sounds of Titan International an hour after dawn. Computers beeped and buzzed. The smack of files flying from one in-box to another broke up the sound of employee chitchat. The strong scent of coffee sneaked under the doorway and tempted Ian to wake up and face the day. Not that he was hiding. He was simply exhausted—and as such, he couldn’t grab hold of a thought, an idea, a painful truth connected to this case buried deep within his psyche.
    He opened his eyes, leaned forward, and reexamined the note Denise Bennett had provided.
    Remember Rebecca Manning .
    Coupled with what the assassin had said to Marisela about revenge, the message was simple enough to interpret. That wasn’t what plagued him.
    He flipped the tiny square over, to the drawing. He’d seen this flower before. Only not done in pastels, but in bold colors. But where?
    His door opened and he quickly flipped the note over.
    “Brynn,” he said, watching as his twin eased into the room as if she owned the place. Which, technically, she did.
    “It’s a tomb in here,” she announced, flipping on the light. He squinted, but didn’t complain. It was too early and he was too tired for an argument over something so trivial. And if ever siblings had perfected the art of fighting over minutiae, it was he and Brynn.
    “Good morning,” he said, standing. “The Mexican sun looks good on you,” he commented.
    He wasn’t offering the compliment without cause. His sister’s red hair gleamed with blond streaks, and despite the fact that he knew she was militant about using sunscreen, UV rays had pinkened the skin on her flawless cheeks and the tip of her nose. She looked carefree. Friendly. Charming.
    “Well, the Boston sun isn’t doing a damned thing for you,” she concluded.
    Looks could be so deceiving.
    He retrieved his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “I’ve been up all night.”
    “I heard,” she replied. “Did you know Craig Bennett from school?”
    Ian