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When we finally emerged from the shower, I pulled on my clothes while she dug up an oversized t-shirt and asked if I was hungry.
I was, but I realized I still hadn’t told her why I was there, and Gianni had been waiting for me to call her back for…shit, three hours.
“I’ll have to pass,” I told her, taking her hand and pulling her close. “I need to talk to you about something.”
The wariness in her eyes was immediate—and obvious. “Oh?”
“It’s about the article, the pictures.”
Her eyes went blank. Before she could push away, I slid my arm around her waist. “Gianni, my sister…does private investigating.”
“Yes, I know,” Tina said tartly.
I kissed Tina, quick and hard, before continuing. “I hired her to look into who was behind it. She found out today.”
“For sure?” she asked softly.
“Yes.” I blew out a hard breath. “Frankly, unless we can prove malice or financial harm, it’s going to be an uphill battle getting the blog post down. And I want more than that; I want an apology and a retraction. It won’t be easy. Defamation is notoriously tricky in legal circles. But we’re not letting it stand,”
“Forget lawsuits for now,” she interrupted. Who was behind it all?”
“I’ll tell you later. I need to do something first. Don’t worry. We’ll get this handled, Tina. I told you I would, and I always keep my promises.”
* * *
The private sectionof the upscale restaurant in my hotel was empty, save for Simone and me, and the occasional appearance of a server who discreetly delivered drinks, canapes, and delicious dishes, all designed to entice and delight.
Simone had arrived similarly, dressed in a slinky black dress, the length barely reaching her plump thighs and the front and back dipping low enough that the only thing hiding was her nipples stabbing into the material.
Simone looked sexy and ready to please every man’s fantasy.
And then I thought about the thin, worn cotton Tina had been wearing last night when I kissed her, just before leaving her to sleep alone in her bed.
Tina could simply smile at me, and I’d be ready.
So far, Simone had all but planted her ass in my lap. She’d showed me a hundred times over that she’d be willing to do anything, and I wasn’t interested.
“This has been lovely,” Simone said, her voice throaty and warm, her eyes promising hot, wicked pleasure. “Could we maybe have dessert upstairs…?”
She let her eyes drop in case her words weren’t clear enough.
I gave her a calm smile.
She shivered and pushed her chair back from the table, thinking that was a yes.
“We’re not going upstairs,” I said.
She stilled, her eyes widening. Then, with another patently wicked, sexy smile, she said, “Do you have something else in mind for tonight, lover?”
“The truth would be nice.”
She’d reached over to circle a perfectly manicured fingernail over the top of my hand, and I had the pleasure of seeing her reaction—how her fingers trembled slightly, then steadied before she continued her task, tracing one slow circle after another.
“When have I lied?” Her eyes met mine, but fell away a second later. The nervous gesture was minute, gone the next time she looked at me, mild curiosity on her face.
But I knew what I’d seen.
“A better question would be how many times have you lied,” I said, reaching into my suit coat to pull a folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket. “But we’ll start with the email you sent to Marci Hough… a friend of yours who also is a webzine editor. Is any of this familiar to you, Simone?”