by Nora Roberts
With any luck she could come back to the hotel after the show, catch another hour’s sleep and then have breakfast in her room while she made her morning calls. The autographing wasn’t until noon, and their flight out wasn’t until early the next morning.
That was something to hold on to, Juliet told herself as she looked for the right shade of stockings. For the first time in a week, they had an evening free with no one to entertain, no one to be entertained by. A nice, quiet meal somewhere close by and a full night’s sleep. With that at the end of the tunnel, she could get through the morning.
With a grimace, she gulped down her daily dose of brewer’s yeast.
It wasn’t until she was fully dressed that she woke up enough to remember she hadn’t dealt with her make-up. With a shrug Juliet slipped out of her little green jacket and headed for the bathroom. She stared at the front door with a combination of suspicion and bad temper when she heard the knock. Peeking through the peephole, she focused on Carlo. He grinned at her, then crossed his eyes. She only swore a little as she pulled open the door.
“You’re early,” she began, then caught the stirring aroma of coffee. Looking down, she saw that he carried a tray with a small pot, cups and spoons. “Coffee,” she murmured, almost like a prayer.
“Yes.” He nodded as he stepped into the room. “I thought you’d be ready, though room service isn’t.” He walked over to a table, saw that her room could fit into one section of his suite and set down the tray. “So, we deliver.”
“Bless you.” It was so sincere he grinned again as she crossed the room. “How did you manage it? Room service doesn’t open for half an hour.”
“There’s a small kitchen in my suite. A bit primitive, but adequate to brew coffee.”
She took the first sip, black and hot, and she closed her eyes. “It’s wonderful. Really wonderful.”
“Of course. I fixed it.”
She opened her eyes again. No, she decided, she wouldn’t spoil gratitude with sarcasm. After all, they’d very nearly gotten along for three days running. With the help of her shower, the yeast and the coffee, she was feeling almost human again.
“Relax,” she suggested. “I’ll finish getting ready.” Expecting him to sit, Juliet took her cup and went into the bathroom to deal with her face and hair. She was dotting on foundation when Carlo leaned on the doorjamb.
“Mi amore, doesn’t this arrangement strike you as impractical?”
She tried not to feel self-conscious as she smoothed on the thin, translucent base. “Which arrangement is that?”
“You have this—broom closet,” he decided as he gestured toward her room. Yes, it was small enough that the subtle, feminine scent from her shower reached all the corners. “While I have a big suite with two baths, a bed big enough for three friends and one of those sofas that unfold.”
“You’re the star,” she murmured as she brushed color over the slant of her cheeks.
“It would save the publisher money if we shared the suite.”
She shifted her eyes in the mirror until they met his. She’d have sworn, absolutely sworn, he meant no more than that. That is, if she hadn’t known him. “He can afford it,” she said lightly. “It just thrills the accounting department at tax time.”
Carlo moved his shoulders then sipped from his cup again. He’d known what her answer would be. Of course, he’d enjoy sharing his rooms with her for the obvious reason, but neither did it sit well with him that her accommodations were so far inferior to his.
“You need a touch more blusher on your left cheek,” he said idly, not noticing her surprised look. What he’d noticed was the green silk robe that reflected in the mirror from the back of the door. Just how would she look in that? Carlo wondered. How would she look out of it?
After a narrowed-eyed study, Juliet discovered he’d been right. She picked up her brush again and evened the color. “You’re a very observant man.”
“Hmm?” He was looking at her again, but mentally, he’d changed her neat, high-collared blouse and slim skirt for the provocative little robe.
“Most men wouldn’t notice unbalanced blusher.” She picked up a grease pencil to shadow her eyes.
“I notice everything when it comes to a woman.” There was still a light fog near the top of the mirror from the steam of her shower. Seeing it gave Carlo other, rather pleasant mental images. “What you’re doing now gives you a much different look.”
Relaxed again, she laughed. “That’s the idea.”
“But, no.” He stepped in closer so he could watch over her shoulder. The small, casual intimacy was as natural for him as it was uncomfortable for her. “Without the pots of paint, your face is younger, more vulnerable, but no less attractive than it is with them. Different…” Easily, he picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. “It’s not more, not less, simply different. I like both of your looks.”
It wasn’t easy to keep her hand steady. Juliet set down the eye-shadow and tried the coffee instead. Better to be cynical than be moved, she reminded herself and gave him a cool smile. “You seem right at home in the bathroom with a woman fixing her face.”
He liked the way her hair flowed as he brushed it. “I’ve done it so often.”
Her smile became cooler. “I’m sure.”
He caught the tone, but continued to brush as he met her eyes in the glass. “Take it as you like, cara, but remember, I grew up in a house with five women. Your powders and bottles hold no secrets from me.”
She’d forgotten that, perhaps because she’d chosen to forget anything about him that didn’t connect directly with the book. Yet now it made her wonder. Just what sort of insight did a man get into women when he’d been surrounded by them since childhood? Frowning a bit, she picked up her mascara.
“Were you a close family?”
“We are a close family,” he corrected. “My mother’s a widow who runs a successful dress shop in Rome.” It was typical of him not to mention that he’d bought it for her. “My four sisters all live within thirty kilometers. Perhaps I no longer share the bathroom with them, but little else changes.”
She thought about it. It sounded cozy and easy and rather sweet. Juliet didn’t believe she could relate at all. “Your mother must be proud of you.”
“She’d be prouder if I added to her growing horde of grandchildren.”
She smiled at that. It sounded more familiar. “I know what you mean.”
“You should leave your hair just like this,” he told her as he set down the brush. “You have a family?”
“My parents live in Pennsylvania.”
He struggled with geography a moment. “Ah, then you’ll visit them when we go to Philadelphia.”
“No.” The word was flat as she recapped the tube of mascara. “There won’t be time for that.”
“I see.” And he thought he was beginning to. “You have brothers, sisters?”
“A sister.” Because he was right about her hair, Juliet let it be and slipped out for her jacket. “She married a doctor and produced two children, one of each gender, before she was twenty-five.”
Oh yes, he was beginning to see well enough. Though the words had been easy, the muscles in her shoulders had been tight. “She makes an excellent doctor’s wife?”
“Carrie makes a perfect doctor’s wife.”
“Not all of us are meant for the same things.”
“I wasn’t.” She picked up her briefcase and her purse. “We’d better get going. They said it would take about fifteen minutes to drive to the studio.”
Strange, he thought, how people always believed their tender spots could go undetected. For now, he’d leave her with the illusion that hers had.
* * *
Because the directions were good and the traffic was light, Juliet drove the late model Chevy she’d rented with confidence. Carlo obliged by navigating because he enjoyed the poised, skilled way she handled the wheel.
“You haven’t lectured me on today’s sch
edule,” he pointed out. “Turn right here at this light.”
Juliet glanced in the mirror, switched lanes, then made the turn. She wasn’t yet sure what his reaction would be to the fact that there barely was one. “I’ve decided to give you a break,” she said brightly, knowing how some authors snarled and ranted when they had a dip in exposure. “You have this morning spot, then the autographing at World of Books downtown.”
He waited, expecting the list to go on. When he turned to her, his brow was lifted. “And?”
“That’s all.” She heard the apology in her voice as she stopped at a red light. “It happens sometimes, Carlo. Things just don’t come through. I knew it was going to be light here, but as it happens they’ve just started shooting a major film using Denver locations. Every reporter, every news team, every camera crew is covering it this afternoon. The bottom line is we got bumped.”
“Bumped? Do you mean there is no radio show, no lunch with a reporter, no dinner engagement?”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Fantastico!” Grabbing her face with both hands he kissed her hard. “I’ll find out the name of this movie and go to its premiere.”
The little knot of tension and guilt vanished. “Don’t take it so hard, Carlo.”
He felt as though he’d just been paroled. “Juliet, did you think I’d be upset? Dio, for a week it’s been nothing but go here, rush there.”
She spotted the TV tower and turned left. “You’ve been wonderful,” she told him. The best time to admit it, she decided, was when they only had two minutes to spare. “Not everyone I’ve toured with has been as considerate.”
She surprised him. He preferred it when a woman could do so. He twined a lock of the hair he’d brushed around his finger. “So, you’ve forgiven me for the basil?”
She smiled and had to stop herself from reaching up to touch the heart on her lapel. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
He kissed her cheek in a move so casual and friendly she didn’t object. “I believe you have. You’ve a kind heart, Juliet. Such things are beauty in themselves.”
He could soften her so effortlessly. She felt it, fought it and, for the moment, surrendered to it. In an impulsive, uncharacteristic move, she brushed the hair on his forehead. “Let’s go in. You’ve got to wake up Denver.”
* * *
Professionally, Juliet should’ve been cranky at the lack of obligations and exposure in Denver. It was going to leave a few very obvious blanks on her overall report. Personally, she was thrilled.
According to schedule, she was back in her room by eight. By 8:03, she’d stripped out of her suit and had crawled, naked and happy, into her still-rumpled bed. For exactly an hour she slept deeply, and without any dreams she could remember. By ten-thirty, she’d gone through her list of phone calls and an enormous breakfast. After freshening her makeup, she dressed in her suit then went downstairs to meet Carlo in the lobby.
It shouldn’t have surprised her that he was huddled in one of the cozy lounging areas with three women. It shouldn’t have irked her. Pretending it did neither, Juliet strolled over. It was then she noticed that all three women were built stupendously. That shouldn’t have surprised her, either.
“Ah, Juliet.” He smiled, all grace, all charm. She didn’t stop to wonder why she’d like to deck him. “Always prompt. Ladies.” He turned to bow to all three of them. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“Bye-bye, Carlo.” One of them sent him a look that could have melted lead. “Remember, if you’re ever in Tucson…”
“How could I forget?” Hooking his arm with Juliet’s, he strolled outside. “Juliet,” he murmured, “where is Tucson?”
“Don’t you ever quit?” she demanded.
“Quit what?”
“Collecting women.”
He lifted a brow as he pulled open the door on the driver’s side. “Juliet, one collects matchbooks, not women.”
“It would seem there are some who consider them on the same level.”
He blocked her way before she could slip inside. “Any who do are too stupid to matter.” He walked around the side of the car and opened his own door before she spoke again.
“Who were they anyhow?”
Soberly, Carlo adjusted the brim of the buff-colored fedora he wore. “Female bodybuilders. It seems they’re having a convention.”
A muffled laugh escaped before she could prevent it. “Figures.”
“Indeed yes, but such muscular ones.” His expression was still grave as he lowered himself into the car.
Juliet remained quiet a moment, then gave up and laughed out loud. Damn, she’d never had as much fun on tour with anyone. She might as well accept it. “Tucson’s in Arizona,” she told him with another laugh. “And it’s not on the itinerary.”
They would have been on time for the autographing if they hadn’t run into the detour. Traffic was clogged, rerouted and bad tempered as roads were blocked off for the film being shot. Juliet spent twenty minutes weaving, negotiating and cursing until she found she’d done no more than make a nice big circle.
“We’ve been here before,” Carlo said idly and received a glowering look.
“Oh, really?” Her sweet tone had an undertone of arsenic.
He merely shifted his legs into a less cramped position. “It’s an interesting city,” he commented. “I think perhaps if you turn right at the next corner, then left two corners beyond, we’ll find ourselves on the right track.”
Juliet meticulously smoothed her carefully written directions when she’d have preferred to crumple them into a ball. “The book clerk specifically said—”
“I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, but things seem a bit confused today.” It didn’t particularly bother him. The blast of a horn made her jolt. Amused, Carlo merely looked over. “As someone from New York City, you should be used to such things.”
Juliet set her teeth. “I never drive in the city.”
“I do. Trust me, innamorata.”
Not on your life, Juliet thought, but turned right. It took nearly ten minutes in the crawling traffic to manage the next two blocks, but when she turned left she found herself, as Carlo had said, on the right track. She waited, resigned, for him to gloat.
“Rome moves faster” was all he said.
How could she anticipate him? she wondered. He didn’t rage when you expected, didn’t gloat when it was natural. With a sigh, she gave up. “Anything moves faster.” She found herself in the right block, but parking space was at a premium. Weighing the ins and outs, Juliet swung over beside a car at the curb. “Look, Carlo, I’m going to have to drop you off. We’re already running behind. I’ll find a place to park and be back as soon as I can.”
“You’re the boss,” he said, still cheerful after forty-five minutes of teeth-grinding traffic.
“If I’m not there in an hour, send up a flare.”
“My money’s on you.”
Still cautious, she waited until she saw him swing into the bookstore before she fought her way into traffic again.
Twenty frustrating minutes later, Juliet walked into the dignified little bookstore herself. It was, she noted with a sinking stomach, too quiet and too empty. A clerk with a thin-striped tie and shined shoes greeted her.
“Good morning. May I help you?”
“I’m Juliet Trent, Mr. Franconi’s publicist.”
“Ah yes, right this way.” He glided across the carpet to a set of wide steps. “Mr. Franconi’s on the second level. It’s unfortunate that the traffic and confusion have discouraged people from coming out. Of course, we rarely do these things.” He gave her a smile and brushed a piece of lint from the sleeve of his dark blue jacket. “The last time was…let me see, in the fall. J. Jonathan Cooper was on tour. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He wrote Metaphysical Force and You.”
Juliet bit back a sigh. When you hit dry ground, you just had to wait for the tide.
She spotted Carlo in a lovely little alcove on a
curvy love seat. Beside him was a woman of about forty with a neat suit and pretty legs. Such things didn’t warrant even a raised brow. But to Juliet’s surprise, Carlo wasn’t busy charming her. Instead, he was listening intently to a young boy who sat across from him.
“I’ve worked in the kitchens there for the last three summers. I’m not allowed to actually prepare anything, but I can watch. At home, I cook whenever I can, but with school and the job, it’s mostly on weekends.”
“Why?”
The boy stopped in midstream and looked blank. “Why?”
“Why do you cook?” Carlo asked. He acknowledged Juliet with a nod, then gave his attention back to the boy.
“Because…” The boy looked at his mother, then back at Carlo. “Well, it’s important. I like to take things and put them together. You have to concentrate, you know, and be careful. But you can make something really terrific. It looks good and it smells good. It’s…I don’t know.” His voice lowered in embarrassment. “Satisfying, I guess.”
“Yes.” Pleased, Carlo smiled at him. “That’s a good answer.”
“I have both your other books,” the boy blurted out. “I’ve tried all your recipes. I even made your pasta al tre formaggi for this dinner party at my aunt’s.”
“And?”
“They liked it.” The boy grinned. “I mean they really liked it.”
“You want to study.”
“Oh yeah.” But the boy dropped his gaze to where his hands rubbed nervously over his knees. “Thing is we can’t really afford college right now, so I’m hoping to get some restaurant work.”
“In Denver?”
“Any place where I could start cooking instead of wiping up.”
“We’ve taken up enough of Mr. Franconi’s time.” The boy’s mother rose, noting there was now a handful of people milling around on the second level with Carlo’s books in hand. “I want to thank you.” She offered her hand to Carlo as he rose with her. “It meant a great deal to Steven to talk with you.”
“My pleasure.” Though he was gracious as always, he turned back to the boy. “Perhaps you’d give me your address. I know of some restaurant owners here in the States. Perhaps one of them needs an apprentice chef.”