by Nora Roberts
Ms. Tribly swallowed. “I’m going to buy a copy of your book for myself.”
With a laugh, Carlo picked up his menu. “Suddenly, I have a huge appetite.”
Juliet ordered a small fruit salad and picked at it for thirty minutes.
“I’ve really got to get back.” After polishing off her meal and an apricot tart, Ms. Tribly gathered up her pad. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this, Mr. Franconi. I’m never going to sit down to pot roast with the same attitude again.”
Amused, Carlo rose. “It was a pleasure.”
“I’ll be glad to send a clipping of the article to your office, Ms. Trent.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Juliet offered her hand, surprised when the reporter held it an extra moment.
“You’re a lucky woman. Enjoy the rest of your tour, Mr. Franconi.”
“Arrivederci.” He was still smiling when he sat down to finish his coffee.
“You put on a hell of a show, Franconi.”
He’d been expecting the storm. Anticipating it. “Yes, I think I did my—what was it you called it? Ah yes, my spiel very well.”
“It was more like a three-act play.” With calm, deliberate movements, she signed the check. “But the next time, don’t cast me unless you ask first.”
“Cast you?”
His innocence was calculated to infuriate. He never missed his mark. “You gave that woman the very clear impression that we were lovers.”
“Juliet, I merely gave her the very correct impression that I respect and admire you. What she takes from that isn’t my responsibility.”
Juliet rose, placed her napkin very carefully on the table and picked up her briefcase. “Swine.”
Carlo watched her walk out of the restaurant. No endearment could have pleased him more. When a woman called a man a swine, she wasn’t indifferent. He was whistling when he walked out to join her. It pleased him even more to see her fumbling with the keys of the rented car parked at the curb. When a woman was indifferent, she didn’t swear at inanimate objects.
“Would you like me to drive to the airport?”
“No.” Swearing again, she jabbed the key into the lock. She’d control her temper. She would control it. Like hell. Slamming both hands down on the roof of the car, she stared at him. “Just what was the point of that little charade?”
Squisito, he thought briefly. Her eyes were a dangerous blade-sharp green. He’d discovered he preferred a woman with temper. “Charade?”
“All that hand-holding, those intimate looks you were giving me?”
“It’s not a charade that I enjoy holding your hand, and that I find it impossible not to look at you.”
She refused to argue with the car between them. In a few quick steps she was around the hood and toe-to-toe with him. “It was completely unprofessional.”
“Yes. It was completely personal.”
It was going to be difficult to argue at all if he turned everything she said to his own advantage.
“Don’t ever do it again.”
“Madonna.” His voice was very mild, his move very calculated. Juliet found herself boxed in between him and the car. “Orders I’ll take from you when they have to do with schedules and plane flights. When it comes to more personal things, I do as I choose.”
It wasn’t something she’d expected; that’s why she lost her advantage. Juliet would tell herself that again and again—later. He had her by both shoulders and his eyes never left hers as he gave her a quick jerk. It wasn’t the smooth, calculated seduction she’d have anticipated from him. It was rough, impulsive and enervating.
His mouth was on hers, all demand. His hands held her still, all power. She had no time to stiffen, to struggle or to think. He took her with him quickly, through a journey of heat and light. She didn’t resist. Later, when she would tell herself she had, it would be a lie.
There were people on the sidewalk, cars in the street. Juliet and Carlo were unaware of everything. The heat of a Dallas afternoon soaked into the concrete beneath them. It blasted the air until it hummed. They were concerned with a fire of their own.
Her hands were at his waist, holding on, letting go. A car streaked by, country rock blasting through open windows. She never heard it. Though she’d refused wine at lunch, she tasted it on his tongue and was intoxicated.
Later, much later, he’d take time to think about what was happening. It wasn’t the same. Part of him already knew and feared because it wasn’t the same. Touching her was different than touching other women. Tasting her—lightly, deeply, teasingly—just tasting her was different than tasting other women. The feelings were new, though he’d have sworn he’d experienced all the feelings that any man was capable of.
He knew about sensations. He incorporated them in his work and in his life. But they’d never had this depth before. A man who found more and didn’t reach for it was a fool.
He knew about intimacy. He expected, demanded it in everything he did. But it had never had this strength before.
New experiences were not to be refused, but explored and exploited. If he felt a small, nagging fear, he could ignore it. For now.
Later. They clung to each other and told themselves they’d think later. Time was unimportant after all. Now held all the meaning necessary.
He took his mouth from hers, but his hands held her still. It shocked him to realize they weren’t quite steady. Women had made him ache. Women had made him burn. But no woman had ever made him tremble. “We need a place,” he murmured. “Quiet, private. It’s time to stop pretending this isn’t real.”
She wanted to nod, to simply put herself completely in his hands. Wasn’t that the first step in losing control over your own life? “No, Carlo.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked but she didn’t back away. “We’ve got to stop mixing personal feelings with business. We’ve got just under two weeks to go on the road.”
“I don’t give a damn if it’s two days or two years. I want to spend it making love with you.”
She brought herself back enough to remember they were standing on a public street in the middle of afternoon traffic. “Carlo, this isn’t the time to discuss it.”
“Now is always the time. Juliet—” He cupped her face in his hand. “It’s not me you’re fighting.”
He didn’t have to finish the thought. She was all too aware that the war was within herself. What she wanted, what was wise. What she needed, what was safe. The tug-of-war threatened to split her apart, and the two halves, put back together, would never equal the whole she understood.
“Carlo, we have a plane to catch.”
He said something soft and pungent in Italian. “You’ll talk to me.”
“No.” She lifted her hands to grip his forearms. “Not about this.”
“Then we’ll stay right here until you change your mind.”
They could both be stubborn, and with stubbornness, they could both get nowhere. “We have a schedule.”
“We have a great deal more than that.”
“No, we don’t.” His brow lifted. “All right then, we can’t. We have a plane to catch.”
“We’ll catch your plane, Juliet. But we’ll talk in Houston.”
“Carlo, don’t push me into a corner.”
“Who pushes?” he murmured. “Me or you?”
She didn’t have an easy answer. “What I’ll do is arrange for someone else to come out and finish the tour with you.”
He only shook his head. “No, you won’t. You’re too ambitious. Leaving a tour in the middle wouldn’t look good for you.”
She set her teeth. He knew her too well already. “I’ll get sick.”
This time he smiled. “You’re too proud. Running away isn’t possible for you.”
“It’s not a matter of running.” But of survival, she thought and quickly changed the phrase. “It’s a matter of priorities.”
He kissed her again, lightly. “Whose?”
“Carlo, we have b
usiness.”
“Yes, of different sorts. One has nothing to do with the other.”
“To me they do. Unlike you, I don’t go to bed with everyone I’m attracted to.”
Unoffended, he grinned. “You flatter me, cara.”
She could have sighed. How like him to make her want to laugh while she was still furious. “Purely unintentional.”
“I like you when you bare your teeth.”
“Then you’re going to enjoy the next couple of weeks.” She pushed his hands away. “It’s a long ride to the airport, Carlo. Let’s get going.”
Amiable as ever, he pulled his door open. “You’re the boss.”
A foolish woman might’ve thought she’d won a victory.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Juliet was an expert on budgeting time. It was her business every bit as much as promotion. So, if she could budget time, she could just as easily overbudget it when the circumstances warranted. If she did her job well enough, hustled fast enough, she could create a schedule so tight that there could be no time for talk that didn’t directly deal with business. She counted on Houston to cooperate.
Juliet had worked with Big Bill Bowers before. He was a brash, warmhearted braggart who handled special events for Books, Etc., one of the biggest chains in the country. Big Bill had Texas sewed up and wasn’t ashamed to say so. He was partial to long, exaggerated stories, ornate boots and cold beer.
Juliet liked him because he was sharp and tough and invariably made her job easier. On this trip, she blessed him because he was also long-winded and gregarious. He wouldn’t give her or Carlo many private moments.
From the minute they arrived at Houston International, the six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound Texan made it his business to entertain. There was a crowd of people waiting at the end of the breezeway, some already packed together and chatting, but there was no overlooking Big Bill. You only had to look for a Brahma bull in a Stetson.
“Well now, there’s little Juliet. Pretty as ever.”
Juliet found herself caught in a good-natured, rib-cracking bear hug. “Bill.” She tested her lungs gingerly as she drew away. “It’s always good to be back in Houston. You look great.”
“Just clean living, honey.” He let out a boom of a laugh that turned heads. Juliet found her mood lifting automatically.
“Carlo Franconi, Bill Bowers. Be nice to him,” she added with a grin. “He’s not only big, he’s the man who’ll promote your books for the largest chain in the state.”
“Then I’ll be very nice.” Carlo offered his hand and met an enormous, meaty paw.
“Glad you could make it.” The same meaty hand gave Carlo a friendly pat on the back that could have felled a good-sized sapling. Juliet gave Carlo points for not taking a nosedive.
“It’s good to be here” was all he said.
“Never been to Italy myself, but I’m partial to Eye-talian cooking. The wife makes a hell of a pot of spaghetti. Let me take that for you.” Before Carlo could object, Bill had hefted his big leather case. Juliet couldn’t prevent the smirk when Carlo glanced down at the case as though it were a small child boarding a school bus for the first time.
“Car’s outside. We’ll just pick up your bags and get going. Airports and hospitals, can’t stand ’em.” Bill started toward the terminal in his big, yard-long strides. “Hotel’s all ready for you; I checked this morning.”
Juliet managed to keep up though she still wore three-inch heels. “I knew I could depend on you, Bill. How’s Betty?”
“Mean as ever,” he said proudly of his wife. “With the kids up and gone, she’s only got me to order around.”
“But you’re still crazy about her.”
“A man gets used to mean after a while.” He grinned, showing one prominent gold tooth. “No need to go by the hotel straight off. We’ll show Carlo here what Houston’s all about.” As he walked he swung Carlo’s case at his side.
“I’d like that.” Diplomatically, Carlo moved closer to his side. “I could take that case…”
“No need for that. What you got in here, boy? Weighs like a steer.”
“Tools,” Juliet put in with an innocent smile. “Carlo’s very temperamental.”
“Man can’t be too temperamental about his tools,” Bill said with a nod. He tipped his hat at a young woman with a short skirt and lots of leg. “I’ve still got the same hammer my old man gave me when I was eight.”
“I’m just as sentimental about my spatulas,” Carlo murmured. But he hadn’t, Juliet noted, missed the legs, either.
“You got a right.” A look passed between the two men that was essential male and pleased. Juliet decided it had more to do with long smooth thighs than tools. “Now, I figured you two must’ve had your fill of fancy restaurants and creamed chicken by now. Having a little barbecue over at my place. You can take off your shoes, let down your hair and eat real food.”
Juliet had been to one of Bill’s little barbecues before. It meant grilling a whole steer along with several chickens and the better part of a pig, then washing it all down with a couple hundred gallons of beer. It also meant she wouldn’t see her hotel room for a good five hours. “Sounds great. Carlo, you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted one of Bill’s steaks grilled over mesquite.”
Carlo slipped a hand over her elbow. “Then we should live first.” The tone made her turn her head and meet the look. “Before we attend to business.”
“That’s the ticket.” Bill stopped in front of the conveyor belt. “Just point ’em out and we’ll haul ’em in.”
* * *
They lived, mingling at Bill’s little barbecue with another hundred guests. Music came from a seven-piece band that never seemed to tire. Laughter and splashing rose up from a pool separated from the patio by a spread of red flowering bushes that smelled of spice and heat. Above all was the scent of grilled meat, sauce and smoke. Juliet ate twice as much as she would normally have considered because her host filled her plate then kept an eagle eye on her.
It should have pleased her that Carlo was surrounded by a dozen or so Texas ladies in bathing suits and sundresses who had suddenly developed an avid interest in cooking. But, she thought nastily, most of them wouldn’t know a stove from a can opener.
It should have pleased her that she had several men dancing attendance on her. She was barely able to keep the names and faces separate as she watched Carlo laugh with a six-foot brunette in two minuscule ribbons of cloth.
The music was loud, the air heavy and warm. Giving into necessity, Juliet had dug a pair of pleated shorts and a crop top out of her bag and changed. It occurred to her that it was the first time since the start of the tour that she’d been able to sit out in the sun, soak up rays and not have a pad and pencil in her hand.
Though the blonde beside her with the gleaming biceps was in danger of becoming both a bore and a nuisance, she willed herself to enjoy the moment.
It was the first time Carlo had seen her in anything other than her very proper suits. He’d already concluded, by the way she walked, that her legs were longer than one might think from her height. He hadn’t been wrong. They seemed to start at her waist and continued down, smooth, slim and New York pale. The statuesque brunette beside him might not have existed for all the attention he paid her.
It wasn’t like him to focus on a woman yards away when there was one right beside him. Carlo knew it, but not what to do about it. The woman beside him smelled of heat and musk—heavy and seductive. It made him think that Juliet’s scent was lighter, but held just as much punch.
She had no trouble relaxing with other men. Carlo tipped back a beer as he watched her fold those long legs under her and laugh with the two men sitting on either side of her. She didn’t stiffen when the young, muscle-bound hunk on her left put his hand on her shoulder and leaned closer.
It wasn’t like him to be jealous. As emotional as he was, Carlo had never experienced that particular sensation. He’d also felt that a woman had j
ust as much right to flirt and experiment as he did. He found that particular rule didn’t apply to Juliet. If she let that slick-skinned, weight-lifting buffone put his hand on her again…
He didn’t have time to finish the thought. Juliet laughed again, set aside her plate and rose. Carlo couldn’t hear whatever she’d said to the man beside her, but she strolled into the sprawling ranch house. Moments later, the burnished, bare-chested man rose and followed her.
“Maledetto!”
“What?” The brunette stopped in the middle of what she’d thought was an intimate conversation.
Carlo barely spared her a glance. “Scusi.” Muttering, he strode off in the direction Juliet had taken. There was murder in his eye.
Fed up with fending off the attentions of Big Bill’s hotshot young neighbor, Juliet slipped into the house through the kitchen. Her mood might have been foul, but she congratulated herself on keeping her head. She hadn’t taken a chunk out of the free-handed, self-appointed Adonis. She hadn’t snarled out loud even once in Carlo’s direction.
Attending to business always helped steady her temper. With a check of her watch, Juliet decided she could get one collect call through to her assistant at home. She’d no more than picked up the receiver from the kitchen wall phone than she was lifted off her feet.
“Ain’t much to you. But it sure is a pleasure to look at what there is.”
She barely suppressed the urge to come back with her elbow. “Tim.” She managed to keep her voice pleasant while she thought how unfortunate it was that most of his muscle was from the neck up. “You’re going to have to put me down so I can make my call.”
“It’s a party, sweetheart.” Shifting her around with a flex of muscle, he set her on the counter. “No need to go calling anybody when you’ve got me around.”