by Nora Roberts
“I’m honored.” He put his hands on her hips hoping to draw her away with the least amount of insult. It wouldn’t occur to him until later that he’d felt none, absolutely none, of the casual desire he should have. “I haven’t forgotten what a superb cook you are, Lydia.”
Her laugh was low and full of memories. “I hope you haven’t forgotten more than that.”
“No.” He let out a breath and opted to be blunt. “But you see I’m—”
Before he could finish being honest, the door opened again. With a cup of coffee in her hand, Juliet walked in, then came to a dead stop. She looked at the blonde wound around Carlo like an exotic vine. Her brow lifted as she took her gaze to Carlo’s face. If only she had a camera.
Her voice was as cool and dry as her eyes. “I see you’ve met.”
“Juliet, I—”
“I’ll give you a few moments for the…pre-interview,” she said blandly. “Try to wrap it up by eight-fifty, Carlo. You’ll want to check the kitchen set.” Without another word, she shut the door behind her.
Though her arms were still around Carlo’s neck, Lydia looked toward the closed door. “Oops,” she said lightly.
Carlo let out a long breath as they separated. “You couldn’t have put it better.”
At nine o’clock, Juliet had a comfortable seat midway back in the audience. When Lydia slipped into the seat beside her, she gave the reporter an easy nod, then looked back to the set. As far as she could tell, and she’d gone over every inch of it, it was perfect.
When Carlo was introduced to cheerful applause she began to relax, just a little. But when he began preparations on the chicken, moving like a surgeon and talking to his host, his studio and television audience like a seasoned performer, her relaxation was complete. He was going to be fantastic.
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Lydia murmured during the first break.
“Something,” Juliet agreed.
“Carlo and I met the last time he was in Chicago.”
“Yes, I gathered. I’m glad you could make it by this morning. You did get the press kit I sent in?”
She’s a cool one, Lydia thought and shifted in her seat. “Yes. The feature should be out by the end of the week. I’ll send you a clipping.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Miss Trent—”
“Juliet, please.” For the first time, Juliet turned and smiled at her fully. “No need for formality.”
“All right, Juliet, I feel like a fool.”
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t.”
“I’m very fond of Carlo, but I don’t poach.”
“Lydia, I’m sure there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be fond of Carlo.” She crossed her legs as the countdown for taping began again. “If I thought you’d even consider poaching, you wouldn’t be able to pick up your pencil.”
Lydia sat still for a moment, then leaned back with a laugh. Carlo had picked himself quite a handful. Served him right. “Is it all right to wish you luck?”
Juliet shot her another smile. “I’d appreciate it.”
The two women might’ve come to amicable terms, but it wasn’t easy for Carlo to concentrate on his job while they sat cozily together in the audience. His experience with Lydia had been a quick and energetic two days. He knew little more of her than her preference for peanut oil for cooking and blue bed linen. He understood how easy it was for a man to be executed without trial. He thought he could almost feel the prickle of the noose around his throat.
But he was innocent. Carlo poured the mixture of tomatoes, sauce and spices over the browned chicken and set the cover. If he had to bind and gag her, Juliet would listen to him.
He cooked his dish with the finesse of an artist completing a royal portrait. He performed for the audience like a veteran thespian. He thought the dark thoughts of a man already at the dock.
When the show was over, he spent a few obligatory moments with his host, then left the crew to devour one of his best cacciatores.
But when he went back to the green room, Juliet was nowhere in sight. Lydia was waiting. He had no choice but to deal with her, and the interview, first.
She didn’t make it easy for him. But then, to his knowledge, women seldom did. Lydia chatted away as though nothing had happened. She asked her questions, noted down his answers, all the while with mischief gleaming in her eyes. At length, he’d had enough.
“All right, Lydia, what did you say to her?”
“To whom?” All innocence, Lydia blinked at him. “Oh, your publicist. A lovely woman. But then I’d hardly be one to fault your taste, darling.”
He rose, swore and wondered what a desperate man should do with his hands. “Lydia, we had a few enjoyable hours together. No more.”
“I know.” Something in her tone made him pause and glance back. “I don’t imagine either of us could count the number of few enjoyable hours we’ve had.” With a shrug, she rose. Perhaps she understood him, even envied what she thought she’d read in his eyes, but it wasn’t any reason to let him off the hook. “Your Juliet and I just chatted, darling.” She dropped her pad and pencil in her bag. “Girl talk, you know. Just girl talk. Thanks for the interview, Carlo.” At the door, she paused and turned back. “If you’re ever back in town without a…complication, give me a ring. Ciao.”
When she left he considered breaking something. Before he could decide what would be the most satisfying and destructive, Juliet bustled in. “Let’s get moving, Carlo. The cab’s waiting. It looks like we’ll have enough time to get back to the hotel, check out and catch the earlier plane.”
“I want to speak with you.”
“Yes, fine. We’ll talk in the cab.” Because she was already heading down the winding corridor he had no choice but to follow.
“When you told me the name of the reporter, I simply didn’t put it together.”
“Put what together?” Juliet pulled open the heavy metal door and stepped out on the back lot. If it had been much hotter, she noted, Carlo could’ve browned his chicken on the asphalt. “Oh, that you’d known her. Well, it’s so hard to remember everyone we’ve met, isn’t it?” She slipped into the cab and gave the driver the name of the hotel.
“We’ve come halfway across the country.” Annoyed, he climbed in beside her. “Things begin to blur.”
“They certainly do.” Sympathetic, she patted his hand. “Detroit and Boston’ll be down and dirty. You’ll be lucky to remember your own name.” She pulled out her compact to give her make-up a quick check. “But then I can help out in Philadelphia. You’ve already told me you have a…friend there.”
“Summer’s different.” He took the compact from her. “I’ve known her for years. We were students together. We never— Friends, we’re only friends,” he ended on a mutter. “I don’t enjoy explaining myself.”
“I can see that.” She pulled out bills and calculated the tip as the cab drew up to the hotel. As she started to slide out, she gave Carlo a long look. “No one asked you to.”
“Ridiculous.” He had her by the arm before she’d reached the revolving doors. “You ask. It isn’t necessary to ask with words to ask.”
“Guilt makes you imagine all sorts of things.” She swung through the doors and into the lobby.
“Guilt?” Incensed, he caught up with her at the elevators. “I’ve nothing to be guilty for. A man has to commit some crime, some sin, for guilt.”
She listened calmly as she stepped into the elevator car and pushed the button for their floor. “That’s true, Carlo. You seem to me to be a man bent on making a confession.”
He went off on a fiery stream of Italian that had the other two occupants of the car edging into the corners. Juliet folded her hands serenely and decided she’d never enjoyed herself more. The other passengers gave Carlo a wide berth as the elevator stopped on their floor.
“Did you want to grab something quick to eat at the airport or wait until we land?”
“I’m not intere
sted in food.”
“An odd statement from a chef.” She breezed into the hall. “Take ten minutes to pack and I’ll call for a bellman.” The key was in her hand and into the lock before his fingers circled her wrist. When she looked up at him, she thought she’d never seen him truly frustrated before. Good. It was about time.
“I pack nothing until this is settled.”
“Until what’s settled?” she countered.
“When I commit a crime or a sin, I do so with complete honesty.” It was the closest he’d come to an explosion. Juliet lifted a brow and listened attentively. “It was Lydia who had her arms around me.”
Juliet smiled. “Yes, I saw quite clearly how you were struggling. A woman should be locked up for taking advantage of a man that way.”
His eyes, already dark, went nearly black. “You’re sarcastic. But you don’t understand the circumstances.”
“On the contrary.” She leaned against the door. “Carlo, I believe I understood the circumstances perfectly. I don’t believe I’ve asked you to explain anything. Now, you’d better pack if we’re going to catch that early plane.” For the second time, she shut the door in his face.
He stood where he was for a moment, torn. A man expected a certain amount of jealousy from a woman he was involved with. He even, well, enjoyed it to a point. What he didn’t expect was a smile, a pat on the head and breezy understanding when he’d been caught in another woman’s arms. However innocently.
No, he didn’t expect it, Carlo decided. He wouldn’t tolerate it.
When the sharp knock came on the door, Juliet was still standing with a hand on the knob. Wisely, she counted to ten before she opened it.
“Did you need something?”
Carefully, he studied her face for a trap. “You’re not angry.”
She lifted her brows. “No, why?”
“Lydia’s very beautiful.”
“She certainly is.”
He stepped inside. “You’re not jealous?”
“Don’t be absurd.” She brushed a speck of lint from her sleeve. “If you found me with another man, under similar circumstances, you’d understand, I’m sure.”
“No.” He closed the door behind him. “I’d break his face.”
“Oh?” Rather pleased, she turned away to gather a few things from her dresser. “That’s the Italian temperament, I suppose. Most of my ancestors were rather staid. Hand me that brush, will you?”
Carlo picked it up and dropped it into her hand. “Staid—this means?”
“Calm and sturdy, I suppose. Though there was one—my great-great-grandmother, I think. She found her husband tickling the scullery maid. In her staid sort of way, she knocked him flat with a cast-iron skillet. I don’t think he ever tickled any of the other servants.” Securing the brush in a plastic case, she arranged it in the bag. “I’m said to take after her.”
Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. “There were no skillets available.”
“True enough, but I’m inventive. Carlo…” Still smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck. “If I hadn’t understood exactly what was going on, the coffee I’d fetched for you would’ve been dumped over your head. Capice?”
“Sì.” He grinned as he rubbed his nose against hers. But he didn’t really understand her. Perhaps that was why he was enchanted by her. Lowering his mouth to hers, he let the enchantment grow. “Juliet,” he murmured. “There’s a later plane for Detroit, yes?”
She had wondered if he would ever think of it. “Yes, this afternoon.”
“Did you know it’s unhealthy for the system to rush.” As he spoke, he slipped the jacket from her arms so that it slid to the floor.
“I’ve heard something about that.”
“Very true. It’s much better, medically speaking, to take one’s time. To keep a steady pace, but not a fast one. And, of course, to give the system time to relax at regular intervals. It could be very unhealthy for us to pack now and race to the airport.” He unhooked her skirt so that it followed her jacket.
“You’re probably right.”
“Of course I’m right,” he murmured in her ear. “It would never do for either of us to be ill on the tour.”
“Disastrous,” she agreed. “In fact, it might be best if we both just lay down for a little while.”
“The very best. One must guard one’s health.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she told him as his shirt joined her skirt and jacket.
She was laughing as they tumbled onto the bed.
He liked her this way. Free, easy, enthusiastic. Just as he liked her cooler, more enigmatic moods. He could enjoy her in a hundred different ways because she wasn’t always the same woman. Yet she was always the same.
Soft, as she was now. Warm wherever he touched, luxurious wherever he tasted. She might be submissive one moment, aggressive the next, and he never tired of the swings.
They made love in laughter now, something he knew more than most was precious and rare. Even when the passion began to dominate, there was an underlying sense of enjoyment that didn’t cloud the fire. She gave him more in a moment than he’d thought he’d ever find with a woman in a lifetime.
She’d never known she could be this way—laughing, churning, happy, desperate. There were so many things she hadn’t known. Every time he touched her it was something new, though it was somehow as if his touch was all she’d ever known. He made her feel fresh and desirable, wild and weepy all at once. In the space of minutes, he could bring her a sense of contentment and a frantic range of excitements.
The more he brought, the more he gave, and the easier it became for her to give. She wasn’t aware yet, nor was he, that every time they made love, the intimacy grew and spread. It was gaining a strength and weight that wouldn’t break with simply walking away. Perhaps if they’d known, they would have fought it.
Instead, they loved each other through the morning with the verve of youth and the depth of familiarity.
Chapter Ten
Juliet hung up the phone, dragged a hand through her hair and swore. Rising, she swore again then moved toward the wide spread of window in Carlo’s suite. For a few moments she muttered at nothing and no one in particular. Across the room, Carlo lay sprawled on the sofa. Wisely, he waited until she’d lapsed into silence.
“Problems?”
“We’re fogged in.” Swearing again, she stared out the window. She could see the mist, thick and still hanging outside the glass. Detroit was obliterated. “All flights are cancelled. The only way we’re going to get to Boston is to stick out our thumbs.”
“Thumbs?”
“Never mind.” She turned and paced around the suite.
Detroit had been a solid round of media and events, and the Renaissance Center a beautiful place to stay, but now it was time to move on. Boston was just a hop away by air, so that the evening could be devoted to drafting out reports and a good night’s sleep. Except for the fact that fog had driven in from the lake and put the whole city under wraps.
Stuck, Juliet thought as she glared out the window again. Stuck when they had an 8:00 A.M. live demonstration on a well-established morning show in Boston.
He shifted a bit, but didn’t sit up. If it hadn’t been too much trouble, he could’ve counted off the number of times he’d been grounded for one reason or another. One, he recalled, had been a flamenco dancer in Madrid who’d distracted him into missing the last flight out. Better not to mention it. Still, when such things happened, Carlo reflected, it was best to relax and enjoy the moment. He knew Juliet better.
“You’re worried about the TV in the morning.”
“Of course I am.” As she paced, she went over every possibility. Rent a car and drive—no, even in clear weather it was simply too far. They could charter a plane and hope the fog cleared by dawn. She took another glance outside. They were sixty-five floors up, but they might as well have been sixty-five feet under. No, she decided, no television spot was worth the
risk. They’d have to cancel. That was that.
She dropped down on a chair and stuck her stockinged feet up by Carlo’s. “I’m sorry, Carlo, there’s no way around it. We’ll have to scrub Boston.”
“Scrub Boston?” Lazily he folded his arms behind his head. “Juliet, Franconi scrubs nothing. Cook, yes, scrub, no.”
It took her a moment to realize he was serious. “I mean cancel.”
“You didn’t say cancel.”
She heaved out a long breath. “I’m saying it now.” She wiggled her toes, finding them a bit stiff after a ten-hour day. “There’s no way we can make the television spot, and that’s the biggest thing we have going in Boston. There’re a couple of print interviews and an autographing. We didn’t expect much to move there, and we were depending on the TV spot for that. Without it…” She shrugged and resigned herself. “It’s a wash.”
Letting his eyes half close, Carlo decided the sofa was an excellent place to spend an hour or so. “I don’t wash.”
She shot him a level look. “You’re not going to have to do anything but lie on your—back,” she decided after a moment, “for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
He grinned. Moving faster than he looked capable of, he sat up, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her down with him. “Good, you lie with me. Two backs, madonna, are better than one.”
“Carlo.” She couldn’t avoid the first kiss. Or perhaps she didn’t put her best effort into it, but she knew it was essential to avoid the second. “Wait a minute.”
“Only twenty-four hours,” he reminded her as he moved to her ear. “No time to waste.”
“I’ve got to— Stop that,” she ordered when her thoughts started to cloud. “There’re arrangements to be made.”
“What arrangements?”
She made a quick mental sketch. True, she’d already checked out of her room. They’d only kept the suite for convenience, and until six. She could book another separate room for the night, but—she might as well admit in this case it was foolish. Moving her shoulders, she gave in to innate practicality. “Like keeping the suite overnight.”