Unmasking Juliet

by Teri Wilson

  Juliet closed the book and rested her hand on the worn leather cover. She knew it was silly, but she could have sworn she could feel the beat of her grandmother’s heart pulsing beneath her fingertips. Those pages held the real secrets Juliet’s mother had wanted her to uncover. No doubt her mother thought reading of her grandmother’s pain at the hands of a Mezzanotte would serve as a warning to Juliet, would make her think twice about trusting anyone with that last name, no matter how genuine he seemed.

  12

  Sugar scrambled out of Leo’s lap and let out a high-pitched whine as the car slowed to a stop in front of the address Leo had procured from Alegra.

  He took the whining as a good sign. Maybe Sugar somehow sensed Cocoa’s presence, meaning he’d truly found out where Juliet lived. Alegra didn’t seem to hate him with quite as much passion as she had at first, but her feelings for him still appeared to vacillate between intense dislike and mere tolerance. He half suspected she’d given him a fake address.

  But as he grabbed the canvas grocery bag from the passenger seat and approached the front door, he caught a whiff of bittersweet chocolate, and he knew Alegra had told the truth.

  After four fruitless days and nights, he’d given up trying to catch Juliet alone at Arabella Chocolate Boutique. From what he could tell, she was always surrounded by a bevy of Arabellas during the day. Arabellas who would sooner see his head on a platter than let him walk through the front door of their store. And as soon as the purple shadows of twilight descended on the valley, Juliet made herself scarce.

  He sometimes wondered if she was intentionally avoiding him. His ego wanted to believe that was nonsense, that she’d simply been just as busy as he had preparing for the chocolate festival.

  His macarons were done, finished just this morning. Since they were best eaten one to two days after baking, they were currently biding their time in the walk-in cooler at Mezzanotte Chocolates. Tomorrow he would get started crafting the tower, but in the meantime he had an entire evening ahead of him. An evening he planned on spending with Juliet.

  Waiting to see her again had been excruciating. With the macarons to distract him, he’d somehow managed. But now that he had a moment to breathe, he simply couldn’t take the loss of her any longer. It was a loss that made no sense to him, but a loss nonetheless.

  He had to see her straightaway. Before he went mad.

  He knocked three times, glanced down at Sugar spinning small circles on the welcome mat and smiled. If Juliet was tempted to slam the door in his face, Sugar’s antics just might buy him a minute or two to convince her to let him in.

  The door swung open more quickly than he expected. He jerked his head up and took in a surprised, somewhat disheveled Juliet. Clearly, he’d caught her in the middle of a cooking frenzy. Her hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, and she had a smudge of what looked like cocoa powder on her cheek.

  Adorable.

  His gaze traveled lower. The sight of her long bare legs stretching out from beneath the hem of a saucy red apron went beyond adorable, venturing into more tempting territory. He had the sudden, intoxicating thought of how great those lithe legs would feel wrapped around his waist as he moved inside her, pushing in deep.

  A spark of electricity shot straight to his groin.

  He almost dropped the groceries. “Juliet.”

  “Leo.” Predictably, she sounded less than happy to find him at her door. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of a...” Her luminous green eyes flitted somewhere over her shoulder. Toward the kitchen, Leo presumed. “Project of sorts.”

  “I know all about your ‘project.’” The chocolat chaud. If Alegra hadn’t told him that Juliet had been holed up for days trying to duplicate his recipe, he would have been able to guess what she’d been up to simply from the aroma emanating from within her home.

  From the smell of things, she was getting close. Closer than he’d anticipated.

  “I doubt that.” She crossed her arms. Her tank top shifted, giving him a brief glimpse of a wisp-thin, lacy bra strap. Red again.

  Another jolt of electricity zinged through him. If she didn’t let him in, he’d have a long, lonely night ahead of him.

  “You think I can’t recognize the scent of my own recipe?” He narrowed his gaze at her. Even Sugar’s tiny nose appeared to quiver in recognition.

  “Your recipe.” She grinned. At last. “So I’m that close, huh? I knew it.”

  “Why don’t you let me in? I can give it a taste and let you know exactly how close you are.” He gave her door a slight nudge with his foot.

  She rolled her eyes. The front door didn’t budge. “Right. You’re here to help me duplicate your chocolat chaud. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  He gestured to the bag in his arms. “See for yourself.”

  She rose up on her tiptoes, lowered her lashes and peered inside. Then she went very still for a prolonged moment until she looked back up and fixed her gaze with his. “Chocolate. Vanilla. Cinnamon. What is this, Leo?”

  “Supplies. I told you—I’m here to assist with your project.” He took advantage of her surprise and maneuvered past her. Sugar scrambled to her feet and romped across the threshold alongside him.

  With its soft, violet-colored walls and abundance of drippy candles, her condo was warm, feminine and inviting. Three black-and-white photos of cobblestone streets, sidewalk cafés and arched doorways hung on the wall opposite the entryway. Italy. Rome, in particular, if Leo wasn’t mistaken.

  He waited for a twinge of homesickness for Europe to wash over him. But it never came. Strange.

  Just as he was thinking how nice it would be to stretch out on her overstuffed sofa—preferably with Juliet beneath him, or at the very least, beside him—a massive, shaggy head poked up over the back of that sofa. Cocoa looked a fair bit better than the last time Leo had seen her, he noted. When she leaped off the couch to greet Sugar, he could see that she’d lost weight, but other than that, she looked none the worse for the wear.

  Juliet bent to give Sugar a pat on the head, giving Leo a magnificent glimpse of her creamy, generous cleavage. In an effort to remain at least partially a gentleman, he averted his eyes. After a beat or two, the temptation proved too great, and he looked his fill. Until Juliet glanced up and caught him.

  She abruptly straightened, her cheeks glowing pink in that way that always made his chest tighten. “The kitchen is this direction.”

  He followed her to a room with a terra-cotta tile floor and a rustic butcher block in the center. It was larger than he’d expected. More pictures of Italy were tacked up on the red vintage refrigerator, and every square inch of counter space was covered with open boxes and cartons. Whipping cream, milk, sweet cream butter, just about every variety of sugar Leo had ever seen, and bar upon bar of bittersweet chocolate.

  An ancient-looking book was spread open on the center island. Its pages were brittle and as brown as a farm fresh egg. To Leo it looked like the type of thing that would hold secret magic spells, but he spied the words caramel silk and roasted hazelnuts and figured it must be a collection of recipes. Someone had written dates and notes in the margin in script that had faded over time until it was nearly invisible.

  An oven timer went off, drawing Leo’s attention to the red gas stove. Three burners were going at once, each topped with a simmering saucepan of warm chocolate. Juliet killed the heat to one of the burners and gave the contents of its corresponding pan a quick stir with a practiced flip of her slender wrist. Everything about the action suggested she’d been doing this for quite a while. If Leo had to guess, he would have estimated countless times over the past forty-eight hours alone.

  He set the bag on the center island, next to the antique cookbook, and let out a low whistle. “This is quite the production. No wonder I haven’t se
en you around your shop. You’ve been busy.”

  “Yes. Well. When I commit to something, I give it my all.” She gave her stirring spoon an innocent lick.

  Leo’s pulse kicked up a notch. He ground his teeth together, averted his gaze and focused instead on the interlocking pattern of the butcher block island. Sugar maple. He’d bet money on it. “Clearly.”

  He wondered if this staggering level of commitment applied to her relationships, as well. He suspected it did, given her devotion to her family. Did George Alcott III have any clue what a lucky man he’d once been? Doubtful, or his ring would have ended up on Juliet’s finger.

  Leo frowned. Since when did he consider anyone within striking distance of having a ring on their finger lucky?

  Juliet reached into the canvas bag and began unpacking the ingredients he’d picked up on his way over, lining them up one by one. When she got to the vanilla paste, she turned the bottle over in her hand and inspected the label. “This is the good stuff from Madagascar. Nice. And I have to say, food was the last thing I expected to find in that bag.”

  “I like to think outside the box and carry actual groceries in my grocery bags. I’d hate to be predictable.” He winked.

  “Oh, you’re anything but predictable,” she said dryly.

  He raised an eyebrow at her tone. “And what did you expect me to be carrying in that bag?”

  “Honestly? Money. Lots of it. At least, oh, I don’t know...1,232 dollars. Thereabouts.” Her elegant shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug.

  A jackhammering began in Leo’s jaw and traveled up to his temple.

  So they were going to talk about the vet bill? Marvelous.

  It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed, and then some, not to return her money. To march right into Arabella Chocolate Boutique and fling it at her feet. But as furious as he’d been to find all those dollars on his doorstep, he knew she’d be doubly furious if he tried to force her to take them back.

  Her eyes blazed with indignation. Or was it hurt? “I have my pride, Leo.”

  And he didn’t? “I felt responsible.”

  She waved a hand at Cocoa in the living room. The big dog was lolling on her back, letting Sugar bat at her face with one of her dainty paws. “Why would you? It was my dog.”

  “Yes, but it was my chocolate.” Leo gave her a playful tap on the tip of her upturned nose. As strongly as he felt about wanting to pay for Cocoa’s veterinary care, he was willing to let the matter drop. For now. They already had enough working against this attraction without adding 1,232 dollars to the mix.

  “I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree.” She leaned toward him, bathing him in the intoxicating fragrance of chocolate and Chantilly cream, then appeared to realize what she was doing and righted herself.

  What a pity.

  It’s okay, he wanted to say. Lean in. Lean all the way in.

  He had to stop himself from reaching for her, from pulling her soft, lithe body against his so she could remember how perfectly they fit together. Like they were made for one another, last names be damned.

  He’d already shown up uninvited. He certainly wasn’t going to force himself on her. What he wanted most of all was for her to lose control again, to show him how much she wanted him. He wished she would stop thinking so much and just live in the moment with him, grab him by the shirt and kiss him so hard that she bruised his mouth. Hell, until he bled.

  But he feared those days were over.

  He moved closer to her, barely a heartbeat away. But he made no move to touch her. An ache throbbed to life deep in his center. The unfulfilled longing that had come over him that first night in the vineyard had blossomed into something he could no longer control. He was right there on the cusp of begging, of falling to his knees and pleading with her.

  Must you leave me so unsatisfied?

  “I didn’t come here to argue with you, bella.” His words scraped against the inside of his throat, leaving him feeling raw and altogether too vulnerable.

  She blew out a soft, shaky breath, as if she was trying to hold anything and everything she might be feeling inside. Out of his reach. But her eyes gave her away. They glittered, dark, lovely and full of unspoken desire.

  Perhaps those days weren’t over, after all.

  “Leo.” She swallowed, and for the briefest of moments those delicious lips of hers parted, rendering him spellbound. “Exactly why did you come here?”

  * * *

  Bella.

  The endearment just about did Juliet in.

  It meant beautiful, and it sounded infinitely more romantic in Italian than in English. Or maybe it was just the way Leo had said it. With complete and total abandon, rather as if he hadn’t planned on saying it at all, and his use of it had surprised him every bit as much as it did her.

  “Leo.” She paused for a steadying inhale, as if anything could calm the beating of her heart at the moment. “Exactly why did you come here?”

  “I already told you—to help with your project.” He winked at her. That wink zinged straight to the center of her chest with laser-guided precision.

  He was here to help her re-create his chocolat chaud. What a load of crap.

  He smiled at her, grabbed a spoon from the countertop and dipped it in one of the saucepans. He appeared to be entirely comfortable in her kitchen. Too comfortable. And by all appearances, he was completely relaxed. If he was lying to her, he certainly wasn’t nervous or anxious about it.

  Then again, neither were psychopaths when they lied. Or serial killers, for that matter.

  She dropped her gaze. It was easier to think without his dreamy blue eyes and perfect bone structure invading her senses.

  Fate must have been smiling down on her at that moment, because her eyes landed on the one thing capable of dragging her back to reality.

  Her grandmother’s recipe book.

  She had to hand it to her mother. Giving her the book had been deviously brilliant. God, why did her mother have to be such an evil genius? And what exactly had she seen at the balloon festival?

  Juliet squared her shoulders and looked back up at Leo. He was busy tasting the batch of chocolat chaud that Juliet considered her best effort thus far. Still, it was missing that special something. Would she ever put her finger on it?

  “This one’s the closest.” Leo nodded and rinsed the tasting spoon in the sink. Leonardo Mezzanotte...in her kitchen. Who would have ever predicted such an occurrence? “But you probably already knew that.”

  Okay, so he was being honest. For now.

  She crossed her arms. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. Why did this room feel so small with him in it?

  Juliet’s head spun. She attributed it to the brandy she’d generously poured into one of the batches of hot chocolate. It couldn’t be because she was falling under Leo’s spell again. “You know, if you truly want to help me as you claim, you could save me a lot of time and effort and simply give me your recipe.”

  “Ah, but what would be the fun in that?” His grin was nothing short of wicked.

  “Fun?” She motioned toward the mess everywhere. Her kitchen had never been such a disaster. “You think this is fun?”

  “Cooking is always fun,” said Mr. Cordon Bleu himself. “Don’t you think so?”

  Not when she was cooking for her very life. “Under ordinary circumstances, yes. Nothing about this situation is ordinary.”

  “Again, what would be the fun in ordinary? I find ordinary quite boring.” The grin slipped from his lips suddenly. “You’re not wearing midnight-blue. I have to admit that’s somewhat of a disappointment.”

  She glanced down at her white tank top and jean shorts, mostly obscured by her pink Arab
ella shop apron. “No, I’m not.” Then she tossed his words back at him. “I’d hate to be predictable.”

  He laughed. “Touché, my sweet. Touché.”

  My sweet. Juliet’s knees went as soft as gooey caramel.

  “Why don’t you dump out the chocolate on the stove, and we can start a fresh batch? If you’re indeed serious about this venture.” Anything to get him to stop talking, to stop saying nice things that she wasn’t sure she could believe in, even though she wanted to. Very badly.

  “Oh, I’m serious,” he said, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  She handed him one of the pans and did her best not to stare at his forearms. “So you said.”

  He poured the rejected hot chocolate down the drain. “What’s next? Are we starting all over?”

  “Yes, I think so. I was going to keep tinkering with the batch that was the closest because I’d used up nearly all my supply of whipping cream, but since we have more now, we can start fresh.”

  We. She shook her head. This whole charade was absurd.

  “See? I’m already helping.” He picked up one of the cartons of cream he’d brought with him and handed it to her. She reached for it, but he held on for an extra beat, engaging her in a playful tug of war.

  “How bad do you want it?” he asked, the tips of his fingers fluttering against hers.

  So, so badly.

  She rolled her eyes. “Is this your idea of working?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged, released his hold on the carton and winked at her again. “But you’re starting to have fun now, aren’t you?”

  She opened her mouth to issue a swift denial but realized she’d be lying. She was having fun. Damn it. “A little.”

  He plunged his hands in the sink full of soapy water. “Good. That means I’ve already made myself useful.”

  “Would you care to make yourself even more useful and tell me what we should add to the new batch?” She eyed the rest of the items he’d supplied, certain that the secret ingredient was nowhere among them. He was way too smart for that.