by Nora Roberts
The desk clerk stood at a discreet distance and listened to every word.
Juliet pulled her credit card out of her wallet and set it down on the counter with a snap. Carlo noted, with some amusement, that she no longer looked the least bit tired. He wanted to make love with her for hours.
“You’ll need the imprint on this for my incidentals,” she told the clerk calmly enough. “All Mr. Franconi’s charges will be picked up.”
Carlo pushed his form toward the clerk then leaned on the counter. “Juliet, won’t you feel foolish running back and forth across the hall? It’s ridiculous, even for a publisher, to pay for a bed that won’t be slept in.”
With her jaw clenched, she picked up her credit card again. “I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous,” she said under her breath. “It’s ridiculous for you to be standing here deliberately embarrassing me.”
“You have rooms 1102 and 1108.” The clerk pushed the keys toward them. “I’m afraid they’re just down the hall from each other rather than across.”
“That’s fine.” Juliet turned to find the bellman had their luggage packed on the cart and his ears open. Without a word, she strode toward the bank of elevators.
Strolling along beside her, Carlo noted that the cashier had a stunning smile. “Juliet, I find it odd that you’d be embarrassed over something so simple.”
“I don’t think it’s simple.” She jabbed the up button on the elevator.
“Forgive me.” Carlo put his tongue in his cheek. “It’s only that I recall you specifically saying you wanted our relationship to be simple.”
“Don’t tell me what I said. What I said has nothing to do with what I meant.”
“Of course not,” he murmured and waited for her to step inside the car.
Seeing the look on Juliet’s face, the bellman began to worry about his tip. He put on a hospitality-plus smile. “So, you in Chicago long?”
“Two days,” Carlo said genially enough.
“You can see a lot in a couple of days. You’ll want to get down to the lake—”
“We’re here on business,” Juliet interrupted. “Only business.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a smile, the bellman pushed his cart into the hall. “1108’s the first stop.”
“That’s mine.” Juliet dug out her wallet again and pulled out bills as the bellman unlocked her door. “Those two bags,” she pointed out then turned to Carlo. “We’ll meet Dave Lockwell in the bar for drinks at 10:00. You can do as you like until then.”
“I have some ideas on that,” he began but Juliet moved past him. After stuffing the bills in the bellman’s hand, she shut the door with a quick click.
Thirty minutes, to Carlo’s thinking, was long enough for anyone to cool down. Juliet’s stiff-backed attitude toward their room situation had caused him more exasperation than annoyance. But then, he expected to be exasperated by women. On one hand, he found her reaction rather sweet and naive. Did she really think the fact that they were lovers would make the desk clerk or a bellman blink twice?
The fact that she did, and probably always would, was just another aspect of her nature that appealed to him. In whatever she did, Juliet Trent would always remain proper. Simmering passion beneath a tidy, clean-lined business suit. Carlo found her irresistible.
He’d known so many kinds of women—the bright young ingenue greedy to her fingertips, the wealthy aristocrat bored both by wealth and tradition, the successful career woman who both looked for and was wary of marriage. He’d known so many—the happy, the secure, the desperate and seeking, the fulfilled and the grasping. Juliet Trent with the cool green eyes and quiet voice left him uncertain as to what pigeonhole she’d fit into. It seemed she had all and none of the feminine qualities he understood. The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted her to fit, somehow, into his life.
The best way, the only way, he knew to accomplish that was to distract her with charm until she was already caught. After that, they’d negotiate the next step.
Carlo lifted the rose he’d had sent up from the hotel florist out of its bud vase, sniffed its petals once, then walked down the hall to Juliet’s room.
She was just drying off from a hot, steamy bath. If she’d heard the knock five minutes before, she’d have growled. As it was, she pulled on her robe and went to answer.
She’d been expecting him. Juliet wasn’t foolish enough to believe a man like Carlo would take a door in the face as final. It had given her satisfaction to close it, just as it gave her satisfaction to open it again. When she was ready.
She hadn’t been expecting the rose. Though she knew it wasn’t wise to be moved by a single long-stemmed flower with a bud the color of sunshine, she was moved nonetheless. Her plans to have a calm, serious discussion with him faltered.
“You look rested.” Rather than giving her the rose, he took her hand. Before she could decide whether or not to let him in, he was there.
A stand, Juliet reminded herself even as she closed the door behind him. If she didn’t take a stand now, she’d never find her footing. “Since you’re here, we’ll talk. We have an hour.”
“Of course.” As was his habit, he took a survey of her room. Her suitcase sat on a stand, still packed, but with its top thrown open. It wasn’t practical to unpack and repack when you were bouncing around from city to city. Though they were starting their third week on the road, the contents of the case were still neat and organized. He’d have expected no less from her. Her notebook and two pens were already beside the phone. The only things remotely out of place in the tidy, impersonal room were the Italian heels that sat in the middle of the rug where she’d stepped out of them. The inconsistency suited her perfectly.
“I can discuss things better,” she began, “if you weren’t wandering around.”
“Yes?” All cooperation, Carlo sat and waved the rose under his nose. “You want to talk about our schedule here in Chicago?”
“No—yes.” She had at least a dozen things to go over with him. For once she let business take a back seat. “Later.” Deciding to take any advantage, Juliet remained standing. “First, I want to talk about that business down at the desk.”
“Ah.” The sound was distinctly European and as friendly as a smile. She could have murdered him.
“It was totally uncalled for.”
“Was it?” He’d learned that strategy was best plotted with friendly questions or simple agreement. That way, you could swing the final result to your own ends without too much blood being shed.
“Of course it was.” Forgetting her own strategy, Juliet dropped down on the edge of the bed. “Carlo, you had no right discussing our personal business in public.”
“You’re quite right.”
“I—” His calm agreement threw her off. The firm, moderately angry speech she’d prepared in the tub went out the window.
“I must apologize,” he continued before she could balance herself. “It was thoughtless of me.”
“Well, no.” As he’d planned, she came to his defense. “It wasn’t thoughtless, just inappropriate.”
With the rose, he waved her defense away. “You’re too kind, Juliet. You see, I was thinking only of how practical you are. It’s one of the things I most admire about you.” In getting his way, Carlo had always felt it best to use as much truth as possible. “You see, besides my own family, I’ve known very few truly practical women. This trait in you appeals to me, as much as the color of your eyes, the texture of your skin.”
Because she sensed she was losing ground, Juliet sat up straighter. “You don’t have to flatter me, Carlo. It’s simply a matter of establishing ground rules.”
“You see.” As if she’d made his point, he sat forward to touch her fingertips. “You’re too practical to expect flattery or to be swayed by it. Is it any wonder I’m enchanted by you?”
“Carlo—”
“I haven’t made my point.” He retreated just enough to keep his attack in full gear. “You see, knowin
g you, I thought you would agree that it was foolish and impractical to book separate rooms when we want to be together. You do want to be with me, don’t you, Juliet?”
Frustrated, she stared at him. He was turning the entire situation around. Certain of it, Juliet groped for a handhold. “Carlo, it has nothing to do with my wanting to be with you.”
His brow lifted. “No?”
“No. It has to do with the line that separates our business and our personal lives.”
“A line that’s difficult to draw. Perhaps impossible for me.” The truth came out again, though this time unplanned. “I want to be with you, Juliet, every moment we have. I find myself resenting even the hour that you’re here and I’m there. A few hours at night isn’t enough for me. I want more, much more for us.”
Saying it left him stunned. It hadn’t been one of his clever moves, one of his easy catch-phrases. That little jewel had come from somewhere inside where it had quietly hidden until it could take him by surprise.
He rose, and to give himself a moment, stood by the window to watch a stream of Chicago traffic. It rushed, then came to fitful stops, wound and swung then sped on again. Life was like this, he realized. You could speed right along but you never knew when something was going to stop you dead in your tracks.
Juliet was silent behind him, torn between what he’d said, what he’d meant and what she felt about it. From the very beginning, she’d kept Carlo’s definition of an affair in the front of her mind. Just one ride on the carousel. When the music stopped, you got off and knew you’d gotten your money’s worth. Now, with a few words he was changing the scope. She wondered if either of them was ready.
“Carlo, since you say I am, I’ll be practical.” Drawing together her resources, she rose. “We have a week left on tour. During that time, we’ve got Chicago and four other cities to deal with. To be honest, I’d rather if our only business right now was with each other.”
He turned, and though she thought the smile was a bit odd, at least he smiled. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in all these days and all these cities, Juliet.”
She took a step toward him. It seemed foolish to think about risks when they had such little time. “Being with you isn’t something I’ll ever forget, no matter how much I might want to in years to come.”
“Juliet—”
“No, wait. I want to be with you, and part of me hates the time we lose with other people, in separate rooms, in all the demands that brought us to each other in the first place. But another part of me knows that all of those things are completely necessary. Those things will still be around after we’re each back in our separate places.”
No, don’t think about that now, she warned herself. If she did, her voice wouldn’t be steady.
“No matter how much time I spend with you in your suite, I need a room of my own if for no other reason than to know it’s there. Maybe that’s the practical side of me, Carlo.”
Or the vulnerable one, he mused. But hadn’t he just discovered he had a vulnerability of his own? Her name was Juliet. “So, it will be as you want in this.” And for the best perhaps. He might just need a bit of time to himself to think things through.
“No arguing?”
“Do we argue ever, cara?”
Her lips curved. “Never.” Giving in to herself as much as him, she stepped forward and linked her arms around his neck. “Did I ever tell you that when I first started setting up this tour I looked at your publicity shot and thought you were gorgeous?”
“No.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Why don’t you tell me now?”
“And sexy,” she murmured as she drew him closer to the bed. “Very, very sexy.”
“Is that so?” He allowed himself to be persuaded onto the bed. “So you decided in your office in New York that we’d be lovers?”
“I decided in my office in New York that we’d never be lovers.” Slowly, she began to unbutton his shirt. “I decided that the last thing I wanted was to be romanced and seduced by some gorgeous, sexy Italian chef who had a string of women longer than a trail of his own pasta, but—”
“Yes.” He nuzzled at her neck. “I think I’ll prefer the ‘but.’”
“But it seems to me that you can’t make definitive decisions without all the facts being in.”
“Have I ever told you that your practicality arouses me to the point of madness?”
She sighed as he slipped undone the knot in her robe. “Have I ever told you that I’m a sucker for a man who brings me flowers?”
“Flowers.” He lifted his head then picked up the rosebud he’d dropped on the pillow beside them. “Darling, did you want one, too?”
With a laugh, she pulled him back to her.
Juliet decided she’d seen more of Chicago in the flight into O’Hare than during the day and a half she’d been there. Cab drives from hotel to television station, from television station to department store, from department store to bookstore and back to the hotel again weren’t exactly leisurely sight-seeing tours. Then and there she decided that when she took her vacation at the end of the month, she’d go somewhere steamy with sun and do nothing more energetic than laze by a pool from dawn to dusk.
The only hour remotely resembling fun was another shopping expedition where she watched Carlo select a plump three-pound chicken for his cacciatore.
He was to prepare his pollastro alla cacciatora from simmer to serve during a live broadcast of one of the country’s top-rated morning shows. Next to the Simpson Show in L.A., Juliet considered this her biggest coup for the tour. Let’s Discuss It was the hottest hour on daytime TV, and remained both popular and controversial after five consecutive seasons.
Despite the fact that she knew Carlo’s showmanship abilities, Juliet was nervous as a cat. The show would air live in New York. She had no doubt that everyone in her department would be watching. If Carlo was a smash, it would be his triumph. If he bombed, the bomb was all hers. Such was the rationale in public relations.
It never occurred to Carlo to be nervous. He could make cacciatore in the dark, from memory with the use of only one hand. After watching Juliet pace the little green room for the fifth time, he shook his head. “Relax, my love, it’s only chicken.”
“Don’t forget to bring up the dates we’ll be in the rest of the cities. This show reaches all of them.”
“You’ve already told me.”
“And the title of the book.”
“I won’t forget.”
“You should remember to mention you prepared this dish for the President when he visited Rome last year.”
“I’ll try to keep it in mind. Juliet, wouldn’t you like some coffee?”
She shook her head and kept pacing. What else?
“I could use some,” he decided on the spot.
She glanced toward the pot on a hot plate. “Help yourself.”
He knew if she had something to do, she’d stop worrying, even for a few moments. And she’d stop pacing up and down in front of him. “Juliet, no one with a heart would ask a man to drink that poison that’s been simmering since dawn.”
“Oh.” Without hesitation, she assumed the role of pamperer. “I’ll see about it.”
“Grazie.”
At the door, she hesitated. “The reporter for the Sun might drop back before the show.”
“Yes, you told me. I’ll be charming.”
Muttering to herself, she went to find a page.
Carlo leaned back and stretched his legs. He’d have to drink the coffee when she brought it back, though he didn’t want any. He didn’t want to board the plane for Detroit that afternoon, but such things were inevitable. In any case, he and Juliet would have the evening free in Detroit—what American state was that in?
They wouldn’t be there long enough to worry about it.
In any case, he would soon be in Philadelphia and there, see Summer. He needed to. Though he’d always had friends and was close to many of them, he’d never needed
one as he felt he needed one now. He could talk to Summer and know what he said would be listened to carefully and not be repeated. Gossip had never bothered him in the past, but when it came to Juliet… When it came to Juliet, nothing was as it had been in the past.
None of his previous relationships with women had ever become a habit. Waking up in the morning beside a woman had always been pleasant, but never necessary. Every day, Juliet was changing that. He couldn’t imagine his bedroom back in Rome without her, yet she’d never been there. He’d long since stopped imagining other women in his bed.
Rising, he began to pace as Juliet had.
When the door opened, he turned, expecting her. The tall, willowy blonde who entered wasn’t Juliet, but she was familiar.
“Carlo! How wonderful to see you again.”
“Lydia.” He smiled, cursing himself for not putting the name of the Sun’s reporter with the face of the woman he’d spent two interesting days in Chicago with only eighteen months before. “You look lovely.”
Of course she did. Lydia Dickerson refused to look anything less. She was sharp, sexy and uninhibited. She was also, in his memory, an excellent cook and critic of gourmet foods.
“Carlo, I was just thrilled when I heard you were coming into town. We’ll do the interview after the show, but I just had to drop back and see you.” She swirled toward him with the scent of spring lilacs and the swish of a wide-flared skirt. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Smiling, he took her outstretched hand. “It’s always good to see an old friend.”
With a laugh, she put her hands on his shoulders. “I should be angry with you, caro. You do have my number, and my phone didn’t ring last night.”
“Ah.” He put his hands to her wrists, wondering just how to untangle himself. “You’ll have to forgive us, Lydia. The schedule is brutal. And there’s a…complication.” He winced, thinking how Juliet would take being labeled a complication.
“Carlo.” She edged closer. “You can’t tell me you haven’t got a few free hours for…an old friend. I’ve a tremendous recipe for vitèllo tonnato.” She murmured the words and made the dish sound like something to be eaten in the moonlight. “Who else should I cook it for but the best chef in Italy?”
