Best of Nora Roberts Books 1-6: The Art of Deception / Lessons Learned / Mind Over Matter / Risky Business / Second Nature / Unfinished Business

Juliet took the ride to the airport where they would leave for San Diego in excruciatingly polite silence.

“Come now, cara, the show went well. Not only was the title mentioned three times, but there was that nice close-up of the book. My tortoni was a triumph, and they liked my anecdote on cooking the long, sensual Italian meal.”

“You’re a real prince with anecdotes,” she murmured.

“Amore, it was the monkey who tried to undress you, not I.” He gave a long, self-satisfied sigh. He couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed a…demonstration quite so much. “If I had, we’d have missed the show altogether.”

“You just had to tell that story on the air, didn’t you?” She sent him a cool, killing look. “Do you know how many millions of people watch that show?”

“It was a good story.” In the dim light of the limo, she saw the gleam in his eyes. “Most millions of people like good stories.”

“Everyone I work with will have seen that show.” She found her jaw was clenched and deliberately relaxed it. “Not only did you just—just sit there and let that happy-fingered little creature half strip me, but then you broadcast it on national television.”

“Madonna, you’ll remember I did try to warn you.”

“I remember nothing of the kind.”

“But you were so enchanted with Butch,” he continued. “I confess, it was difficult not to be enchanted myself.” He let his gaze roam down to her tidily buttoned blouse. “You’ve lovely skin, Juliet; perhaps I was momentarily distracted. I throw myself, a simple, weak man, on your mercy.”

“Oh, shut up.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead, not speaking again until the driver pulled to the curb at their airline.

Juliet pulled her carry-on bag out of the trunk. She knew the chance was always there that the bags could be lost—sent to San Jose while she went to San Diego—so she always carried her absolute essentials with her. She handed over both her ticket and Carlo’s so the check-in could get underway while she paid off the driver. It made her think of her budget. She’d managed to justify limo service in L.A., but it would be cabs and rented cars from here on. Goodbye glamour, she thought as she pocketed her receipt. Hello reality.

“No, this I’ll carry.”

She turned to see Carlo indicate his leather-bound box of about two feet in length, eight inches in width. “You’re better off checking something that bulky.”

“I never check my tools.” He slung a flight bag over his shoulder and picked up the box by its handle.

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug and moved through the automatic doors with him. Fatigue was creeping in, she realized, and she hadn’t had to prepare any intricate desserts. If he were human, he’d be every bit as weary as she. He might annoy her in a dozen ways, but he didn’t gripe. Juliet bit back a sigh. “We’ve a half hour before they’ll begin boarding. Would you like a drink?”

He gave her an easy smile. “A truce?”

She returned it despite herself. “No, a drink.”

“Okay.”

They found a dark, crowded lounge and worked their way through to a table. She watched Carlo maneuver his box, with some difficulty, around people, over chairs and ultimately under their table. “What’s in there?”

“Tools,” he said again. “Knives, properly weighted, stainless steel spatulas of the correct size and balance. My own cooking oil and vinegar. Other essentials.”

“You’re going to lug oil and vinegar through airport terminals from coast to coast?” With a shake of her head, she glanced up at a waitress. “Vodka and grapefruit juice.”

“Brandy. Yes,” he said, giving his attention back to Juliet after he’d dazzled the waitress with a quick smile. “Because there’s no brand on the American market to compare with my own.” He picked up a peanut from the bowl on the table. “There’s no brand on any market to compare with my own.”

“You could still check it,” she pointed out. “After all, you check your shirts and ties.”

“I don’t trust my tools to the hands of baggage carriers.” He popped the peanut into his mouth. “A tie is a simple thing to replace, even a thing to become bored with. But an excellent whisk is entirely different. Once I teach you to cook, you’ll understand.”

“You’ve got as much chance teaching me to cook as you do flying to San Diego without the plane. Now, you know you’ll be giving a demonstration of preparing linguini and clam sauce on A.M. San Diego. The show airs at eight, so we’ll have to be at the studio at six to get things started.”

As far as he could see, the only civilized cooking to be done at that hour would be a champagne breakfast for two. “Why do Americans insist on rising at dawn to watch television?”

“I’ll take a poll and find out,” she said absently. “In the meantime, you’ll make up one dish that we’ll set aside, exactly as we did tonight. On the air you’ll be going through each stage of preparation, but of course we don’t have enough time to finish; that’s why we need the first dish. Now, for the good news.” She sent a quick smile to the waitress as their drinks were served. “There’s been a bit of a mix-up at the studio, so we’ll have to bring the ingredients along ourselves. I need you to give me a list of what you’ll need. Once I see you settled into the hotel, I’ll run out and pick them up. There’s bound to be an all-night market.”

In his head, he went over the ingredients for his linguini con vongole biance. True, the American market would have some of the necessities, but he considered himself fortunate that he had a few of his own in the case at his feet. The clam sauce was his specialty, not to be taken lightly.

“Is shopping for groceries at midnight part of a publicist’s job?”

She smiled at him. Carlo thought it was not only lovely, but perhaps the first time she’d smiled at him and meant it. “On the road, anything that needs to be done is the publicist’s job. So, if you’ll run through the ingredients, I’ll write them down.”

“Not necessary.” He swirled and sipped his brandy. “I’ll go with you.”

“You need your sleep.” She was already rummaging for a pencil. “Even with a quick nap on the plane you’re only going to get about five hours.”

“So are you,” he pointed out. When she started to speak again, he lifted his brow in that strange silent way he had of interrupting. “Perhaps I don’t trust an amateur to pick out my clams.”

Juliet watched him as she drank. Or perhaps he was a gentleman, she mused. Despite his reputation with women, and a healthy dose of vanity, he was one of that rare breed of men who knew how to be considerate of women without patronizing them. She decided to forgive him for Butch after all.

“Drink up, Franconi.” And she toasted him, perhaps in friendship. “We’ve a plane to catch.”

“Salute.” He lifted his glass to her.

They didn’t argue again until they were on the plane.

Grumbling only a little, Juliet helped him stow his fancy box of tools under the seat. “It’s a short flight.” She checked her watch and calculated the shopping would indeed go beyond midnight. She’d have to take some of the vile tasting brewer’s yeast in the morning. “I’ll see you when we land.”

He took her wrist when she would have gone past him. “Where are you going?”

“To my seat.”

“You don’t sit here?” He pointed to the seat beside him.

“No, I’m in coach.” Impatient, she had to shift to let another oncoming passenger by.

“Why?”

“Carlo, I’m blocking the aisle.”

“Why are you in coach?”

She let out a sigh of a parent instructing a stubborn child. “Because the publisher is more than happy to spring for a first-class ticket for a bestselling author and celebrity. There’s a different style for publicists. It’s called coach.” Someone bumped a briefcase against her hip. Damn if she wouldn’t have a bruise. “Now if you’d let me go, I could stop being battered and go sit down.”

“First class is almost empty,” he pointed out. “It’s a simple matter to upgrade your ticket.”

She managed to pull her arm away. “Don’t buck the system, Franconi.”

“I always buck the system,” he told her as she walked down the aisle to her seat. Yes, he did like the way she moved.