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

“Good afternoon.” Her voice was pleasant and well pitched. There’d be no need for a microphone in the relatively small space. Thank God, because Elise had botched that minor detail as well. “I want to thank you all for coming here today, and to thank Gallegher’s for providing such a lovely setting for the demonstration.”

From a few feet away, Carlo leaned on a counter and watched her. She was, as he’d told the reporter, fantastic. No one would guess she’d been up and on her feet since dawn.

“We all like to eat.” This drew the murmured laughter she’d expected. “But I’ve been told by an expert that eating is more than a basic necessity, it’s an experience. Not all of us like to cook, but the same expert told me that cooking is both art and magic. This afternoon, the expert, Carlo Franconi, will share with you the art, the magic and the experience with his own pasta con pesto.”

Juliet started the applause herself, but it was picked up instantly. As Carlo stepped out, she melted back. Center stage was his the moment he stepped on it.

“It’s a fortunate man,” he began, “who has the opportunity to cook for so many beautiful women. Some of you have husbands?” At the question there was a smatter of chuckles and the lifting of hands. “Ah, well.” He gave a very European shrug. “Then I must be content to cook.”

She knew Carlo had chosen that particular dish because it took little time in preparation. After the first five minutes, Juliet was certain not one member of the audience would have budged if he’d chosen something that took hours. She wasn’t yet convinced cooking was magic, but she was certain he was.

His hands were as skilled and certain as a surgeon’s, his tongue as glib as a politician’s. She watched him measure, grate, chop and blend and found herself just as entertained as she might have been with a well produced one-act play.

One woman was bold enough to ask a question. It opened the door and dozens of others followed. Juliet needn’t have worried that the noise and conversations would disturb him. Obviously he thrived on the interaction. He wasn’t, she decided, simply doing his job or fulfilling an obligation. He was enjoying himself.

Calling one woman up with him, Carlo joked about all truly great chefs requiring both inspiration and assistance. He told her to stir the spaghetti, made a fuss out of showing her the proper way to stir by putting his hand over hers and undoubtedly sold another ten books then and there.

Juliet had to grin. He’d done it for fun, not for sales. He was fun, Juliet realized, even if he did take his basil too seriously. He was sweet. Unconsciously, she began to toy with the gold and diamonds on her lapel. Uncommonly considerate and uncommonly demanding. Simply uncommon.

As she watched him laugh with his audience, something began to melt inside of her. She sighed with it, dreaming. There were certain men that prompted a woman, even a practical woman, to dream.

One of the women seated closer to her leaned toward a companion. “Good God, he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He could keep a dozen lovers patiently waiting.”

Juliet caught herself and dropped her hand. Yes, he could keep a dozen lovers patiently waiting. She was sure he did. Deliberately she tucked her hands in the pockets of her skirt. She’d be better off remembering she was encouraging this public image, even exploiting it. She’d be better off remembering that Carlo himself had told her he needed no imagery.

If she started believing half the things he said to her, she might just find herself patiently waiting. The thought of that was enough to stop the melting. Waiting didn’t fit into her schedule.

When every last bite of pasta had been consumed, and every last fan had been spoken with, Carlo allowed himself to think of the pleasures of sitting down with a cool glass of wine.

Juliet already had his jacket.

“Well done, Carlo.” As she spoke, she began to help him into it. “You can leave California with the satisfaction of knowing you were a smashing success.”

He took her raincoat from her when she would’ve shrugged into it herself. “The airport.”

She smiled at his tone, understanding. “We’ll pick up our bags in the holding room at the hotel on the way. Look at it this way. You can sit back and sleep all the way to Portland if you like.”

Because the thought had a certain appeal, he cooperated. They rode down to the first floor and went out the west entrance where Juliet had told the cab to wait. She let out a quick sigh of relief when it was actually there.

“We get into Portland early?”

“Seven.” Rain splattered against the cab’s windshield. Juliet told herself to relax. Planes took off safely in the rain every day. “You have a spot on People of Interest, but not until nine-thirty. That means we can have breakfast at a civilized hour and go over the scheduling.”

Quickly, efficiently, she checked off her San Diego list and noted everything had been accomplished. She had time for a quick, preliminary glance at her Portland schedule before the cab pulled up to the hotel.

“Just wait here,” she ordered both the driver and Carlo. She was up and out of the cab and, because they were running it close, managed to have the bags installed in the trunk within seven minutes. Carlo knew because it amused him to time her.

“You, too, can sleep all the way to Portland.”

She settled in beside him again. “No, I’ve got some work to do. The nice thing about planes is that I can pretend I’m in my office and forget I’m thousands of feet off the ground.”

“I didn’t realize flying bothered you.”

“Only when I’m in the air.” Juliet sat back and closed her eyes, thinking to relax for a moment. The next thing she knew, she was being kissed awake.

Disoriented, she sighed and wrapped her arms around Carlo’s neck. It was soothing, so sweet. And then the heat began to rise.

“Cara.” She’d surprised him, but that had brought its own kind of pleasure. “Such a pity to wake you.”

“Hmm?” When she opened her eyes, his face was close, her mouth still warm, her heart still thudding. She jerked back and fumbled with the door handle. “That was uncalled for.”

“True enough.” Leisurely, Carlo stepped out into the rain. “But it was illuminating. I’ve already paid the driver, Juliet,” he continued when she started to dig into her purse. “The baggage is checked. We board from gate five.” Taking her arm, and his big leather case, he led her into the terminal.

“You didn’t have to take care of all that.” She’d have pulled her arm away if she’d had the energy. Or so she told herself. “The reason I’m here is to—”

“Promote my book,” he finished easily. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been known to do the same when I traveled with your predecessor.”

The very fact that it did, made her feel foolish as well. “I appreciate it, Carlo. It’s not that I mind you lending a hand, it’s that I’m not used to it. You’d be surprised how many authors are either helpless or careless on the road.”

“You’d be surprised how many chefs are temperamental and rude.”

She thought of the basil and grinned. “No!”

“Oh, yes.” And though he’d read her thoughts perfectly, his tone remained grave. “Always flying off the handle, swearing, throwing things. It leads to a bad reputation for all of us. Here, they’re boarding. If only they have a decent Bordeaux.”

Juliet stifled a yawn as she followed him through. “I’ll need my boarding pass, Carlo.”

“I have it.” He flashed them both for the flight attendant and nudged Juliet ahead. “Do you want the window or the aisle?”

“I need my pass to see which I’ve got.”

“We have 2A and B. Take your pick.”

Someone pushed past her and bumped her solidly. It brought a sinking sensation of déjà vu. “Carlo, I’m in coach, so—”

“No, your tickets are changed. Take the window.”

Before she could object, he’d maneuvered her over and slipped in beside her. “What do you mean my ticket’s been changed? Carlo, I have to get in the back before I cause a scene.”

“Your seat’s here.” After handing Juliet her boarding pass he stretched out his legs. “Dio, what a relief.”

Frowning, Juliet studied her stub—2A. “I don’t know how they could’ve made a mistake like this. I’d better see to it right away.”

“There’s no mistake. You should fasten your belt,” he advised, then did so himself. “I changed your tickets for the remaining flights on the tour.”

Juliet reached to undo the clasp he’d just secured. “You—but you can’t.”

“I told you, don’t say can’t to Franconi.” Satisfied with her belt, he dealt with his own. “You work as hard as I do—why should you travel in tourist?”