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

“Because I’m paid to work. Carlo, let me out so I can fix this before we take off.”

“No.” For the first time, his voice was blunt and final. “I prefer your company to that of a stranger or an empty seat.” When he turned his head, his eyes were like his voice. “I want you here. Leave it.”

Juliet opened her mouth and closed it again. Professionally, she was on shaky ground either direction she went. She was supposed to see to his needs and wants within reason. Personally, she’d counted on the distance, at least during flight time, to keep her balanced. With Carlo, even a little distance could help.

He was being kind, she knew. Considerate. But he was also being stubborn. There was always a diplomatic way to handle such things.

She gave him a patient smile. “Carlo—”

He stopped her by simply closing his mouth over hers, quietly, completely and irresistibly. He held her there a moment, one hand on her cheek, the other over the fingers which had frozen in her lap. Juliet felt the floor tilt and her head go light.

We’re taking off, she thought dimly, but knew the plane hadn’t left the ground.

His tongue touched hers briefly, teasingly; then it was only his lips again. After brushing a hand through her hair, he leaned back. “Now, go back to sleep awhile,” he advised. “This isn’t the place I’d choose to seduce you.”

Sometimes, Juliet decided, silence was the best diplomacy. Without another word, she closed her eyes and slept.

Chapter Five

Colorado. The Rockies, Pike’s Peak, Indian ruins, aspens and fast-running streams. It sounded beautiful, exciting. But a hotel room was a hotel room after all.

They’d been busy in Washington State. For most of their three-day stay, Juliet had had to work and think on her feet. But the media had been outstanding. Their schedule had been so full her boss back in New York had probably done handstands. Her report on their run on the coast would be a publicist’s dream. Then there was Denver.

What coverage she’d managed to hustle there would barely justify the plane fare. One talk show at the ungodly hour of 7:00 A.M. and one miserly article in the food section of a local paper. No network or local news coverage of the autographing, no print reporter who’d confirm an appearance. Lousy.

It was 6:00 A.M. when Juliet dragged herself out of the shower and began to search through her unpacked garment bag for a suit and a fresh blouse. The cleaners was definitely a priority the minute they moved on to Dallas.

At least Carlo wasn’t cooking this morning. She didn’t think she could bear to look at food in any form for at least two hours.

With any luck she could come back to the hotel after the show, catch another hour’s sleep and then have breakfast in her room while she made her morning calls. The autographing wasn’t until noon, and their flight out wasn’t until early the next morning.

That was something to hold on to, Juliet told herself as she looked for the right shade of stockings. For the first time in a week, they had an evening free with no one to entertain, no one to be entertained by. A nice, quiet meal somewhere close by and a full night’s sleep. With that at the end of the tunnel, she could get through the morning.

With a grimace, she gulped down her daily dose of brewer’s yeast.

It wasn’t until she was fully dressed that she woke up enough to remember she hadn’t dealt with her make-up. With a shrug Juliet slipped out of her little green jacket and headed for the bathroom. She stared at the front door with a combination of suspicion and bad temper when she heard the knock. Peeking through the peephole, she focused on Carlo. He grinned at her, then crossed his eyes. She only swore a little as she pulled open the door.

“You’re early,” she began, then caught the stirring aroma of coffee. Looking down, she saw that he carried a tray with a small pot, cups and spoons. “Coffee,” she murmured, almost like a prayer.

“Yes.” He nodded as he stepped into the room. “I thought you’d be ready, though room service isn’t.” He walked over to a table, saw that her room could fit into one section of his suite and set down the tray. “So, we deliver.”

“Bless you.” It was so sincere he grinned again as she crossed the room. “How did you manage it? Room service doesn’t open for half an hour.”

“There’s a small kitchen in my suite. A bit primitive, but adequate to brew coffee.”

She took the first sip, black and hot, and she closed her eyes. “It’s wonderful. Really wonderful.”

“Of course. I fixed it.”

She opened her eyes again. No, she decided, she wouldn’t spoil gratitude with sarcasm. After all, they’d very nearly gotten along for three days running. With the help of her shower, the yeast and the coffee, she was feeling almost human again.

“Relax,” she suggested. “I’ll finish getting ready.” Expecting him to sit, Juliet took her cup and went into the bathroom to deal with her face and hair. She was dotting on foundation when Carlo leaned on the doorjamb.

“Mi amore, doesn’t this arrangement strike you as impractical?”

She tried not to feel self-conscious as she smoothed on the thin, translucent base. “Which arrangement is that?”

“You have this—broom closet,” he decided as he gestured toward her room. Yes, it was small enough that the subtle, feminine scent from her shower reached all the corners. “While I have a big suite with two baths, a bed big enough for three friends and one of those sofas that unfold.”

“You’re the star,” she murmured as she brushed color over the slant of her cheeks.

“It would save the publisher money if we shared the suite.”

She shifted her eyes in the mirror until they met his. She’d have sworn, absolutely sworn, he meant no more than that. That is, if she hadn’t known him. “He can afford it,” she said lightly. “It just thrills the accounting department at tax time.”

Carlo moved his shoulders then sipped from his cup again. He’d known what her answer would be. Of course, he’d enjoy sharing his rooms with her for the obvious reason, but neither did it sit well with him that her accommodations were so far inferior to his.

“You need a touch more blusher on your left cheek,” he said idly, not noticing her surprised look. What he’d noticed was the green silk robe that reflected in the mirror from the back of the door. Just how would she look in that? Carlo wondered. How would she look out of it?

After a narrowed-eyed study, Juliet discovered he’d been right. She picked up her brush again and evened the color. “You’re a very observant man.”

“Hmm?” He was looking at her again, but mentally, he’d changed her neat, high-collared blouse and slim skirt for the provocative little robe.

“Most men wouldn’t notice unbalanced blusher.” She picked up a grease pencil to shadow her eyes.

“I notice everything when it comes to a woman.” There was still a light fog near the top of the mirror from the steam of her shower. Seeing it gave Carlo other, rather pleasant mental images. “What you’re doing now gives you a much different look.”

Relaxed again, she laughed. “That’s the idea.”

“But, no.” He stepped in closer so he could watch over her shoulder. The small, casual intimacy was as natural for him as it was uncomfortable for her. “Without the pots of paint, your face is younger, more vulnerable, but no less attractive than it is with them. Different…” Easily, he picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. “It’s not more, not less, simply different. I like both of your looks.”

It wasn’t easy to keep her hand steady. Juliet set down the eye-shadow and tried the coffee instead. Better to be cynical than be moved, she reminded herself and gave him a cool smile. “You seem right at home in the bathroom with a woman fixing her face.”

He liked the way her hair flowed as he brushed it. “I’ve done it so often.”

Her smile became cooler. “I’m sure.”

He caught the tone, but continued to brush as he met her eyes in the glass. “Take it as you like, cara, but remember, I grew up in a house with five women. Your powders and bottles hold no secrets from me.”

She’d forgotten that, perhaps because she’d chosen to forget anything about him that didn’t connect directly with the book. Yet now it made her wonder. Just what sort of insight did a man get into women when he’d been surrounded by them since childhood? Frowning a bit, she picked up her mascara.

“Were you a close family?”

“We are a close family,” he corrected. “My mother’s a widow who runs a successful dress shop in Rome.” It was typical of him not to mention that he’d bought it for her. “My four sisters all live within thirty kilometers. Perhaps I no longer share the bathroom with them, but little else changes.”

She thought about it. It sounded cozy and easy and rather sweet. Juliet didn’t believe she could relate at all. “Your mother must be proud of you.”

“She’d be prouder if I added to her growing horde of grandchildren.”