“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.”
She smiled at that. It sounded more familiar. “I know what you mean.”
“You should leave your hair just like this,” he told her as he set down the brush. “You have a family?”
“My parents live in Pennsylvania.”
He struggled with geography a moment. “Ah, then you’ll visit them when we go to Philadelphia.”
“No.” The word was flat as she recapped the tube of mascara. “There won’t be time for that.”
“I see.” And he thought he was beginning to. “You have brothers, sisters?”
“A sister.” Because he was right about her hair, Juliet let it be and slipped out for her jacket. “She married a doctor and produced two children, one of each gender, before she was twenty-five.”
Oh yes, he was beginning to see well enough. Though the words had been easy, the muscles in her shoulders had been tight. “She makes an excellent doctor’s wife?”
“Carrie makes a perfect doctor’s wife.”
“Not all of us are meant for the same things.”
“I wasn’t.” She picked up her briefcase and her purse. “We’d better get going. They said it would take about fifteen minutes to drive to the studio.”
Strange, he thought, how people always believed their tender spots could go undetected. For now, he’d leave her with the illusion that hers had.
Because the directions were good and the traffic was light, Juliet drove the late model Chevy she’d rented with confidence. Carlo obliged by navigating because he enjoyed the poised, skilled way she handled the wheel.
“You haven’t lectured me on today’s schedule,” he pointed out. “Turn right here at this light.”
Juliet glanced in the mirror, switched lanes, then made the turn. She wasn’t yet sure what his reaction would be to the fact that there barely was one. “I’ve decided to give you a break,” she said brightly, knowing how some authors snarled and ranted when they had a dip in exposure. “You have this morning spot, then the autographing at World of Books downtown.”
He waited, expecting the list to go on. When he turned to her, his brow was lifted. “And?”
“That’s all.” She heard the apology in her voice as she stopped at a red