Some women, he thought as he felt her skin soft and warm under his hands, were made to be taught slowly. Very slowly. Some women were born knowing; others were born wondering.
With Juliet, he would take time and care because he understood. Or thought he did.
She didn’t resist, but her lips had parted in surprise. He touched his to hers gently, not in question, but with patience. Her eyes had already given him the answer.
He didn’t hurry. It didn’t matter to him where they were, that the lights were bright and the music manufactured. It only mattered that he explore the tastes that waited for him. So he tasted again, without pressure. And again.
She found she was bracing herself against the cart with her fingers wrapped around the metal. Why didn’t she walk away? Why didn’t she just brush him aside and stalk out of the store? He wasn’t holding her there. On her face his hands were light, clever but not insistent. She could move. She could go. She should.
She didn’t.
His thumbs trailed under her chin, tracing there. He felt the pulse, rapid and jerky, and kept his hold easy. He meant to keep it so, but even he hadn’t guessed her taste would be so unique.
Neither of them knew who took the next step. Perhaps they took it together. His mouth wasn’t so light on hers any longer, nor was hers so passive. They met, triumphantly, and clung.
Her fingers weren’t wrapped around the cart now, but gripping his shoulders, holding him closer. Their bodies fit. Perfectly. It should have warned her. Giving without thought was something she never did, until now. In giving, she took, but she never thought to balance the ledger.
His mouth was warm, full. His hands never left her face, but they were firm now. She couldn’t have walked away so easily. She wouldn’t have walked away at all.
He’d thought he had known everything there was to expect from a woman—fire, ice, temptation. But a lesson was being taught to both. Had he ever felt this warmth before? This kind of sweetness? No, because if he had, he’d remember. No tastes, no sensations ever experienced were forgotten.
He knew what it was to desire a woman—many women—but he hadn’t known what it was to crave. For a moment, he filled himself with the sensation. He wouldn’t forget.
But he knew that a cautious man takes a step back and a second breath before he steps off a cliff. With a murmur in his own language, he did.
Shaken, Juliet gripped the cart again for balance. Cursing herself for an idiot, she waited for her breath to even out.
“Very nice,” Carlo said quietly and ran a finger along her cheek. “Very nice, Juliet.”
An eighties woman, she reminded herself as her heart thudded. Strong, independent, sophisticated. “I’m so glad you approve.”
He took her hand before she could slam the cart down the aisle. Her skin was still warm, he noted, her pulse still unsteady. If they’d been alone… Perhaps it was best this way. For now. “It isn’t a matter of approval, cara mia, but of appreciation.”
“From now on, just appreciate me for my work, okay?” A jerk, and she freed herself of him and shoved the cart away. Without regard for the care he’d taken in selecting them, Juliet began to drop the contents of the cart on the conveyor belt at checkout.
“You didn’t object,” he reminded her. He’d needed to find his balance as well, he realized. Now he leaned against the cart and gave her a cocky grin.
“I didn’t want a scene.”
He took the peppers from the basket himself before she could wound them. “Ah, you’re learning about lies.”
When her head came up, he was surprised her eyes didn’t bore right through him. “You wouldn’t know truth if you fell into it.”
“Darling, mind the mushrooms,” he warned her as she swung the package onto the belt. “We don’t want them bruised. I’ve a special affection for them now.”
She swore at him, loudly enough that the checker’s eyes widened. Carlo continued to grin and thought about lesson two.
He thought they should have it soon. Very soon.
Chapter Four
There were times when you knew everything could go wrong, should go wrong, and probably would go wrong, but somehow it didn’t. Then there were the other times.
Perhaps Juliet was grouchy because she’d spent another restless night when she couldn’t afford to lose any sleep. That little annoyance she could lay smack at Carlo’s door, even though it didn’t bring any satisfaction. But even if she’d been rested and cheerful, the ordeal at Gallegher’s Department Store would have had her steaming. With a good eight hours’ sleep, she might have kept things from boiling over.
First, Carlo insisted on coming with her two hours before he was needed. Or wanted. Juliet didn’t care to spend the first two hours of what was bound to be a long, hectic day with a smug, self-assured, egocentric chef who looked as though he’d just come back from two sun-washed weeks on the Riviera.
Obviously, he didn’t need any sleep, she mused as they took the quick, damp cab ride from hotel to mall.
Whatever the tourist bureau had to say about sunny California, it was raining—big, steady drops of it that immediately made the few minutes she’d taken to fuss with her hair worthless.
Prepared to enjoy the ride, Carlo looked out the window. He liked the way the rain plopped in puddles. It didn’t matter to him that he’d heard it start that morning, just past four. “It’s a nice sound,” he decided. “It makes things more quiet, more…subtle, don’t you think?”
Breaking away from her own gloomy view of the rain, Juliet turned to him. “What?”
“The rain.” Carlo noted she looked a bit hollow-eyed. Good. She hadn’t been unaffected. “Rain changes the look of things.”
Normally, she would have agreed. Juliet never minded dashing for the subway in a storm or strolling along Fifth Avenue in a drizzle. Today, she considered it her right to look on the dark side. “This one might lower the attendance in your little demonstration by ten percent.”
“So?” He gave an easy shrug as the driver swung into the parking lot of the mall.
What she didn’t need at that moment was careless acceptance. “Carlo, the purpose of all this is exposure.”
He patted her hand. “You’re only thinking of numbers. You should think instead of my pasta con pesto. In a few hours, everyone else will.”
“I don’t think about food the way you do,” she muttered. It still amazed her that he’d lovingly prepared the first linguini at 6:00 A.M., then the second two hours later for the camera. Both dishes had been an exquisite example of Italian cooking at its finest. He’d looked more like a film star on holiday than a working chef, which was precisely the image Juliet had wanted to project. His spot on the morning show had been perfect. That only made Juliet more pessimistic about the rest of the day. “It’s hard to think about food at all on this kind of a schedule.”
“That’s because you didn’t eat anything this morning.”
“Linguini for breakfast doesn’t suit me.”
“My linguini is always suitable.”
Juliet gave a mild snort as she stepped from the cab into the rain. Though she made a dash for the doors, Carlo was there ahead of her, opening one. “Thanks.” Inside, she ran a hand through her hair and wondered how soon she could come by another cup of coffee. “You don’t need to do anything for another two hours.” And he’d definitely be in the way while things were being set up on the third floor.
“So, I’ll wander.” With his hands in his pockets, he looked around. As luck would have it, they’d