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 herin 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
“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 herin 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
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