Lessons Learned

beautifully, Mr. Franconi, but—”
    “Carlo.” Before she could open her notebook, he had his hand on her wrist. “It’s Carlo, and put the damn notes away for tenminutes. Tell me, my very organized Juliet Trent, why are we here together?”
    She started to move her hand but his grip was firmer than she’d thought. For the second time, she got the full impression of power, strength and determination. “To publicize your book.”
    “Today went well, sì? ”
    “Yes, so far—”
    “Today went well,” he said again and began to annoy her with the frequency of his interruptions.
    “I’ll go on this local news show, talk for a few minutes, then have this necessary business dinner when I would much rather have a bottle of wine and a steak in my room. With you. Alone. Then I could see you without your proper little business suit and your proper little business manner.”
    She wouldn’t permit herself to shudder. She wouldn’t permit herself to react in any way. “Business is what we’re here for. It’s all I’m interested in.”
    “That may be.” His agreement was much too easy. In direct contrast, he moved his hand to the back of her neck, gently, but not so gently she could move aside. “But we have an hour before business begins again. Don’t lecture me on timetables.”
    The limo smelled of leather, she realized all at once. Of leather and wealth and Carlo. As casually as possible, she sipped from her glass. “Timetables, as you pointed out yourself this morning, are part of my job.”
    “You have an hour off,” he told her, lifting a brow before she could speak. “So relax. Your feet hurt, so take your shoes off and drink your cognac.” He set down his own drink, then moved herbriefcase to the floor so there was nothing between them. “Relax,” he said again but wasn’t displeased that she’d stiffened. “I don’t intend to make love with you in the back of a car. This time.” He smiled as temper flared in her eyes because he’d seen doubt and excitement as well. “One day, one day soon, I’ll find the proper moment for that, the proper place, the proper mood.”
    He leaned closer, so that he could just feel her breath flutter on his lips. She’d swipe at him now, he knew, if he took the next step. He might enjoy the battle. The color that ran along her cheekbones hadn’t come from a tube or pot, but from passion. The look in her eyes was very close to a dare. She expected him to move an inch closer, to press her back against the seat with his mouth firm on hers. She was waiting for him, poised, ready.
    He smiled while his lips did no more than hover until he knew the tension in her had built to match the tension in him. He let his gaze shift down to her mouth so that he could imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness. Her chin stayed lifted even as he brushed a thumb over it.
    He didn’t care to do the expected. In a long, easy move, he leaned back, crossed his feet at the ankles and closed his eyes.
    “Take off your shoes,” he said again. “My schedule and yours should merge very well.”
    Then, to her astonishment, he was asleep. Not feigning it, she realized, but sound asleep, as if he’d just flicked a switch.
    With a click, she set her half-full glass down and folded her arms. Angry, she thought. Damn right she was angry because he hadn’t kissed her. Not because she wanted him to, she toldherself as she stared out the tinted window. But because he’d denied her the opportunity to show her claws.
    She was beginning to think she’d love drawing some Italian blood.

Chapter Three
    T heir bags were packed and in the limo. As a precaution, Juliet had given Carlo’s room a quick, last-minute going-over to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. She still remembered being on the road with a mystery writer who’d forgotten his toothbrush eight times on an eight-city tour. A quick look was simpler than a late-night search for a drugstore.
    Checkout at the hotel had gone quickly and without any last-minute hitches. To her relief, the charges on Carlo’s room bill had been light and reasonable. Her road budget might just hold. With a minimum of confusion, they’d left the Wilshire. Juliet could only hope check-in at the airport, then at the hotel in San Francisco would go as well.
    She didn’t want to think about the Simpson Show.
    A list of demographics wasn’t necessary here. She knew Carlo had spent enough time in the States off and on to knowhow important