Summer Desserts: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down. Нора Робертс
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Italian dish but himself.”
“Not think, know.” Carlo lifted the lid on a steaming pot and sniffed. “Summer tells me she’ll be associated with your restaurant here. You’re a fortunate man.”
Blake looked down at Summer, glancing at the lean, tanned hand Carlo had placed on her shoulder. Jealousy is a sensation that can be recognized even if it has never been experienced before. Blake didn’t care for it, or the cause. “Yes, I am. Since you’re here, Ms. Lyndon, you might like to sign the final contract. It would save us both a meeting later.”
“All right. Carlo?”
“Go, do your business. They do a rack of lamb over there—it interests me.” Without a backward glance, he went to add his two cents.
“Well, he’s happy,” Summer commented as she walked through the kitchen with Blake.
“Is he in town on business?”
“No, he just wanted to see me.”
It was said carelessly, and truthfully, and had the effect of knotting Blake’s stomach muscles. So she liked slick Italians, he thought grimly, and slipped a proprietary hand over her arm without being aware of it. That was certainly her business. His was to get her into the kitchens as quickly as possible.
In silence he led her though the lobby and into the hotel offices. Quiet and efficient. Those were brief impressions before she was led into a large, private room that was obviously Blake’s.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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