Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts
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grinning, he put his hand on Juliet’s bare knee. This time, she was certain he winked.
“I never make so obvious a move on first acquaintance,” Carlo observed.
“Some women prefer the direct approach.” Deciding he was harmless, Juliet smiled down at Butch. “He reminds me of someone.” She sent Carlo a mild look. “It must be that ingratiating grin.” Before she’d finished speaking, Butch climbed into her lap and wrapped one of his long arms around her. “He’s kind of sweet.” With another laugh, she looked down into the chimp’s face. “I think he has your eyes, Carlo.”
“Ah, Juliet, I think you should—”
“Though his might be more intelligent.”
“Oh, I think he’s smart, all right.” Carlo coughed into his hand as he watched the chimp’s busy fingers. “Juliet, if you’d—”
“Of course he’s smart, he’s in movies.” Enjoying herself, Juliet watched the chimp grin up at her. “Have I seen any of your films, Butch?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re blue.”
She tickled Butch under the chin. “Really, Carlo, how crude.”
“Just a guess.” He let his gaze run over her. “Tell me Juliet, do you feel a draft?”
“No. I’d say it’s entirely too warm in here. This poor thing is all wrapped up in a tux.” She clucked at Butch and he clacked his teeth at her.
“Juliet, do you believe people can reveal their personalities by the clothes they wear? Send signals, if you understand what I mean.”
“Hmm?” Distracted, she shrugged and helped Butch straighten his tie. “I suppose so.”
“I find it interesting that you wear pink silk under such a prim blouse.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“An observation, mi amore.” He let his gaze wander down again. “Just an observation.”
Sitting very still, Juliet moved only her head. In a moment, her mouth was as open as her blouse. The monkey with the cute face and excellent tailor had nimbly undone every one of the buttons.
Carlo gave Butch a look of admiration. “I must ask him how he perfected that technique.”
“Why you son of a—”
“Not me.” Carlo put a hand to his heart. “I’m an innocent bystander.”
Juliet rose abruptly, dumping the chimp onto the floor. As she ducked into the adjoining rest room, she heard the laughter of two males—one a chimp, the other a rat.
Juliet took the ride to the airport where they would leave for San Diego in excruciatingly polite silence.
“Come now, cara, the show went well. Not only was the title mentioned three times, but there was that nice close-up of the book. My tortoni was a triumph, and they liked my anecdote on 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 her in 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 different. Once I teach you to cook, you’ll understand.”
“You’ve got as much chance teaching me to cook as you do flying to San Diego without the plane. Now, you know you’ll be giving a demonstration of preparing linguini and clam sauce on A.M. San Diego. The show airs at eight, so we’ll have to be at the studio at six to get things started.”
As far as he could see, the only civilized cooking to be done at that hour would be a champagne breakfast for two. “Why do Americans insist on rising at dawn to watch television?”
“I’ll take a poll and find out,” she said absently. “In the meantime, you’ll make up one dish that we’ll set aside, exactly as we did tonight. On the air you’ll be going through each stage of preparation,