Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ tables and spent his free time learning of spices and sauces. In Paris he’d combined long, hard study with work as an assistant chef. Even now, his restaurant and clients had him keeping twelve-hour days. Not all of his background was in the neatly typed bio Juliet had in her briefcase.

      “I don’t mind work, as long as it interests me. I think you’re the same.”

      “I have to work,” she corrected. “But it’s easier when you enjoy it.”

      “You’re more successful when you enjoy it. It shows with you. Ambition, Juliet, without a certain joy, is cold, and when achieved leaves a flat taste.”

      “But I am ambitious.”

      “Oh, yes.” He turned to look at her, starting off flutters she’d thought herself too wise to experience. “But you’re not cold.”

      For a moment, she thought she’d be better off if he were wrong. “Here’s the hotel.” She turned from him, relieved to deal with details. “We need you to wait,” she instructed the driver. “We’ll be going out again as soon as we check in. The hotel has a lovely view of the bay, I’m told.” She walked into the lobby with Carlo as the bellboy dealt with their luggage. “It’s a shame we won’t have time to enjoy it. Franconi and Trent,” she told the desk clerk.

      The lobby was quiet and empty. Oh, the lucky people who were sleeping in their beds, she thought and pushed at a strand of hair that had come loose.

      “We’ll be checking out first thing tomorrow, and we won’t be able to come back, so be sure you don’t leave anything behind in your room.”

      “But of course you’ll check anyway.”

      She sent him a sidelong look as she signed the form. “Just part of the service.” She pocketed her key. “The luggage can be taken straight up.” Discreetly, she handed the bellboy a folded bill. “Mr. Franconi and I have an errand.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “I like that about you.” To Juliet’s surprise, Carlo linked arms with her as they walked back outside.

      “What?”

      “Your generosity. Many people would’ve slipped out without tipping the bellboy.”

      She shrugged. “Maybe it’s easier to be generous when it’s not your money.”

      “Juliet.” He opened the door to the waiting cab and gestured her in. “You’re intelligent enough. Couldn’t you—how is it—stiff the bellboy then write the tip down on your expense account?”

      “Five dollars isn’t worth being dishonest.”

      “Nothing’s worth being dishonest.” He gave the driver the name of the market and settled back. “Instinct tells me if you tried to tell a lie—a true lie—your tongue would fall out.”

      “Mr. Franconi.” She planted the tongue in question in her cheek. “You forget, I’m in public relations. If I didn’t lie, I’d be out of a job.”

      “A true lie,” he corrected.

      “Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”

      “Perhaps you’re too young to know the variety of truths and lies. Ah, you see? This is why I’m so fond of your country.” Carlo leaned out the window as they approached the big, lighted all-night market. “In America, you want cookies at midnight, you can buy cookies at midnight. Such practicality.”

      “Glad to oblige. Wait here,” she instructed the driver, then climbed out opposite Carlo. “I hope you know what you need. I’d hate to get into the studio at dawn and find I had to run out and buy whole peppercorns or something.”

      “Franconi knows linguini.” He swung an arm around her shoulder and drew her close as they walked inside. “Your first lesson, my love.”

      He led her first to the seafood section where he clucked and muttered and rejected and chose until he had the proper number of clams for two dishes. She’d seen women give as much time and attention to choosing an engagement ring.

      Juliet obliged him by pushing the cart as he walked along beside her, looking at everything. And touching. Cans, boxes, bottles—she waited as he picked up, examined and ran his long artist’s fingers over the labels as he read every ingredient. Somewhat amused, she watched his diamond wink in the fluorescent light.

      “Amazing what they put in this prepackaged garbage,” he commented as he dropped a box back on the shelf.

      “Careful, Franconi, you’re talking about my staple diet.”

      “You should be sick.”

      “Prepackaged food’s freed the American woman from the kitchen.”

      “And destroyed a generation of taste buds.” He chose his spices carefully and without haste. He opened three brands of oregano and sniffed before he settled on one. “I tell you, Juliet, I admire your American convenience, its practicality, but I would rather shop in Rome where I can walk along the stalls and choose vegetables just out of the ground, fish fresh from the sea. Everything isn’t in a can, like the music.”

      He didn’t miss an aisle, but Juliet forgot her fatigue in fascination. She’d never seen anyone shop like Carlo Franconi. It was like strolling through a museum with an art student. He breezed by the flour, scowling at each sack. She was afraid for a moment, he’d rip one open and test the contents. “This is a good brand?”

      Juliet figured she bought a two-pound bag of flour about once a year. “Well, my mother always used this, but—”

      “Good. Always trust a mother.”

      “She’s a dreadful cook.”

      Carlo set the flour firmly in the basket. “She’s a mother.”

      “An odd sentiment from a man no mother can trust.”

      “For mothers, I have the greatest respect. I have one myself. Now, we need garlic, mushrooms, peppers. Fresh.”

      Carlo walked along the stalls of vegetables, touching, squeezing and sniffing. Cautious, Juliet looked around for clerks, grateful they’d come at midnight rather than midday. “Carlo, you really aren’t supposed to handle everything quite so much.”

      “If I don’t handle, how do I know what’s good and what’s just pretty?” He sent her a quick grin over his shoulder. “I told you, food was much like a woman. They put mushrooms in this box with wrap over it.” Disgusted, he tore the wrapping off before Juliet could stop him.

      “Carlo! You can’t open it.”

      “I want only what I want. You can see, some are too small, too skimpy.” Patiently, he began to pick out the mushrooms that didn’t suit him.

      “Then we’ll throw out what you don’t want when we get back to the hotel.” Keeping an eye out for the night manager, she began to put the discarded mushrooms back in the box. “Buy two boxes if you need them.”

      “It’s a waste. You’d waste your money?”

СКАЧАТЬ