“Don’t be absurd.” She brushed a speck of lint from her sleeve. “If you found me with another man, under similar circumstances, you’d understand, I’m sure.”

“No.” He closed the door behind him. “I’d break his face.”

“Oh?” Rather pleased, she turned away to gather a few things from her dresser. “That’s the Italian temperament, I suppose. Most of my ancestors were rather staid. Hand me that brush, will you?”

Carlo picked it up and dropped it into her hand. “Staid—this means?”

“Calm and sturdy, I suppose. Though there was one—my great-great-grandmother, I think. She found her husband tickling the scullery maid. In her staid sort of way, she knocked him flat with a cast-iron skillet. I don’t think he ever tickled any of the other servants.” Securing the brush in a plastic case, she arranged it in the bag. “I’m said to take after her.”

Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. “There were no skillets available.”

“True enough, but I’m inventive. Carlo…” Still smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck. “If I hadn’t understood exactly what was going on, the coffee I’d fetched for you would’ve been dumped over your head. Capice?”

“Sì.” He grinned as he rubbed his nose against hers. But he didn’t really understand her. Perhaps that was why he was enchanted by her. Lowering his mouth to hers, he let the enchantment grow. “Juliet,” he murmured. “There’s a later plane for Detroit, yes?”

She had wondered if he would ever think of it. “Yes, this afternoon.”

“Did you know it’s unhealthy for the system to rush.” As he spoke, he slipped the jacket from her arms so that it slid to the floor.

“I’ve heard something about that.”

“Very true. It’s much better, medically speaking, to take one’s time. To keep a steady pace, but not a fast one. And, of course, to give the system time to relax at regular intervals. It could be very unhealthy for us to pack now and race to the airport.” He unhooked her skirt so that it followed her jacket.

“You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he murmured in her ear. “It would never do for either of us to be ill on the tour.”

“Disastrous,” she agreed. “In fact, it might be best if we both just lay down for a little while.”

“The very best. One must guard one’s health.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she told him as his shirt joined her skirt and jacket.

She was laughing as they tumbled onto the bed.

He liked her this way. Free, easy, enthusiastic. Just as he liked her cooler, more enigmatic moods. He could enjoy her in a hundred different ways because she wasn’t always the same woman. Yet she was always the same.