While she continued to stare over her shoulder, he disappeared inside the suite. The bellboy began his polite introductions to the accommodations of the suite. Something Carlo said caused him to break off and laugh.

Juliet turned her key with more strength than necessary, pushed open her door, then closed it again with the length of her body. For a minute, she just leaned there, waiting for her system to level.

Professional training had prevented her from stammering and fumbling and making a fool of herself. Professional training had helped her to keep her nerves just at the border where they could be controlled and concealed. Still, under the training, there was a woman. Control had cost her. Juliet was dead certain there wasn’t a woman alive who would be totally unaffected by Carlo Franconi. It wasn’t balm for her ego to admit she was simply part of a large, varied group.

He’d never know it, she told herself, but her pulse had been behaving badly since he’d first taken her hand. It was still behaving badly. Stupid, she told herself and threw her bag down on a chair. Then she thought it best if she followed it. Her legs weren’t steady yet. Juliet let out a long, deep breath. She’d just have to wait until they were.

So he was gorgeous. And rich…and talented. And outrageously sexy. She’d already known that, hadn’t she? The trouble was, she wasn’t sure how to handle him. Not nearly as sure as she had to be.

Chapter Two

She was a woman who thrived on tight scheduling, minute details and small crises. These were the things that kept you alert, sharp and interested. If her job had been simple, there wouldn’t have been much fun to it.

She was also a woman who liked long, lazy baths in mountains of bubbles and big, big beds. These were the things that kept you sane. Juliet felt she’d earned the second after she’d dealt with the first.

While Carlo amused himself in his own way, Juliet spent an hour and a half on the phone, then another hour revising and fine-tuning the next day’s itinerary. A print interview had come through and had to be shuffled in. She shuffled. Another paper was sending a reporter and photographer to the book signing. Their names had to be noted and remembered. Juliet noted, circled and committed to memory. The way things were shaping up, they’d be lucky to manage a two-hour breather the next day. Nothing could’ve pleased her more.

By the time she’d closed her thick, leather-bound notebook, she was more than ready for the tub. The bed, unfortunately, would have to wait. Ten o’clock, she promised herself. By ten, she’d be in bed, snuggled in, curled up and unconscious.