“Solid steel.” But she couldn’t resist putting her arms around him and proving otherwise. “After you’ve finished being a hit across the hall, we’ll head down to Bloomingdale’s.”

He nudged her closer, until their bodies fit. “And then?”

“Then you have drinks with your editor.”

He ran the tip of his tongue down her neck. “Then?”

“Then you have the evening free.”

“A late supper in my suite.” Their lips met, clung, then parted.

“It could be arranged.”

“Champagne?”

“You’re the star. Whatever you want.”

“You?”

She pressed her cheek against his. Tonight, this last night, there’d be no restriction. “Me.”

It was ten before they walked down the hall to his suite again. Juliet had long since lost the urge to eat, but her enthusiasm in the evening hadn’t waned.

“Carlo, it never ceases to amaze me how you perform. If you’d chosen show business, you’d have a wall full of Oscars.”

“Timing, innamorata. It all has to do with timing.”

“You had them eating your pasta out of your hand.”

“I found it difficult,” he confessed and stopped at the door to take her into his arms. “When I could think of nothing but coming back here tonight with you.”

“Then you do deserve an Oscar. Every woman in the audience was certain you were thinking only of her.”

“I did receive two interesting offers.”

Her brow lifted. “Oh, really?”

Hopeful, he nuzzled her chin. “Are you jealous?”

She linked her fingers behind his neck. “I’m here and they’re not.”

“Such arrogance. I believe I still have one of the phone numbers in my pocket.”

“Reach for it, Franconi, and I’ll break your wrist.”

He grinned at her. He liked the flare of aggression in a woman with skin the texture of rose petals. “Perhaps I’ll just get my key then.”

“A better idea.” Amused, Juliet stood back as he opened the door. She stepped inside and stared.

The room was filled with roses. Hundreds of them in every color she’d ever imagined flowed out of baskets, tangled out of vases, spilled out of bowls. The room smelled like an English garden on a summer afternoon.

“Carlo, where did you get all these?”

“I ordered them.”

She stopped as she leaned over to sniff at a bud. “Ordered them, for yourself?”

He plucked the bud out of its vase and handed it to her. “For you.”

Overwhelmed, she stared around the room. “For me?”

“You should always have flowers.” He kissed her wrist. “Roses suit Juliet best.”

A single rose, a hundred roses, there was no in between with Carlo. Again, he moved her unbearably. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You like them.”

“Like them? Yes, of course, I love them, but—”