“I’m saying I want you with me.” He stood and grabbed her arms. The candlelight flickered over two confused faces. “Schedules and plans mean nothing, don’t you see? I love you.”

She went stiff and cold, as though he’d slapped her. A hundred aches, a multitude of needs moved through her, and with them the knowledge that he’d said those words too many times to count to women he couldn’t even remember.

“You won’t use that on me, Carlo.” Her voice wasn’t strong, but he saw fury in her eyes. “I’ve stayed with you until now because you never insulted me with that.”

“Insult?” Astonished, then enraged, he shook her. “Insult you by loving you?”

“By using a phrase that comes much too easily to a man like you and doesn’t mean any more than the breath it takes to say it.”

His fingers loosened slowly until he’d dropped her arms. “After this, after what we’ve had together, you’d throw yesterdays at me? You didn’t come to me untouched, Juliet.”

“We both know there’s a difference. I hadn’t made my success as a lover a career.” She knew it was a filthy thing to say but thought only of defense. “I told you before how I felt about love, Carlo. I won’t have it churning up my life and pulling me away from every goal I’ve ever set. You—you hand me a ticket and say come to Rome, then expect me to run off with you for a fling, leaving my work and my life behind until we’ve had our fill.”

His eyes frosted. “I have knowledge of flings, Juliet, of where they begin and where they end. I was asking you to be my wife.”

Stunned, she took a step back, again as if he’d struck her. His wife? She felt panic bubble hot in her throat. “No.” It came out in a whisper, terrified. Juliet ran to the door and across the hall without looking back.

It took her three days before she’d gathered enough strength to go back to her office. It hadn’t been difficult to convince her supervisor she was ill and needed a replacement for the last day of Carlo’s tour. As it was, the first thing he told her when she returned to the office days later was that she belonged in bed.

She knew how she looked—pale, hollow-eyed. But she was determined to do as she’d once promised herself. Pick up the pieces and go on. She’d never do it huddled in her apartment staring at the walls.

“Deb, I want to start cleaning up the schedule for Lia Barrister’s tour in August.”

“You look like hell.”

Juliet glanced up from her desk, already cluttered with schedules to be photocopied. “Thanks.”