Delighted, Carlo slipped an arm around her waist and led her to the stove. The little kitchen itself was in shambles. She’d never seen so many pots and bowls and spoons jammed into a sink before. Counters were splattered and streaked. But the smells. It was heaven, pure and simple.

“The senses, Juliet. There’s not one of us who isn’t ruled by them. First, you smell, and you begin to imagine.” His fingers moved lightly over her waist. “Imagine. You can almost taste it on your tongue from that alone.”

“Hmm.” Knowing she was making a mistake, she watched him take the lid off the pot on the stove. The tang made her close her eyes and just breathe. “Oh, Carlo.”

“Then we look, and the imagination goes one step further.” His fingers squeezed lightly at her waist until she opened her eyes and looked into the pot. Thick, red, simmering, the sauce was chunky with meat, peppers and spice. Her stomach growled.

“Beautiful, yes?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t aware that her tongue slid out over her lips in anticipation. He was.

“And we hear.” Beside the sauce a pot of water began to boil. In an expert move, he measured pasta by sight and slid it in. “Some things are destined to be mated.” With a slotted spoon, he stirred gently. “Without each other, they are incomplete. But when merged…” he adjusted the flame, “a treasure. Pasta and the sauce. A man and a woman. Come, you’ll have some burgundy. The champagne’s for later.”

It was time to take a stand, even though she took it by the stove. “Carlo, I had no idea this was what you intended. I think—”

“I like surprises.” He handed her a glass half filled with dark, red wine. “And I wanted to cook for you.”

She wished he hadn’t put it quite that way. She wished his voice wasn’t so warm, so deep, like his eyes. Like the feelings he could urge out of her. “I appreciate that Carlo, it’s just that—”

“You had your sauna?”

“Yes, I did. Now—”

“It relaxed you. It shows.”

She sighed, sipping at the wine without thinking. “Yes.”

“This relaxes me. We eat together tonight.” He tapped his glass to hers. “Men and women have done so for centuries. It has become civilized.”

Her chin tilted. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Yes.” Ducking into the refrigerator, he pulled out a small tray. “First you’ll try my antipasto. Your palate should be prepared.”

Juliet chose a little chunk of zucchini. “I’d think you’d prefer being served in a restaurant.”

“Now and then. There are times I prefer privacy.” He set down the tray. As he did, she took a small step back. Interested, he lifted a brow. “Juliet, do I make you nervous?”

She swallowed zucchini. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Am I?” On impulse, he set his wine down as well and took another step toward her. Juliet found her back pressed into the refrigerator.

“Carlo—”