But then, there was the way he smiled, the way he said her name. Even the practical, professional Juliet Trent had a difficult time finding a flaw to balance those little details.

The two days in Dallas were busy enough to keep her driving along on six hours’ sleep, plenty of vitamins and oceans of coffee. They were making up for Denver all right. She had the leg cramps to prove it.

Four minutes on the national news, an interview with one of the top magazines in the country, three write-ups in the Dallas press and two autograph sessions that sold clean out. There was more, but those headed up her report. When she went back to New York, she’d go back in triumph.

She didn’t want to think of the dinners with department store executives that started at 10:00 P.M. and lasted until she was falling asleep in her bananas flambé. She couldn’t bear to count the lunches of poached salmon or shrimp salad. She’d had to refill her pocket aspirin bottles and stock up on antacids. But it was worth it. She should have been thrilled.

She was miserable.

She was driving him mad. Polite, Carlo thought as they prepared to sit through another luncheon interview. Yes, she was polite. Her mother had taught her perfect manners even if she hadn’t taught her to cook.

Competent? As far as he was concerned, he’d never known anyone, male or female, who was as scrupulously competent as Juliet Trent. He’d always admired that particular quality in a companion, insisted on it in an associate. Of course, Juliet was both. Precise, prompt, cool in a crisis and unflaggingly energetic. Admirable qualities all.

For the first time in his life he gave serious thought to strangling a woman.

Indifferent. That’s what he couldn’t abide. She acted as though there was nothing more between them than the next interview, the next television spot, the next plane. She acted as though there’d been no flare of need, of passion, of understanding between them. One would think she didn’t want him with the same intensity that he wanted her.

He knew better. Didn’t he?

He could remember her ripe, unhesitating response to him. Mouth to mouth, body to body. There’d been no indifference in the way her arms had held him. No, there’d been strength, pliancy, need, demand, but no indifference. Yet now…

They’d spent nearly two days exclusively in each other’s company, but he’d seen nothing in her eyes, heard nothing in her voice that indicated more than a polite business association. They ate together, drove together, worked together. They did everything but sleep together.

He’d had his fill of polite. But he hadn’t had his fill of Juliet.

He thought of her. It didn’t bruise Carlo’s pride to admit he thought of her a great deal. He often thought of women, and why not? When a man didn’t think of a woman, he was better off dead.