She didn’t have merely a lovely face, but an interesting one. Her skin was very pale, which should have made her seem fragile, but the wide, strong cheekbones undid the air of fragility and gave her face an intriguing diamond shape. Her eyes were large, heavily lashed and artfully accented with a smoky shadow that only made the cool green shade of the irises seem cooler. Her mouth was only lightly touched with a peach-colored gloss. It had a full, eye-drawing shape that needed no artifice. He gathered she was wise enough to know it.

Her hair was caught somewhere between brown and blond so that its shade was soft, natural and subtle. She wore it long enough in the back to be pinned up in a chignon when she wished, and short enough on the top and sides so that she could style it from fussy to practical as the occasion, and her whim, demanded. At the moment, it was loose and casual, but not windblown. She’d stopped in the ladies’ room for a quick check just after the incoming flight had been announced.

“I’m Juliet Trent,” she told him when she felt he’d stared long enough. “Welcome to California.” As he took the hand she offered, she realized she should’ve expected him to kiss it rather than shake. Still, she stiffened, hardly more than an instant, but she saw by the lift of brow, he’d felt it.

“A beautiful woman makes a man welcome anywhere.”

His voice was incredible—the cream that rose to the top and then flowed over something rich. She told herself it only pleased her because it would record well and took his statement literally. Thinking of the redhead, she gave him an easy, not entirely friendly smile. “Then you must have had a pleasant flight.”

His native language might have been Italian, but Carlo understood nuances in any tongue. He grinned at her. “Very pleasant.”

“And tiring,” she said remembering her position. “Your luggage should be in by now.” Again, she glanced at the large case he carried. “Can I take that for you?”

His brow lifted at the idea of a man dumping his burden on a woman. Equality, to Carlo, never crossed the border into manners. “No, this is something I always carry myself.”

Indicating the way, she fell into step beside him. “It’s a half-hour ride to the Beverly Wilshire, but after you’ve settled in, you can rest all afternoon. I’d like to go over tomorrow’s schedule with you this evening.”

He liked the way she walked. Though she wasn’t tall, she moved in long, unhurried strides that made the red side-pleated skirt she wore shift over her hips. “Over dinner?”

She sent him a quick sidelong look. “If you like.”