Unmasking Juliet (23 page)

He nodded. “Yes, I am. For the...”

“Festa del Cioccolato,”
she finished, her voice going strangely hollow. “Interesting. I hadn’t realized you’d qualified.”

Damn you, Uncle Joe.
“About that...”

“No explanation necessary. I can venture an educated guess as to how that happened.” The softness was slipping from her gaze. Once again, she was falling though his fingers.

“Would it make any difference if I told you that I didn’t expect you to be here?” Should it? Even he didn’t know the answer to that question.

“Well, surprise. Here I am.” She laughed. But it was uncomfortable, nervous laughter. Not the kind of laughter he’d ever hoped to draw from Juliet’s lips.

“Yes, here you are.” In the spirit of supreme optimism, he reached for her hand.

She took a micro-step away from him, hovering once again on the edge of the stair where she stood. He almost wished she’d take another tumble, just so he could catch her when she fell.

He dropped his hand.

“Leo, what happened that day after the chocolate fair? The last time I saw you, you were being carried away on a stretcher.”

“I’m none the worse for wear.” It was a flippant answer, every bit deserving of the flicker of disappointment he saw in the subtle downturn of her mouth.

“Good to know.” Church bells sounded from the Trinità dei Monti at the top of the steps. Her gaze lifted toward the bell tower. “It’s getting late. I should probably get back to my hotel.”

He could see she was on the verge of pulling a Cinderella and fleeing down the stairs.

Panic fluttered in Leo’s chest.

This wasn’t right. They were far from home in one of the most romantic cities in the world, and they were talking to one another like two damned strangers.

“Don’t go,” he said as she turned her back to him.

She gave him a final over-the-shoulder glance. That’s when he saw it—the look of raw longing in her eyes that told him she still wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. “Haven’t we made a big enough mess of things already? We’re competitors. More than competitors. We’re enemies. We couldn’t even tell one another we were coming here.”

“I’m not your enemy, Juliet,” he said quietly.

There were other things he could have said. Probably should have.

But how could he tell her that he was allergic to chocolate when they’d be facing off against one another in less than a day? His odds of winning were already slim at best. His family business was hanging by a thread.

His chest ached. He wanted to explain, to tell her everything. There was so much he wanted to say. And he would...once the
Roma Festa del Cioccolato
was over and done with.

She smiled at him. A bittersweet smile that all but ripped him in two. “Good luck tomorrow.”

And then she was gone. Lost in the crowd of hundreds who gathered on the steps every night. Tourists. Friends. Lovers.

Lovers.

What the hell was he doing? She’d walked away from him, and he’d just stood there and let her.

Go after her, you idiot.

He took the stairs two at a time on his way down, hurdling over several bottles of wine and a few small children as he went. When he reached the piazza at the foot of the Spanish Steps, he searched for a glimpse of her breezy sundress but came up empty. Despite the late hour, the street was packed with people. Even the little round newsstand and the makeshift flower market down the block were still open.

Leo had no idea where she’d gone. She’d mentioned her hotel, but of course, he didn’t know where she was staying. She could have already gotten into a cab for all he knew. There was a taxi stand at the opposite end of the piazza from the shopping district. He jogged toward it, narrowly avoiding a priest in full cassock juggling a cup of gelato.

He stopped at the first cab in line, bending to speak to the driver through his open window. Hopefully the guy would be forthcoming if he’d seen Juliet get into a car.
“Mi Scusi. Ha fatto una bella donna che indossa un abito giallo entrare in una di queste vetture?”

“No, signore.”
The driver shook his head.

Leo breathed out a heavy sigh, resisting the urge to let loose a string of Italian expletives. If Juliet had gotten into a cab, there was always the slim chance another driver could find out where she’d gone. Of course, things couldn’t be so simple. For once, it would have been nice to feel as if fate wasn’t working against him and Juliet. Just once.

“E andata cosi,”
the driver said.

She went that way.

Leo’s head jerked up.

“E andata cosi,”
he repeated, pointing toward a quiet side street behind the flower market. It was narrow enough to be almost completely obscured by the flower stand’s clay-colored tent.

“Grazie.”
Leo dug a five-euro note out of his pocket and gave it to the driver.
“Mille grazie
.
”

He ran down the side street, his feet echoing on the cold, dark cobblestones. It was remarkable how quiet everything seemed just a few short blocks from the chaos of the Piazza di Spagna. Aside from a street musician playing a violin, its case resting open on the ground at the player’s feet, Leo didn’t see another soul. Not anyone.

Not Juliet.

He stopped and looked at the buildings surrounding him. Most were nondescript with gated openings that he suspected led to enclosed private parking areas. Residences. But there was one modest-size building situated on the corner with roses climbing up its walls that had potential. The bottom floor was decorated with dark green awnings, and the upper floors were dotted with small balconies.

Of course, even if it was a hotel, even if it was
her
hotel, he didn’t know what room Juliet was in and doubted very much that anyone would be willing to part with that information, no matter how many euros he tossed in their direction. He was contemplating other, more devious options when he heard something that slowed his footsteps.

A voice.
Her
voice.

“Oh, Leo.”

He looked up and found her instantly. She stood on one of the second floor balconies enveloped in soft light, glorious in the night, looming over him like a winged messenger from heaven.

“Leo, if it weren’t for your name, I’d give myself to you.” Her voice was little more than a breathy whisper on the sultry Italian air, but he heard her loud and clear.

And at the sound of those magic words, his soul sang. “Juliet, I’m here.”

“Leo?” She leaned over the balcony railing, squinting down at him in the darkness. “Is that you?”

“Yes. It’s me.” He planted his hands on his hips. Now that he’d found her, his patience was wearing thin. He wanted up there. Now.

“What are you doing here?” She sounded far more surprised to find him at her hotel than she had earlier on the Spanish Steps.

“I’ll tell you exactly what I’m doing. I’m coming up there.”

20

“I’m coming up there.” Leo stood below with his hands jammed on his hips, staring up at Juliet. Even from two floors up, she could see the thunder in his gaze.

She peered down at him, butterflies swarming in her stomach. “What did you say?”

She’d heard perfectly well what he’d said. She just needed a minute to wrap her mind around the fact that he was here. In Rome. At her hotel. And he’d just announced that he was about to march up to her room.

How much of her wistful muttering had he heard from down there, exactly?

Her mind and body were at war. She knew good and well this wasn’t a great idea. After the
Festa del Cioccolato,
maybe. But not now. Not here. She’d traveled over six thousand miles to compete in this contest. Not to mention the fact that her family was scheduled to descend on the place in less than eight hours.

Her body, on the other hand, was of a differing opinion. With one look, the smallest glance, she could practically feel his hands on her. The memory of their one night together was written into her flesh. Her heart beat hummingbird-fast, as though it wanted to leap over the edge of the balcony and throw itself at Leo’s feet.

“You heard me. I’m coming up.” His tone had a determined edge. Clearly he’d made up his mind.

He waited a beat, and when she didn’t make a move to open her door, he marched straight toward the rose trellis that trailed up the side of the hotel.

Juliet leaned over the stone edge of the balcony. Surely he was bluffing. He wouldn’t actually try to climb up there.

She rolled her eyes. “Leo, please.”

He planted his foot on the bottom level of the lattice fencing attached to the wall, aimed a searing glance up at her and then gave the trellis a good shake. The roses trembled, and a lone pink petal drifted toward the ground as he pulled himself up about a foot off the ground.

“You’re really planning on climbing all the way up here?” The building was five stories. Hardly a skyscraper. And her room was only on the second floor, but still.

He could get hurt. Could people die from falling two stories? She was pretty sure they could. Or at the very least be seriously injured.

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” He pushed past a cluster of rose blossoms and moved a bit closer.

The trellis seemed to be holding up, thank goodness. But he winced once or twice and muttered a string of expletives. He’d most likely encountered a few thorns. Well, that served him right. He was behaving like a crazy person.

She crossed her arms. “Leo, stop. This is insane.”

She should go inside and forget he was even out here. Maybe then he’d shimmy back down the wall and go away. But she couldn’t seem to make her feet move. She stood rooted to the spot while he climbed his way farther up.

Her stomach tightened as the distance grew greater between Leo and the cobblestones below. She wanted to close her eyes, but they remained stubbornly open. He only suffered one little stumble. About halfway up, his foot slipped from the trellis. His body gave a little jerk. Roses shivered. But he managed not to fall to his death, so she released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

Quicker than she would have imagined, he was level with her balcony. His lips curved into a cocky smirk. “Hello there, Juliet.”

God, he wasn’t even out of breath. If she’d attempted such a feat, she no doubt would have ended up with a nice collection of broken bones. Of course, he wasn’t actually on the balcony yet. He was still hanging on to the trellis.

“What now, Spider-Man?” she asked dryly.

He swung his legs up and over the little cement wall that served as a railing, landing deftly on his feet. Impressive. She wondered how he’d managed to learn how to scale walls and hurdle barriers at the same time he’d been busy perfecting the art of making French macarons.

He glanced behind him at the railing. “Did you really think once I’d gotten up here I’d let a silly little wall keep me away? Stony limits can’t hold me, Juliet.”

Stony limits can’t hold me.

It was a nice thought. Of course, there were plenty of other limits they had to worry about that were much stronger than stone. But at the moment, she was having trouble remembering what those limits were.

They stood face-to-face on the small balcony with the tangy scent of fresh lemons swirling in the air. It seemed as if all of Rome smelled of lemons. There wasn’t a star in the sky. Somewhere in the distance church bells rang, and the moon hung heavy and full over the grand dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. A harvest moon, gold and luminous, not unlike the one that shone overhead the night they’d met in the vineyard.

The full moon. It must be to blame.

If the stars of fate could be blamed for keeping them apart, it only seemed fair to credit the moon with bringing them together.

She inhaled a steadying breath. Clearly the wine she’d had with dinner had gone to her head. She wasn’t thinking straight. Fate, stars, the powers of a full moon...

None of it made sense. Then again, neither did running into Leo on the Spanish Steps.

She had no idea what to say.

“Hi.”

Hi? Really?
The man had just scaled a wall to get to her and all she could manage was a breathy
hi?
Pathetic.

He reached out and wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “Hi there.”

He continued to watch her with an intensity that she felt down to her soul. It didn’t help quell the romantic notions in her head. There was a wildness about that look in his eyes, something primal and wholly unrestrained. A leaf clung to his shoulder and a twig stuck in his hair, as if he’d crawled through the jungle to get to her. Which, in a way, he had. He had scratches on his hands and a small cut on his left temple, no doubt from the thorny rose bushes. For some crazy reason, that tiny glimpse of blood caused Juliet’s heart to thump violently in her chest.

He cast a glance over her shoulder toward the French doors that led to her room. “Is your family here?”

She could lie. And then what? He’d pull a parachute out of thin air and glide back down to the ground? It wouldn’t have surprised her in the slightest.

She swallowed. “Not yet.”

“I see. So your family is no obstacle tonight.” His grin broadened, equal parts wicked and triumphant. He released the lock of her hair, brushed his fingertips over her cheek and stepped even closer. His gaze was penetrating as it swept over her, and with each passing second she found it increasingly harder to breathe.

She’d never felt so utterly naked in her life. Not even when she’d undressed for him in her kitchen.

She reached to remove the twig from his hair, and he caught her wrist. “Come here.”

She gasped as he pulled her hard against him, sliding his hands over her rib cage until they splayed against her back, holding her in place. She couldn’t have moved anyhow. That look in his eyes that seemed to echo the need she felt deep in the pit of her stomach had paralyzed her. Her head grew fuzzy. The intoxicating fragrance of fresh roses clung to him, making her dizzy.

She blinked. They should discuss this like rational people instead of acting without thinking. The last time they’d done something like this, it had resulted in a spectacular mess. And here they were, a mere day away from facing off against one another again. Only this time, there was even more at stake.

She should be thinking about the chocolate contest. That’s why she was here in Rome. But it was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Still, she managed to pay it lip service in case he was on a different page. “The competition...”

“Doesn’t start for another sixteen hours,” he growled, his hands sliding up her back and burying themselves in her hair.

Then his mouth came down on hers, hard, searching, demanding. Her lips throbbed from the force of his tender brutality, a bruise in the making.

When she’d implored him not to be gentle the last time, she’d thought he’d done as she asked. She was beginning to realize she’d been wrong. This was different from before. Darker. More dangerous. And even more intoxicating.

Violent ends.

She clutched at the lapels of his jacket, holding on for dear life as the kisses came too quick and too urgent to keep track of where one ended and the next began. But any attempt at anchoring herself was futile. She was falling into him again, just as she’d done since that very first night. Something about him drew her right in again and again, time after time. Like gravity. And now, as ever, she was incapable of resisting.

The words she didn’t want to say slipped right out. She murmured against his lips, “God, I’ve missed you.”

He took his mouth from hers and cradled her face in his hands, dragging the pad of his thumb along her throbbing bottom lip. “I know, baby, I know. Me, too.”

He kept his gaze locked with hers as he dropped his hands to her waist, slid them over the curve of her hips and around to her bottom. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, and he rocked his hips, pressing the hard swell of his arousal into her belly to show her just how much he’d missed her.

She whimpered, and Leo’s eyes went darker than ever.

“You know how I feel about that sound,” he said, guiding her backward until she bumped up against the wall.

She gripped at the concrete with shaky hands while Leo braced his arms on either side of her head, hemming her in. She wanted to touch him, but she couldn’t seem to make her limbs work. That familiar slow heat had ignited deep in her abdomen and seemed to be mirrored in the fire she saw in Leo’s gaze. And as he leaned down and nipped gently at her neck, her most pressing thought was how very much she’d like to be burnt.

“You taste divine. I’d almost forgotten.” Leo’s tongue made a languorous trail from her neck to her shoulder. Hot openmouthed kisses, punctuated with the occasional bite. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget again.”

His fingers made quick work of unbuttoning her dress. Before she could take in a lungful of fresh sea air, the garment fell to the floor. A gentle breeze fluttered over her exposed skin, intensifying each kiss, each nip of his teeth. Every cell in her body went on high alert.

“Leo,” she breathed, sagging against the wall. If he didn’t stop what he was doing, she’d never remain upright.

Leo. Lion.
She’d been so preoccupied with his last name that she hadn’t given much thought to his first. It suited him. He looked every bit a lion right then, all powerful grace. Even his eyes were lionlike as he let his gaze travel over her exposed shoulders and breasts. Like a wild cat stalking its prey.

“I want to touch you forever,” he said with the utmost seriousness, sliding her bra off her shoulders until it too lay in a heap at their feet. His fingers hooked in the lacy edge of her panties and pulled, until she was completely naked on her hotel balcony.

Forever.

It was a dangerous word. And it made the heat flowing through her all the more scorching.

Juliet pretended she hadn’t heard it. “Shouldn’t we go inside?”

His hand slid up the back of her thigh, and he lifted her leg until it was wrapped around his waist. “No. I want you right here. Right now.”

A soft, shuddering moan pierced the quiet night, and Juliet realized it had come from her own lips. She wanted him so badly it was painful. Desire consumed her from the inside out. Each tiny nibble, each wet, hot lick of his tongue was agony. The cool, damp Roman air bit at each place where he kissed her, raising her skin into tiny, torturous goose bumps.

She reached for his fly, unbuttoned it and slid down the zipper, freeing him. He tensed when she took him in her hands. He was harder than she’d ever felt him. Solid, hot and ready. When she stroked him, he trembled and let out a long, agonizing groan that could surely be heard from cobblestoned streets below.

Then he took control, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand so she couldn’t move. A tremulous shiver of desperate want coursed through her as he paused to look at her, his free hand holding her chin, his gaze wild and hungry.

“Leo,” she breathed, wishing she could tell him how very much she wanted him no matter what the consequences. But she was unable to articulate more than his name.

He seemed to understand perfectly, though.

“I know, baby. I know,” he said, his voice raw with desire.

He tightened his grip on her chin, tilting her face toward his. Then he kissed her as if his very life depended on it, and she arched toward him, utterly helpless. She couldn’t move, and she had no choice but to simply kiss and give.

His free hand dropped to her breast, then her waist, then between her legs in a glorious trail of exploration that left her gasping for breath. Then he slipped his fingers inside her, and she thought she might die from longing. Her arms still pinned, she wrapped her leg more firmly around his waist, pulling him closer and closer still, until his body was crushing hers against the wall.

“Now, please,” she begged, her eyes drifting closed, unable to wait another second to have him inside her.

“Open your eyes.” he said. “I want you to look at me.”

Her lashes fluttered open, and she found him staring down at her with those midnight eyes filled with an intoxicating combination of wonder, desire and something far more edgy that she couldn’t quite identify.

Her breath caught in her throat during that final moment of anticipation as his erection pressed against her core. Her entire body went liquid. Music drifted to her ears, a mournful melody from the streets below. Strains of a violin floating on the errant night breeze. Leo’s gaze never strayed, but remained fixed on hers, his face mere inches from hers.

And then she recognized it—that look in his eyes.

Possession.

“Mine,” he groaned as he entered her, not with a push but rather an excruciatingly slow, aching grind.

It was too much—this overwhelming need to be taken, this pleasure, this fullness.

This man.

In that instant, he owned her. He knew it, and so did she. He was devouring her, and all she could do was give. She had no choice but to yield to desire, to the wild Italian night. To him.