Unmasking Juliet (4 page)

So, that was the big mystery. Five minutes with Uncle Joe, and Leo knew more about his own family than his father had ever bothered to share with him. But that was nothing new. He could count on one hand the number of civil conversations they’d had before hd left the country. And after he’d moved to Europe there’d been no more conversations.

Until the night he called to tell Leo that his mother had died. Lymphoma. He’d never even known she was sick.
Thanks, Dad.

Try as he might, Leo still couldn’t drum up an ounce of hatred for the Arabellas. He actually couldn’t care less about them. “Chocolate war? Really? Don’t you think it’s time for someone to fall on a caramel grenade and let bygones be bygones? All of this happened years ago.”

“I could say the same about your feelings for your father,” Uncle Joe said softly.

Leo cleared his throat. “Point taken.”

He hadn’t given a thought to forgiving his father. The man was dead and buried, as were Leo’s feelings. So long as he was far away, he could forget about everything to do with home. Family. Mezzanotte Chocolates. Being surrounded by all of that now was one of the more unpleasant aspects of being back.

His uncle stood and attached a Phantom-of-the-Opera style mask to his face. “Enough talking. We’re late. Let’s head to the ballroom. You’ve got a great number of people to meet.”

For someone who’d done his best to convince his nephew that he was on his last legs, Uncle Joe was remarkably strong-willed.

“In a minute. I need to clear my head. It was a long flight. Do you mind?” What time was it in Paris? Four in the morning.

“I suppose not. But don’t keep everyone waiting. You’re a big star. The toast of the town.” Uncle Joe lingered at the foot of the stairs, his mouth turned down in a frown. His hand rose to the front of his tuxedo shirt, and he pulled at his collar. “I’m getting indigestion. It must be all this talk of those filthy swine, the Arabellas.”

Then he spit on the tile floor of the terrace, as if the very name Arabella was so utterly revolting he couldn’t bear the taste of the word in his mouth.

Alone at last, Leo dropped his weary head in his hands. Sugar craned her tiny neck and swiped the side of his face with her tongue. Her fluff ball of a tail beat against his thigh.

He was home, all right.

Home, sweet home.

3

At the first brush of the mysterious woman’s lips on his, Leo was fully aware he should stop her. He really should. She was clearly acting on impulse. And even though she was a most effective seductress—more so than she realized, he suspected—he had the distinct impression this wasn’t the sort of behavior she often engaged in.

Maybe that’s why he found it so damned hot that he lost control of his senses. Still, somewhere in the periphery of his consciousness, he knew he should just gently unclench her hands from around his tie and remove his lips from hers.

That’s what a gentleman would do.

But being passionately kissed by a beautiful masked woman in the golden light of a harvest moon had a way of making him forget he was a gentleman. He’d forgotten pretty much everything altogether, including his headache.

Jet lag...what jet lag?

She tasted exactly as a barefoot goddess standing in the middle of a vineyard should—warm, sweet, like a sun-kissed cluster of merlot grapes. A predatory thrill surged through him, the likes of which he’d never experienced. Not with Rose. Not with anyone.

He was in the middle of what was probably the sexiest experience of his life, and he didn’t even know her name. He couldn’t see much more than a hint of her face. Her mask glittered in the moonlight and left everything to his imagination, save for a pair of jade-green eyes and her full-lipped, most kissable mouth.

He groaned into that mouth. He couldn’t help himself. She responded with a helpless whimper that just about drove him to his knees. His tie slipped through her fingertips as her hands found his back, sliding over his muscles in a path of brazen exploration. His own hands fisted in the wispy netting of her dress and pulled her closer until she was crushed fully against his chest.

God help him, he was on the verge of unzipping her fluffy ballerina gown right there among the canopies of grapevines. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like him to abandon every last shred of restraint. Although he should have known he was in trouble when he first spotted her standing there.

She’d painted such a pretty picture among the grapes, with her strapless midnight-blue gown exposing a perfect pair of feminine shoulders, waves of dark hair tumbling down her moonlit back. Her mask was decorated with an abundance of dazzling crystals that formed dramatic cat eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was looking at an actual woman or a vision—a lifelong fantasy that until that moment he hadn’t even known he had. He’d taken one look at her and wanted to sink his teeth into her creamy white shoulder. The image had flashed through his mind, as vivid as a fiery Tuscan sunset. Strange. He wasn’t ordinarily the shoulder-biting type. Or the biting type at all.

Maybe the near-death experience of his bachelorhood had done something to him. Something potent. Something primal. Or maybe it was just her.

He’d wandered back out on the patio in search of a moment of peace before he had to drag himself to the ballroom and let his uncle parade him around like the prodigal son. Instead of clarity, he’d found a woman. It had been those bare feet that did him in. Barefoot. In a ball gown. In the dirt. The contrast had been so striking, he’d done a double take. And when he did, something about the sight of her pink-polished toes spoke of a heartbreaking vulnerability that reached straight to his core.

With his mouth still on hers, he tangled his fingers in her hair until he found the smooth satin bow that held her mask in place. He nibbled the corner of her lips and gave the end of the ribbon a gentle tug.

She stiffened in his arms.

He dipped his head and whispered against the slender column of her neck, “I want to see your face.”

His lips found the curve right above her collarbone, and she melted into him once more.

“Please,” he murmured, sounding far more desperate than he cared to.

She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze with his. Green eyes framed with lush black lashes peeked out at him from behind her bejeweled mask. Ever so slightly, she nodded.

Leo cradled her face in his hands, slipped his thumbs beneath the ribbons on either side of the mask and lifted it free. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for the first glimpse of her face. She bowed her head as he untangled the ribbons from her hair, and when she looked up his heart stopped.

“Lovely,” he whispered.

It was perhaps the biggest understatement of his life. She was gorgeous, with large, luminous eyes, high cheekbones and pink, bow-shaped lips.

She shook her head. “I really shouldn’t be here.”

Leo couldn’t think of a single place she belonged more.

“Don’t go.” There was that note of desperation in his voice again. What was happening to him?

“I’m afraid I must.” She took a step backward and cast a panicked look toward the house.

Before Leo could say another word, she dashed past him, the skirt of her elegant gown swishing in the darkness. He reached for her and managed to catch her wrist right before she slipped away for good. “Wait. At least tell me your name.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

He couldn’t just let her leave. Not now, before he even knew who she was. “Please. After all, what’s in a name?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she pulled away, and her wrist slid through his fingertips.

In his other hand, Leo still held her mask. Its crystals glittered in the night, like stars in the Napa Valley sky. He started after her to return it, but she’d already disappeared through the tall stalks of the sunflowers.

She was gone.

And the bewitching spell that had been spun among the grapevines was broken.

* * *

Temporary insanity.

To Juliet, it seemed the only explanation. She’d suffered some sort of breakdown. Why else would she have wandered around the Mezzanotte ball, throwing herself at the first random man who crossed her path?

It hadn’t felt random, though. Quite the contrary. Their meeting had somehow felt predestined, orchestrated by the hands of fate.

Fate? Destiny?

Really?

Now she knew for a fact that she’d lost her mind. She didn’t believe in such things. She believed in free will. Life was a product of the choices one made, day in and day out. She’d never been one to believe in
la forza del destino—
the force of destiny. That was superstition, like the
Malocchio,
the Evil Eye. Or her mother’s bizarre belief that wearing red panties on New Year’s Day would bring good luck. It was crazy.

Odd, she didn’t feel crazy. She felt fantastic. Invigorated. Her skin tingled all over. If this was what a breakdown felt like, then sanity was highly overrated.

That kiss had been a work of art. An all-consuming masterpiece. She’d forgotten anything and everything the moment his lips had touched hers. Had her mystery man not removed her mask, who knew how far things would have gone?

The exposure of her face had served as a powerful reminder of exactly who she was. An Arabella.

She couldn’t jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for by ridiculing the family name and making a spectacle of herself at the Mezzanottes’ party. Wouldn’t any member of that family be delighted to find out what she’d been doing only a handful of minutes after the heir to the Royal Gourmet dynasty had proposed to her? Her secret would be exposed. George would no doubt put an end to his association with Arabella Chocolate Boutique, not that Juliet would blame him. They would be right back where they started—struggling to make it with their tiny shop while Mezzanotte candy bars flew off grocery store shelves.

Of course, George might even decide to end their business arrangement based solely on her refusal to marry him. And that would be fine, too. Fiscally devastating, but fine nonetheless.

Her actions in the vineyard, however, were a flagrant slap in his face. The Mezzanottes would surely scream the news from the mountaintops. Her father would have a coronary. And her mother...

There was no telling what her mother would do. That was a horror that Juliet couldn’t bring herself to consider.

Things had to change. She’d decided that much in the wake of George’s proposal. But not like this. Any necessary changes to her life would be made on her own terms. She wasn’t about to let the Mezzanottes dictate her future any more than her parents, or George.

She gathered the floaty layers of her tulle skirt in one hand, her discarded shoes in the other and ran up the stairs toward the ballroom like a Cinderella in reverse. Music swelled from the party as she slid her feet back in her stilettos. Enough lingering. She just needed to make haste, get back inside and pretend nothing had happened.

The party was in full swing upon her return. The center of the ballroom was overflowing with couples spinning in graceful circles across the dance floor. They almost outnumbered the row of chocolate fountains ringing the room atop gleaming silver stands. Seriously, she’d never seen so many chocolate fountains in her life. White, dark, milk. It was like a Hershey’s version of Niagara Falls. Juliet nearly toppled one of them while she was craning her neck looking for George.

She found him in the far corner near the wine bar. He was chatting with an older gentleman wearing a white half-mask like the one from Phantom of the Opera.

At the sight of George, the afterglow of her tryst in the vineyard lost some of its luster. She couldn’t believe she had to go stand beside him for the rest of the night. It made her feel like the biggest imposter in the world.

Get a grip. You just need to make it through the next hour or two, and then everything will be better.

She took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face and joined George and his companion. “Hello.”

“You’re back.” George cast a cursory glance in her direction. As usual, he seemed to look right through her.

Juliet no longer cared. Her lips still felt swollen from stolen kisses, and she carried the memory of how the mystery man had looked at her right from the start. As if she mattered. She didn’t think she’d ever forget it.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, sorry. I just needed to get some air.”

“Juliet Arabella? What are you doing here?” The exposed side of the Phantom’s face turned an angry red.

Juliet took a closer look at him. She would have recognized that one beady eye and thin-lipped mouth anywhere. No doubt there was a forked tongue in there, waiting to dart out.

Joe Mezzanotte.

Mask or no mask, she’d seen him skulking around across the street enough times to know exactly who was standing in front of her.

But how did he know who she was?

Her hand automatically flew to her face, making contact with bare skin. Her mask. Where was it?

Oh, no.

She’d left the vineyard in such a hurry that she’d forgotten it, which meant she was standing in the middle of the Mezzanotte ball completely exposed. Less than a foot away from Joe Mezzanotte.

“Um, yes. It’s me. Surprise!” She smiled. If memory served, this marked the first time she’d ever smiled at someone with that particular surname.

Joe tore his mask off. The right side of his face was equally as red as the left. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Um, well...” She looked pointedly at George.
A little help?

Why had she ever let herself get talked into coming here?

George removed his mask. “Mr. Mezzanotte. It’s me, George Alcott from Royal Gourmet. You were so gracious as to invite me to this evening’s event, and Miss Arabella is my...”

“There you are, Uncle Joe.” A familiar voice cut him off. A voice that sent a thrill up Juliet’s spine. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Let’s get this over with.”

Oh, my God.

It was
him.
Her mystery man.

She would have recognized those blue bedroom eyes anywhere. And that mouth...the mouth that had been on her neck only moments before. He’d straightened himself up a bit—the top button of his shirt was now fastened, and his tie was arranged in a perfect knot at his throat. Although, upon further inspection, she could make out a series of indentions in the vibrant blue silk. A rush of heat filled her cheeks as she realized those indentions were from her own fingers, where she’d grabbed him by the tie and reeled him in for a kiss.

None of those visible clues mattered, really. She would have recognized him even if she’d had her eyes closed, simply by the way his very presence sent a wave of awareness crashing over her. She nearly swayed on her feet.

Make no mistake. It was most definitely him. And he was standing right there, talking to Joe Mezzanotte.
And calling him Uncle Joe!
“I see we’ve dispensed with the masks already. Good.”

Then the world around Juliet seemed to move in slow motion as he reached for his mask and lifted it from his face. She might even have stopped breathing as she waited for her first full glimpse of his appearance.

It was well worth the wait.

God, he was handsome. No wonder she’d thrown herself at him. If George and that awful Joe Mezzanotte weren’t present, she would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Except why had he said
Uncle Joe?

He raked a hand through his rich espresso-colored hair and looked up, his gaze meeting hers for the first time since he’d breezed into the ballroom. The breath left Juliet’s lungs at the impact of that single glance. She experienced a moment of recognition so intense that her heart stopped beating as his expression changed from shock to extreme pleasure.

“You.” He studied her, his gaze burning a searing path from her eyes to her lips to her throat.

Juliet forgot how to breathe. She couldn’t have felt more exposed, more vulnerable if she’d shed her ball gown on the cool marble floor.

“I believe this belongs to you.” He reached into the inside pocket of his dinner jacket, removed her mask and offered it to her.

She stared at it, unable to move a muscle.

“Leo? You two know each other?” Joe Mezzanotte’s voice dripped with disgust.

“Yes,” he said at the precise moment she blurted a hasty denial.