Unmasking Juliet (7 page)

There are no accidents. Only fate.

Isn’t that what her mother was always saying? She wondered what her mom would think about the hands of fate leading her daughter to the door of Mezzanotte Chocolates.

On the other hand, maybe she didn’t want to know what her mother would think about anything having to do with Leo.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you, actually,” she said.

“For?” His voice was like melted caramel. Warm. Rich. Smooth.

“For keeping your promise and not saying anything to your family about the circumstances surrounding our meeting. I owe you a debt of gratitude.” A salty ocean breeze drifted through the valley, lifting Juliet’s hair and sending it flying in all directions.

“‘The circumstances surrounding our meeting?’ That sounds awfully clinical. Forgive me, but I don’t remember it quite that way.” He reached for an errant strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

A shiver coursed through her. Juliet would have loved to blame it on the gentle wind, but she would have just been fooling herself. “Fine. Thank you for not mentioning the kiss.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes searching, probing. “Don’t you mean the kisses? I’m certain there were more than one.”

Like she’d kept count. He’d pretty much kissed away her ability to reason, much less undertake anything involving math. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I believe I do.” His gaze fell squarely on her mouth.

She needed to get out of here. Immediately. Before she did something monumentally stupid.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Like I said, I should go. I have an early day tomorrow.”

She gestured to the dogs. Cocoa had lowered herself to a commando crawl position and was thus now on even ground with the poodle. The little dog was pawing at the big one with dainty swipes of her paws. “You said her name was Sugar? Do you know who she belongs to?”

His muscular shoulders rose and fell. “Sure, I do. She’s mine.”

Juliet snorted with laughter. “You’re telling me that this is your dog?”

“Yes.”

Why wasn’t he laughing? Surely this was a joke. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

He furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with my dog?”

“Look at her.” Juliet waved a hand at the petite poodle and saw something twinkle in the moonlight. Was that a rhinestone collar? Oh, this was just too good to be true. “She’s miniscule. And a little on the feminine side. And you’re...well, you’re...”

Now she was in trouble. How was she supposed to complete that thought without mentioning his obvious masculinity? His commanding presence? His big, strong hands? The lean, hard muscles she knew lay buried beneath his shirt?

He crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze at her. Even in the semidarkness, the mischief in his blue eyes was clearly visible. “I think the words you’re looking for are
virile
and
manly.
”

Bingo.

She swallowed and looked away. “Those work, I suppose.”

“Come inside.” He nodded toward the chocolate shop.

Surely she’d heard him wrong. “What?”

“You heard me. Come inside.”

He’d thrown out the invitation so casually, as if it were no big deal. As if crossing that threshold wouldn’t be tantamount to treason.

He was delusional. She’d never in her life come close to setting foot in the Mezzanottes’ store. To her knowledge, no Arabella ever had.

“No. Absolutely not.” She turned to go, picking up Cocoa’s leash and giving it a gentle tug.

“Suit yourself,” he called after her. “I was experimenting with a new menu item and thought you might like to try it. But if you’re not interested...”

Juliet’s footsteps slowed.

A new menu item?

All week she’d been dying to know what he’d been up to over here. She found it impossible to believe the Mezzanottes would waste the kind of specialty training Leo had undergone in Paris. They were far too shrewd to make a mistake like that. Hadn’t history proven as much?

His grandmother had stolen her grandmother’s recipe right out from under her nose. And the decades since had been filled with backstabbing rumors, innuendos and acts of sabotage. When she was a little girl, she’d seen Leo’s father sneak into their store and drop a live rat from his pocket. The health department had shown up in less than ten minutes. So she knew good and well the Mezzanottes had something up their sleeve. They always did. Why would now be any different?

She could stay for a minute. Five, tops. Just to check things out. It could be an investigation of sorts.

“How about it?” The timbre of Leo’s voice dropped a notch, and she couldn’t help but remember the way he’d sounded when he’d gently lifted her mask from her face at the masquerade ball.

Lovely,
he’d said, gazing down at her, his tone riding a fine line between tenderness and heat.

Sometimes when she closed her eyes she could hear that word, exactly as he’d said it that night.

Exactly as he sounded right now.

She turned to face him. The memory of a black velvet night spent kissing among the grapes of the Manocchio Vineyard danced between them, a sultry, irresistible rumba. Juliet could feel its slow, beckoning rhythm, beating in time with her heart.

Who was she kidding? Leo’s chocolates weren’t the only things she wanted to investigate.

That would have been his wedding night.

“I don’t think so.” She sounded breathless, maybe because she
was
breathless. Again.

Damn it.

She’d held on to a slender thread of hope that their first meeting had been a fluke. She’d even prayed for it to be so. It didn’t seem possible that the one man who could make her feel this way was the only one who was so strictly off-limits.

It was no fluke. That much was certain.

“You disappoint me, Juliet. As you said, you do owe me a debt of gratitude. The least you can do is act as my taste tester on this one occasion.” He tilted his head, and his gaze traveled from her eyes to her lips, down to the base of her throat, where her pulse had begun to pound wildly out of control.

She couldn’t think of anything more dangerous than spending another second alone with Leonardo Mezzanotte.

On the other hand, what harm could one little bite of chocolate do?

Loads.

There were no words for the kind of harm that could come from an Arabella crossing the threshold of Mezzanotte Chocolates. Swimming with sharks would no doubt be a safer activity.

She opened her mouth, fully intent on saying no, but what came out sounded an awful lot like, “Okay, just this once.”

Probably because that’s precisely what she said.

6

Leo couldn’t help but notice Juliet looked a little shell-shocked as she stood in the entryway of the shop, her enormous dog leaning against her legs.

“I can’t believe it. I’m standing inside Mezzanotte Chocolates.” She shook her head, sending waves of hair the exact color of a perfect Belgian praline tumbling over her shoulders, down her back.

Her dog—he thought she’d called it Cocoa—released a single, ear-splitting bark.

Sugar flinched. Leo doubted she even recognized the sound. Nothing remotely that loud or deep had ever come from her tiny mouth.

Juliet spun in a slow circle, her eyes wide, taking in her surroundings. “It’s really quite charming.”

“I know the Mezzanottes are your sworn enemy.”
Woof.
“But surely this isn’t the first time you’ve been here.”

She laughed. “Oh, I assure you, it is. When I was a little girl, I thought I would burst into flames if I ever walked through the door of Mezzanotte Chocolates.”

Woof.

Leo narrowed his gaze at Cocoa. “Is it my imagination, or does your dog bark every time she hears my last name?”

Juliet’s cheeks flushed a stirring shade of pink. “Maybe.”

Leo refused to believe it. There were already more than enough opinions about this heated flirtation he and Juliet had going on without adding her dog’s to the mix.

He looked at Cocoa again. She’d slumped to her belly, and was resting calmly with her head on her shaggy, outstretched legs at Juliet’s feet.

The only way to know for certain was to put his theory to the test. “Mezzanotte.”

Cocoa’s head popped up.
Woof.

Leo slid his gaze to Juliet. Her flush intensified.

“Arabella,” he said, doing his best to ignore the musical way the word rolled off his tongue.

Cocoa simply yawned.

“Butter.”

Nothing. No reaction at all.

“Cream.”

Still more silence.

“Mezzanotte.”

Woof.

Leo shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Sorry.” Juliet bit her plump bottom lip, which was enough to make Leo forget about the crazy dog.

Almost.

“Did you teach her to do that?” He nodded toward Cocoa.

“Don’t be silly. Of course not. It’s just something she picked up. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.” She rolled her gorgeous green eyes.

“You don’t know why I’m surprised that your dog hates me?” He frowned at Cocoa. “And she’s rather vocal about it, too.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s just accustomed to your name being said in the heat of the moment, that’s all. It’s kind of brilliant, actually. She picked it up all on her own. You should be impressed.”

“Oh, it’s made an impression.” Animals loved him. He’d rescued Sugar off the streets of Paris. Her coat had been so matted and filthy, he’d been surprised to discover she was white once he’d cleaned her up.

Maybe it was time for Sugar and Cocoa to have a chat.

“I tried to tell you the feud was serious. You wouldn’t listen.” Juliet rested her hand on Cocoa’s head. The dog’s tail thumped against the hardwood floor.

Leo would be willing to bet the dog had no idea where she was. And he wasn’t about to tell her. “Trust me. I’ve since been properly schooled in the seriousness of the matter.”

“You, too?” Juliet smiled, but there was subtle sadness about her that unsettled him.

He’d heard about Royal Gourmet dropping the Arabellas like a stone. The news had been delivered courtesy of his uncle Joe, of course, who’d been beside himself with glee. No doubt the hostility between their families only exacerbated the situation.

She felt responsible. He could see that much in her eyes. And it gave him the very sudden, very real urge to wring George Alcott III’s pretentious neck.

“I’m sorry if our dance played any part in what happened with Royal Gourmet.” Even if it hadn’t, he was still sorry. From the looks of things, the turn of events had taken its toll.

She snorted. “Sure you are.”

“I mean it.” He gave her a half grin. “Although I can’t say I’m sorry you’re not marrying that idiot.” As one who had so recently escaped a similar fate, he could empathize.

Her eyes went melancholy again for a beat. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugged. “I like you.”

It was inconvenient to say the least, but it was the truth. His relief at her single status wasn’t fueled solely by empathy. He liked her. That didn’t mean he wanted to marry her. Marriage and all it entailed was as far off his radar as Paris. But he could simply like a woman, couldn’t he?

“You can’t like me.” Her voice went softer. Quieter. “And I can’t like you.”

“The hell I can’t. The feud has nothing to do with me. I don’t believe in it.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you mean you don’t believe in it? It’s a thing. It exists, whether you believe in it or not.”

“Plenty of people believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny, but that doesn’t make them real.” He moved closer to her, keeping one eye on her dog. Just in case.

She looked him up and down. “Believe whatever you want. Or don’t. But I do.”

“Yet here you stand, inside the lion’s den.” He had her there, and they both knew it.

She glanced around at the shelves stocked with boxes of rum-flavored chocolate cigars and rich chocolate dessert wines, then at the cases filled with hand-rolled truffles, chocolate dipped orange peels and what he’d been working on for the better part of the evening—Pavé Glacé, melt-in-your-mouth blocks of hazelnut, saffron, dark chocolate and butter, covered in cocoa powder and meant to resemble cobblestones.

He got the distinct feeling she was on the verge of turning on her heel and walking right out the door. And for some reason, it had become very important to him that she stay.

“I didn’t invite you here so we could talk about our families.” Without waiting for a response, he wound his fingers through hers and led her by the hand toward the kitchen.

She followed willingly, so that was something. He hadn’t been altogether sure she would. The dogs trotted behind them—Cocoa first, followed by Sugar, who scrambled to keep up.

“Sit.” He nodded toward the butcher-block countertop next to the stove.

Both dogs plopped into sit positions.

When Juliet hesitated, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up and onto the counter. She gasped and clutched at his shoulders for balance. But even after she was situated, she held on to him, the fabric of his shirt gathering in her fingertips. He had a flashback of his favorite tie being crushed by those same hands, and a wave of arousal rocked through him, as it always did when his thoughts drifted back to the night. Which they did with alarming frequency.

His palms slid to her hips, pausing for just a moment to appreciate the wholly feminine shape of her.

How long had it been since he’d touched her? Less than a week? Hard to believe. The hunger gnawing at his insides gave him the sense it had been ages.

She removed her hands from his shoulders, finally, and resituated them primly in her lap. With more than a little reluctance, Leo released his hold on her. She cleared her throat and blinked impassively, her expression a carefully arranged mask of detachment.

Leo had to give her credit—she was putting up quite a front, feigning indifference like that. But he could see the faint trembling in her lush bottom lip, as well as the subtle darkening of her irises. And there’d been no mistaking the way her breath had grown quicker when he’d lifted her off the ground and deposited her on his countertop.

Feud or no feud, she still reacted to him on a purely physical level. He got to her. And, hell, was it ever a turn-on. Obviously, she’d rather pretend otherwise. Fine. Two could play at that game.

Leo gave her a cool look, turned his back on her and strode to the refrigerator. He whistled as he pulled out cartons of cream and whole milk and carried them back to the stove. Eyeballing it, he poured a dollop of cream into the waiting saucepan. Unlike a lot of chefs, he was usually a fan of measuring cups. But Juliet was watching him like a hawk, clearly intent on memorizing his every move. He might be attracted to her on an unparalleled level, but he wasn’t an idiot. As much as he liked the idea of feeding her
le chocolat chaud,
this wasn’t a cooking lesson.

He turned the burner on low and slid his gaze back in her direction. “Nightingale or lark?”

“Pardon?” Her eyes met his once again.

Leo tossed a generous handful of bittersweet chocolate chunks—the finest quality he had on hand—into the cream mixture. Good
chocolat chaud
was all about the quality of the chocolate. “Nightingale or lark? Are you a night person or a morning person? Given the late hour, I’m guessing nightingale. I’m still fighting off jet lag. What’s your excuse?”

“I typically don’t work through the night. This week I happen to have an unusually heavy workload.” She glared at him as if he had something to do with the fact that she’d been up half the night making chocolate.

And that’s when Leo saw it—a glittery sparkle that caught the light when she turned her head. She moved again, and he saw another shiny twinkle just above her cheekbone. And yet another by the corner of her mouth.

“You have glitter on your face.” His gaze dropped to the open square-cut collar of her dark blue blouse, where her slender collarbones glimmered like stardust. “And elsewhere.”

“No, I don’t.” Her face flooded with color.

She did the flushing thing a lot, he’d noticed. He wondered if it had anything to do with him or if she was always this bashful. He rather liked the idea of the former.

He released the whisk from his hand, stepped closer to Juliet and brushed the pad of his index finger along the side of her neck, letting it glide toward the soft dip between her glittery clavicles. A gentle gasp escaped her lips as her skin broke into shimmery goose bumps.

Leo smiled and held his finger up for inspection. Just a simple swipe, and he suddenly looked as if he’d spent his day scrapbooking. “I rest my case.”

She crossed her arms. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“And what might that be?”

“That I moonlight as an exotic dancer.” Her lips curved into a smile that could only be described as naughty. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Guilty as charged. He could think of worse things, although he would have preferred that particular activity to take place somewhere private. Like his bedroom.

He backed away a fraction and tried to rid his mind of the image it was currently fixated on. “Of course not. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why you’re covered in glitter in the middle of the night.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re the tooth fairy.”

She laughed. Loud and carefree. “I thought you didn’t believe in things like the tooth fairy. Or Santa.”

“Touché.” He grinned.

And just as he was thinking they’d finally gotten somewhere, to a place where neither of them was thinking about the feud, chocolate or their respective families, Juliet said, “Hey, there, Willy Wonka. Aren’t you forgetting something?” She nodded toward the stove, where his
chocolat chaud
was within a millisecond from bubbling over.

Merde.

He switched the gas burner to the off position. Then, while Juliet smirked at him and petted her giant, Mezzanotte-hating dog with the tips of her toes, he attacked the concoction with the whisk and gave it a sniff. It smelled heavenly. Like Paris.

Thank God.

He’d never burned something as simple as hot chocolate in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He added a dash of brown sugar before pouring a generous portion into a demitasse cup and then handed it to her. “Here you go.”

She stared into the cup as he slid onto the counter beside her. “What is it?”

“
Le chocolat chaud.
Parisian hot chocolate.”

She eyeballed it again. He wished she’d just taste it already. “What makes it Parisian?”

“Secret ingredient.” He took the cup from her hands and brought it to her mouth. “Sip. Now.”

She did.

Leo could tell the precise moment the chocolate hit her tongue. Her beautiful green eyes grew wide, then drifted closed. Her head fell back, giving him a full view of her glittery throat, of her slightly parted lips.

“Oh, wow.” Her voice was nothing more than a husky moan.

Oh, wow,
indeed.

That sound was enough to get a rise out of any man. Even a Mezzanotte. Perhaps
especially
a Mezzanotte.

“Thoughts?” he asked, wondering if she remembered that he’d told her he wouldn’t kiss her again until she asked him to. Because he was just about ready to forget that hastily uttered promise.

Her dark lashes fluttered open. “I think if you start serving this, my family will be out of business in a matter of days. What in God’s name did you put in it?”

“Bittersweet chocolate. A little milk, a little cream and sugar.” That was it. For the most part...

“And?” She lifted a wary eyebrow. He was holding out on her, and she knew it.

“And a secret ingredient.” He slid closer, until the length of Juliet’s thigh rested against his.

Leo shot a glance at her dog, just in case that old adage about its bark being worse than its bite didn’t apply. Cocoa was curled on the floor, with Sugar nestled between her giant paws. They both peered up at him and wagged their respective tails. Clearly, Cocoa still had no idea who he was.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” Juliet took another dainty sip of the chocolate, then licked her upper lip.

Leo had to stop himself from blurting it out right there and then—
fleur de sel.
His secret ingredient was a very special sea salt harvested from the salt marshes of South Brittany and packaged by Le Guérandais. He had no intention of sharing that information with her. Or anyone, for that matter. But sitting there, watching her lick her pillowy lips while the heavy scent of good chocolate swirled around them, the words almost fell off his tongue.

He reminded himself who they were and where they were sitting. It might be fun to toy with Juliet, but there were limits as to how far this flirtation could go. And those limits stopped short of sharing recipes. Obviously. “As everyone is so intent on reminding me, you’re an Arabella. And I’m a Mezzanotte. If the shoe were on the other foot, would you tell me?”