Read Online Summer Desserts by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nora Roberts
Ads: Link
stern-faced teacher wearing practical shoes. “Fascinating,” Carlo muttered. “Why don’t we go to the park, Summer. It’s a beautiful day.” For female joggers in tiny shorts and tiny shirts.
“I’d consider myself a poor friend if I didn’t give you a brief history lesson before you leave this evening, Carlo.” She linked her arm more firmly through his. “It was actually July 8, not July 4, 1776, that the Declaration of Independence was read to the crowd in the yard outside this building.”
“Incredible.” Hadn’t that brunette been heading for the park? “I can’t tell you how interesting I find this American history, but some fresh air perhaps—”
“You can’t leave Philadelphia without seeing the Liberty Bell.” Taking him by the hand, Summer dragged him along. “A symbol of freedom is international, Carlo.” She didn’t even hear his muttered assent as her thoughts began to swing back to Blake again. “Just what was he trying to prove with that gloss and machismo?” she demanded. “Telling me he’d pick me up at eight after I’d refused to go.” Gritting her teeth, she put her hands on her hips and glared at Carlo. “Men—you’re all basically the same, aren’t you?”
“But no, carissima. ” Amused, he gave her a charming smile and ran his fingers down her cheek. “We are all unique, especially Franconi. There are women in every city of the world who can attest to that.”
“Pig,” she said bluntly, refusing to be swayed with humor. She sidled closer to him, unconcerned that there was a group of three female college students hanging on every word. “Don’t throw your women up to me, you Italian lecher.”
“Ah, but, Summer…” He brought her palm to his lips, watching the three young women over it. “The word is…connoisseur.”
Her comment was an unladylike snort. “You—men,” she corrected, jerking her hand from his, “think of women as something to toy with, enjoy for a while, then disregard. No one’s ever going to play that game with me.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Carlo took both her hands and kissed them. “Ah, no, no, cara mia. A woman, she is like the most exquisite of meals.”
Summer’s eyes narrowed. As the three girls edged closer she struggled with a grin of her own. “A meal? You dare to compare a woman with a meal?”
“An exquisite one,” Carlo reminded her. “One you anticipate with great excitement, one you linger over, savor, even worship.”
Her brows arched. “And when your plate’s clean, Carlo?”
“It stays in your memory.” Touching his thumb and forefinger together, he kissed them dramatically. “Returns in your dreams and keeps you forever searching for an equally sensual experience.”
“Very poetic,” she said dryly. “But I’m not going to be anyone’s entrée.”
“No, my Summer, you are the most forbidden of desserts, and therefore, the most desirable.” Irrepressible, he winked atthe trio of girls. “This Cocharan, do you not think his mouth waters whenever he looks at you?”
Summer gave a short laugh, took two steps away, then stopped. The image had an odd, primitive appeal. Intrigued, she looked back over her shoulder. “Does it?”
Because he knew he’d distracted her, Carlo slipped an arm around her waist and began to lead her from the building. There was still time for fresh air and leggy joggers in the park. Behind them, the three girls muttered in disappointment. “ Cara, I am a man who has made a study of amore. I know what I see in another man’s eyes.”
Summer fought off a surge of pleasure and shrugged. “You Italians insist on giving a pretty label to basic lust.”
With a huge sigh, Carlo led her outside. “Summer, for a woman with French blood, you have no romance.”
“Romance belongs in books and movies.”
“Romance,” Carlo corrected, “belongs everywhere.” Though she’d spoken lightly, Carlo understood that she was being perfectly frank. It worried him and, in
“I’d consider myself a poor friend if I didn’t give you a brief history lesson before you leave this evening, Carlo.” She linked her arm more firmly through his. “It was actually July 8, not July 4, 1776, that the Declaration of Independence was read to the crowd in the yard outside this building.”
“Incredible.” Hadn’t that brunette been heading for the park? “I can’t tell you how interesting I find this American history, but some fresh air perhaps—”
“You can’t leave Philadelphia without seeing the Liberty Bell.” Taking him by the hand, Summer dragged him along. “A symbol of freedom is international, Carlo.” She didn’t even hear his muttered assent as her thoughts began to swing back to Blake again. “Just what was he trying to prove with that gloss and machismo?” she demanded. “Telling me he’d pick me up at eight after I’d refused to go.” Gritting her teeth, she put her hands on her hips and glared at Carlo. “Men—you’re all basically the same, aren’t you?”
“But no, carissima. ” Amused, he gave her a charming smile and ran his fingers down her cheek. “We are all unique, especially Franconi. There are women in every city of the world who can attest to that.”
“Pig,” she said bluntly, refusing to be swayed with humor. She sidled closer to him, unconcerned that there was a group of three female college students hanging on every word. “Don’t throw your women up to me, you Italian lecher.”
“Ah, but, Summer…” He brought her palm to his lips, watching the three young women over it. “The word is…connoisseur.”
Her comment was an unladylike snort. “You—men,” she corrected, jerking her hand from his, “think of women as something to toy with, enjoy for a while, then disregard. No one’s ever going to play that game with me.”
Grinning from ear to ear, Carlo took both her hands and kissed them. “Ah, no, no, cara mia. A woman, she is like the most exquisite of meals.”
Summer’s eyes narrowed. As the three girls edged closer she struggled with a grin of her own. “A meal? You dare to compare a woman with a meal?”
“An exquisite one,” Carlo reminded her. “One you anticipate with great excitement, one you linger over, savor, even worship.”
Her brows arched. “And when your plate’s clean, Carlo?”
“It stays in your memory.” Touching his thumb and forefinger together, he kissed them dramatically. “Returns in your dreams and keeps you forever searching for an equally sensual experience.”
“Very poetic,” she said dryly. “But I’m not going to be anyone’s entrée.”
“No, my Summer, you are the most forbidden of desserts, and therefore, the most desirable.” Irrepressible, he winked atthe trio of girls. “This Cocharan, do you not think his mouth waters whenever he looks at you?”
Summer gave a short laugh, took two steps away, then stopped. The image had an odd, primitive appeal. Intrigued, she looked back over her shoulder. “Does it?”
Because he knew he’d distracted her, Carlo slipped an arm around her waist and began to lead her from the building. There was still time for fresh air and leggy joggers in the park. Behind them, the three girls muttered in disappointment. “ Cara, I am a man who has made a study of amore. I know what I see in another man’s eyes.”
Summer fought off a surge of pleasure and shrugged. “You Italians insist on giving a pretty label to basic lust.”
With a huge sigh, Carlo led her outside. “Summer, for a woman with French blood, you have no romance.”
“Romance belongs in books and movies.”
“Romance,” Carlo corrected, “belongs everywhere.” Though she’d spoken lightly, Carlo understood that she was being perfectly frank. It worried him and, in
Similar Books
