by Elle James
From outside the bedchamber, Ronin could hear the older Pisano grumbling and grousing throughout the process.
Andre descended the stairs and returned with a tray of tea and biscuits to wash down the painkillers and sleeping aid.
In the meantime, Ronin took the opportunity to shower the canal water off his body and out of his hair and put on a clean pair of jeans, not the tights and costume he’d been wearing when he dove into the canal. He hated leaving Isabella for even a minute. With someone willing to pay someone to stab Mr. Pisano, and then kill him to keep him silent, the stakes had just gotten significantly higher. Couple that with a houseful of workers, decorating the historic mansion for the annual ball, and the possibility of another attack seemed not only possible but probable.
He caught Isabella backing out of her father’s suite, talking as she went.
“I will, Papa. Don’t worry. Ronin and Lorenzo will be by my side all evening. The ball will continue as always.” She closed the door, heaved a huge sigh and turned. She had removed the huge gown and wore only the torn petticoat and chemise. Her dark hair hung past her shoulders in wild disarray, and her cheeks were pink from exertion.
Ronin caught her arms and pulled her against him. “Did I hear right?”
“What did you hear?” She smiled up at him, her lips so tempting, it was all Ronin could do not to kiss them.
“That the ball will go on as planned?”
She nodded, resting her hands on his chest. “I made a deal with my father. If he stayed in his room all evening, I would greet the guests.”
Ronin shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.” He touched a finger to her lips. “And don’t say you can take care of yourself.”
She moved his finger with one of her own. “I can take care of myself. But I will also have you and Lorenzo to be my eyes and ears in case I miss anything.” Isabella stared up into his eyes. “That is presumptuous of me.” She smiled. “I haven’t even asked if you would accompany me to the ball.”
“You know I’ll go wherever you go. You don’t have to ask.” He clutched her body against his and bent to kiss her. “But I don’t feel good about this. Though the man who stabbed your father is dead, there’s someone out there who still means business.” He kissed her forehead, and then pressed his lips to her eyelids and the tip of her nose. Finally, he hovered over her mouth. “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” she whispered, her breath warm on his mouth. “We’ll have to be vigilant.”
He claimed her mouth and would have thrust his tongue past her lips if a noise behind him hadn’t alerted him to someone else’s presence.
“What are we being vigilant about?” a voice interrupted from the landing.
Ronin stepped back from Isabella to face Pisano’s assistant, irritation making his lips press together in a tight line. The man had crappy timing. “Costa.”
The man nodded. “Magnus.”
“It isn’t polite to sneak up on people,” Isabella chastised, smoothing back her hair from her face.
“How is your father?” Costa asked.
“He should be asleep by now,” she responded. “He is not to be disturbed. Andre will be with him throughout the remainder of the day and evening.”
Niccolo nodded. “Business will wait.”
She nodded. “Exactly. Nothing is so important it can’t wait until the weekend is over and my father has had sufficient time to recover.” Isabella moved past him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on preparations.”
Ronin followed her down the stairs into the massive front foyer where the guests would be met later that evening.
Men and women were busy decorating the walls and banisters with flowers, lights and yards of ribbon. They set out chairs along the sides and were erecting a dais in one corner for the musicians.
Isabella met with the woman in charge and spoke to her in Italian, rattling off instructions too fast for Ronin to keep up.
The woman nodded and went back to work, directing her workers.
Isabella marched through the hallway and dining room, and into a large kitchen bustling with men and women in white coats and chef’s hats. She spoke with the man who appeared to be in charge. He nodded and went back to work.
Isabella turned to Ronin. “We have a couple of hours before the festivities begin. I suggest we eat now. We might not get the chance to later.”
Ronin’s belly rumbled. He hadn’t realized time had blown past noon, and they hadn’t stopped long enough to have lunch. Though he could go a couple days without a meal, he preferred to power up while he could. Situations changed quickly, and he might need the energy boost for later that evening. Preferably after the guests left. “How long does the party last?”
Isabella gave him a twisted grin. “Until the last person leaves. It usually equates to all night.”
Ronin sighed. So much for needing energy for more pleasurable pursuits. At least he’d be with Isabella throughout the ordeal, even if it wasn’t in her bed, making sweet love to her.
If the crowd he’d seen that morning at the opening ceremonies was any indication, tonight, the room would be packed. He’d have to stay close or risk leaving her exposed to another sneak attack.
Ronin insisted on eating at the table in the kitchen. They didn’t need the staff to take too much time out of their preparations for the evening’s events.
The chef prepared a light meal for them consisting of a delicious lentil soup and paninis stuffed full of a variety of meats and cheeses. They washed the food down with some of the best red wine Ronin had ever tasted. As someone who preferred beer and whiskey, he found that he could easily become a convert to Italian wine.
When he thought the meal couldn’t be tastier, the chef provided a delicate French pastry covered in powdered sugar. The morsel melted in Ronin’s mouth. When he kissed Isabella afterward, he could taste the sugar on her lips, and the flavor was all the sweeter.
She wiped her fingers on her napkin and pushed away from the table. “The musicians will arrive in less than an hour, and the guests will be begin trickling in shortly afterward. I’m sorry, but the dress for the evening will be costumes.
Ronin nodded. “Anything for the hostess.”
“At least you don’t have to wear one of those ridiculously heavy dresses. I could not have survived during the Renaissance.”
He grimaced. “If I had to wear tights all the time, neither could I.”
“But you have such sexy legs.” She winked and stepped past him, reaching out to pinch his butt.
“Hey.” Ronin rubbed the spot and laughed. “Two can play that game.”
“Then we’d better hurry or we won’t have time.” She ran past the workers in the hallway and foyer and up the stairs in her chemise and petticoat, her hair flying behind her, her laughter echoing off the walls and ceilings.
Ronin raced after her, his heart lighter than it had been in years. He pushed the worry to the back of his mind. For that moment, they were a young couple in love, about to make love, and that’s all he needed to know. The evening would arrive soon enough. Then he’d slip back into tactical mode. If you could call wearing tights and a sissy costume tactical. He wished he had his SEAL team around him for what promised to be a very long night. Or his brothers who were equally trained in combat skills. Mack, Wyatt and Sam would have had his back and helped him protect Isabella.
But what about when he left? Isabella’s father had nailed that question. What happened to Isabella when Ronin deployed? Who would protect her? He wouldn’t be there.
11
For the next hour, Isabella basked in the attentions of her SEAL fiancé, pushing aside all the tasks that awaited her for her selfish indulgence in mind-blowing sex.
The near-miss with her father had brought home to her that nothing was forever. You had to grab for happiness while you could.
Lying in Ronin’s arms, she was the happiest she’d ever been, and she refused to think of a future without him by
her side. She knew it was inevitable, but she wouldn’t think about it. Not now. Not when they would spend a magical evening dancing and laughing at the crazy costumes and antics of the guests who came to the annual ball.
Though she’d rather be alone with Ronin, she would be proud to have him standing by her side, greeting guests with her. He was a handsome man. His broad chest and sexy legs would make her the envy of every woman.
Satiated after making love, she brushed a kiss across Ronin’s lips, and then rolled out of the bed.
Ronin groaned. “Is it that time?”
“It is,” she responded from the bathroom. Isabella reached into the shower and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature. She wrapped her hair in a towel and stepped beneath the spray.
Hands encircled around her from behind and pulled her against a solid, muscular body.
“Mmm.” She reached behind her and cupped his buttocks. “If we had a little more time…”
“It doesn’t take much,” he encouraged.
“No?” Isabella turned in his arms.
He held up a condom. “I came prepared.”
“So you did.” She took the packet from him, tore it open and rolled the protection over his cock.
Without hesitation, he scooped her up by the backs of her thighs, wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her back against the cool marble tiles.
“You are amazing,” he said and slid into her, burying himself in her channel.
Her muscles tightened around him, squeezing tight, holding him there for a long moment.
Then he backed out and rammed back into her, settling into a steady rhythm that had her panting by the time they finally climaxed together.
Once he had his breathing under control, Ronin pulled free and lowered her legs to the ground. “Amazing.” He kissed her, peeled off the condom and disposed of it then returned to lather soap over every inch of her body. By the time he’d made his way halfway down, she was on fire, with steam rising from her damp flesh. When he finished and rinsed her off, her knees wobbled, and she could barely stand.
Her competitive streak insisted on returning the favor.
Isabella explored every one of his muscles with the tips of her fingers, loving how solid he was and how strong. When she got to his still engorged staff, he caught her wrist in his hand. “If you want to get ready in time, you might not want to go there.”
Oh, she wanted to go there, but Isabella sighed. “You’re right. We have to get ready.”
After they dried each other off, Isabella padded barefooted across the Persian rug to her closet where the costumes Andre had arranged for them awaited.
Her dress was white silk, taffeta and lace, with black piping standing out in sharp contrast. Her hat was white with curls of white ribbon and black lace.
Ronin’s costume hung beside hers. His outfit was all black velvet and lace. The blouse he’d wear beneath the jacket was made of black silk, and the tights were black with inlaid designs. The pointed-toed, patent leather shoes had two-inch heels, competing the ensemble.
Ronin’s eyebrows twisted. “I’ll wear everything but the shoes.”
“But they go with the costume,” Isabella protested.
“I can wear my combat boots. They’ll match. They’re all black.”
Isabella shrugged. He hadn’t balked at the rest of the costume. Why bother arguing over shoes. Especially if what he had, and was comfortable in, matched. She peeled the dress off the hanger and groaned at the accompanying petticoats and bloomers she’d have to wear beneath it. “This will take a while.”
“Better get cracking.” Ronin slapped her bare ass and laughed. Then he shook his head. “What goes first?”
Working together, they managed to dress each other, laughing and cursing along the way. By the time Isabella had done her hair and positioned her hat on top, it was time to go downstairs.
She walked out of the bathroom, placing her mask on her face to find Ronin, fully dressed in his velvet jacket, mask and a hat befitting one of the Three Musketeers crowning his head with a fluffy black ostrich feather curling toward the rear. Around his waist was a belt with a scabbard and a sword.
Isabella’s heart fluttered. “You look magnificent.”
“You’re pretty hot, yourself.” He gave her a low bow then straightened, offering her his arm.
Isabella slipped her gloved hand around his elbow, and they walked out of the bedroom together. “I want to check on my father before we go down.” She led the way to her father’s suite and knocked softly.
Andre opened the door.
“Is he awake?” Isabella whispered.
“Yes, of course, I’m awake,” her father shouted. “But I might fire our butler if he does not stop pretending he is my mother.”
Andre, stoic as usual, didn’t bat an eyelid. “Your father would like to attend the ball.” He spoke in a straightforward manner with no hint of sarcasm.
Isabella laughed. “My father is not the best patient.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Andre agreed. “Perhaps you could talk to him.”
“No one needs to talk to me,” her father groused. “All I need is help getting into my clothes.”
Isabella touched Andre’s arm. “I’ll handle this.” She turned sideways to get her skirt through the door and swept into the room. “Father, you promised.”
“I did no such thing.”
Isabella clucked her tongue. “You did. And if you go back on your word, I’ll leave the ball and go into the streets to dance all night.”
He stopped trying to sit up and glared. “You know it is not safe for you to be out in the streets during Carnival. What happened to me could just as easily happen to you.” He held up a hand. “And don’t tell me you can take care of yourself. I know that. But that man came out of nowhere. Neither Lorenzo or I anticipated what he would do. I am extremely lucky to be alive.”
Isabella patted his arm. “I know, Papa. And I’d like you to stay that way. The doctor wanted you to rest and let your wound heal. It won’t heal if you’re downstairs bumping into people. Would you like to bleed all over them?”
He shook his head.
“Then stay in bed,” she ordered, putting the same inflection in her voice she would use with a recalcitrant child. “I’ll be downstairs…inside the house.” She waved toward her dashing Musketeer. “Ronin will be at my side.”
“The entire evening, sir,” Ronin interjected.
Isabella’s father continued to glare. “I worry about you, Isabella. I should be the one down there. If someone wants to stab a Pisano, it should be me. Not you.”
“No one is going to stab me, Papa.” She smoothed her gloved hand over his arm. “I’ll be fine. I have the best of the best watching over me.”
Ronin slipped an arm around her waist. “I’ll take good care of your daughter, Mr. Pisano.”
“You’d better, or I’ll leave this bed and teach you a lesson or two.” He waved his hand, encompassing Ronin’s outfit. “Just because you’re dressed as a Musketeer, doesn’t mean you’re good with a sword.”
Isabella’s lips twitched, and she bit down hard on her tongue to keep from saying Ronin was very good with a sword. She was sure her father would not be amused.
His eyes narrowed. “You’d better take your fiancé out of this room before I run him through with that fancy sword.”
“Oh, Papa.” She bent over the bed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It won’t be the same without you presiding.”
“You will be perfectly lovely.” He patted her hand. “Like your mother.”
Her eyes burning, Isabella turned toward the door.
Ronin took her arm and escorted her out onto the landing.
Already guests had arrived, gathering in the front entrance, waiting to be introduced to the hostess of the ball.
“Ready?” Ronin asked, angling his head toward her.
Isabella nodded, her heart racing, her gaze scanning the faces she could see and the porc
elain masks hiding the identities of others. For the first time since her family had sponsored the masquerade ball, the fun was gone and all she could think about was how sinister the masks appeared.
Ronin didn’t like it. The frivolity of Carnival had taken a turn that day in Piazza San Marco, going from fun-loving to deadly in a split second.
Any one of the guests tonight could be the man who’d paid the dead jester, or another one of his mercenaries.
To keep Isabella safe, Ronin would have to keep the guests far enough away from her without making her appear standoffish. If he had to, he’d take a knife or bullet for her to keep what happened to her father from happening to her.
Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, Ronin curled his arm around her waist and guided her toward the entrance where they would receive the guests.
Niccolo joined them, taking up a position on the other side of Isabella. He wore a dashing waistcoat in bright red velvet, trimmed in gold braid. With a warm smile, he added to the welcoming committee, smiling and talking to people as if he were part of the Pisano family.
One by one, the men and women greeted Ronin first. He studied each person, searching for potential weapons.
A man dressed in a frilly, royal blue waist coat and wearing a wolf mask attempted to pass Ronin, moving directly to Isabella.
Moving quickly, Ronin stepped in front of him with his hand outstretched, ready to shake the man’s hand or take him down, depending on what came next.
The man spoke in English. “Pardon me,” he said, lifting the mask to expose a freckled face and red hair. “I can’t see a bloomin’ thing under here.” The young man held out his hand and shook Ronin’s. “Thank you for inviting us to the party. I promise to behave myself, as soon as I get rid of my mask.” He winked, thanked Isabella and joined his friends near the musicians’ dais.
Isabella leaned close to Ronin. “I think you scared the poor boy.”