He’d waited till, quite literally, the last possible minute to grab his threads, which meant he’d have to change clothes at the shop, which probably wasn’t such a bad thing, since it spared him the ridicule at home. Though naturally his brothers would double-down on it once they found him at the party. He hoped that in the thick of the crowd they’d miss finding him. Besides, he was going to be cloaked in so much frippery maybe he’d go unnoticed altogether. A man could only hope.
~*~
Allie Ledbetter was nervous about this party. New to the area and not particularly fluent in Italian, she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she was going to be basically invisible at the costume party she was invited to attend in honor of the mother of her new boss, Giovanni Giovanetti. Apparently he was throwing the fête for her seventieth birthday. It felt a little weird showing up at a stranger’s party for such an auspicious occasion. But oh, well. In her line of work she had become accustomed to integrating into whatever environment she found herself in temporarily, even if it meant showing up at some granny’s birthday shindig.
Besides, Allie loved a good costume party; it was fun to see how very creative people could get for them. In fact back home, she’d dressed in many elaborate get-ups for Halloween parties over the years, once even donning a multi-layered, hoop-skirted Marie Antoinette costume. But far from home and minus her trusty sewing machine, she was going to have to make do with a more rudimentary outfit, but one that always seemed to work for last-minute.
On a day-trip to Rome she’d found some perfect crushed black velvet at Fratelli Bassetti Tessuti, a renowned fabric shop favored by the country’s fashion cognoscenti. She picked up some sewing notions including a packet of needles, straight pins, black thread and fabric scissors, and even found some fiberfill. Back in Tuscany, she sat on the terrace of the plush guest cottage of Giovanetti Vineyards sipping Chianti as the intense summer sun hung low in the sky, having a thoroughly lovely time hand-stitching and stuffing her cat tail and securing kitty cat ears onto a headband as well. Her costume came together with a black satin camisole top and a pair of black skinny jeans. With her long, wavy streaky blonde hair and hazel eyes, she’d make a perfectly acceptable feline for the night.
When the time came to dress for the party, Allie drew thick, black Cleopatra-style eyeliner along the edge of her lids, slicked on some extra layers of mascara, and wrapped her tresses along the fat wand of her curling iron to create cascading curls. She debated going all-in with whiskers and decided it was necessary to complete the transformation, so traced slender whisker lines along her cheeks, then finished the look by coloring the tip of her nose black with an eyebrow pencil.
She pinned the tail to her jeans and tugged them on, then slipped on the delicate cami top. She stood sideways, looking at herself in the full-length mirror, pressed her hands along her thighs to straighten out her jeans, and gave a nod.
“Not too bad,” she said as she reached for a pair of strappy black sandals to complete the look. She slid on the headband ears, and slipped out the door of the cottage.
She walked along a slate pathway to the main house, a sprawling pale pink two-story stucco palazzo like the many that peppered the hillsides in this part of Tuscany. Expensive cars lined the driveway and a throng of guests paraded through the rose garden as they made their way to the dramatic front entryway of the Giovanetti home. She’d only been in Tuscany for a few days, but so far what she’d seen sure made her want to stay. Between the rolling hillsides clad in patchworked fields with rows of vines now heavy with fruit, or cloaked with the gnarled branches of ancient olive trees, this land felt magical. Throw in magnificent manor homes that had witnessed history over many hundreds of years, the late-day color of light that was some breathtaking combination of damask rose and ripe melon, and, well, there was something about this place that spoke to her.
She entered through the massive oak doors that were drawn open on this temperate summer evening and was handed a flute of top-tier Italian Prosecco and escorted by a waiter dressed like one of Cinderella’s footmen to a wide, dramatic tiled terrace along the back of the palazzo that overlooked the valley below. High above, a flock of starlings darted to and fro and she felt a momentary pang of anxiety, knowing that in a matter of days it was going to be her job—well, hers and Lola’s, her trusty peregrine falcon—to ensure those starlings stayed clear of her bosses’ grapes. It’s what she’d been doing for a couple of years now, first in California, letting Lola and other birds of prey loose to intimidate the population of birds that constantly vex the growers of wine grapes.
Lola had become well-known after Allie had given a series of lectures about this at several wine-growers conventions, and Giovanni had reached out to her shortly thereafter in the hopes of bringing her to Tuscany to attempt to minimize the frustrating and at times astronomical loss of grapes leading up to his grape harvest thanks to greedy starlings. Thoughts of Lola would wait till the morning, because tonight she was given a free pass to not worry about her charge and instead enjoy herself.
She marveled at the creativity of some of the costumes she saw people wearing. One woman dressed as Little Red Riding Hood clutched a leash attached to a gorgeous white and gray huskie dog with bright blue eyes wearing a sleeping cap and purple pajamas: the Big Bad Wolf doing business as Grandma. Very clever.
A man moseyed by dressed as a stick figure, wearing an all-white outfit on which the black stick shape had been painted. There was a couple in which the woman dressed as a mermaid and the man, a fierce Father Neptune. Another person was dressed as an octopus. There was a hula dancer and a Barbie look-alike, and several zombies, though she couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t be particularly fun to get up close and personal with a man oozing faux bodily fluids. Yep, zombie was not the costume to wear if you went to the party in search of a love interest.
Not that she was on the prowl or anything: for one thing she wasn’t going to be staying here for long. Once the grapes were harvested, she would move on to another gig. Plus, after her last fiasco of a relationship in which her fiancé Ben decided it made sense to let her know only weeks before the wedding that he actually preferred men, she was a little gun-shy over guys. So tonight, she was going to just have her look, enjoy some drinks, perhaps make some small talk if anyone spoke enough English to conduct a conversation with, and then call it a night. Or so she thought.
“Meow.” She heard a deep, resonant voice purr behind her. She turned to see the perhaps the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, with sooty, soulful brown eyes and wavy, rich, peat-colored hair that just about begged for her fingers to run through. He was dressed as one of the Three Musketeers, which just so happened to top Allie’s fantasy of the type of man she’d love to be taken by. It fit with her love of falconry and her passion for the romance of the adventurous days of swashbuckling men clinking swords and defending fair maidens.
Damn. This particular musketeer could defend her honor any damned day.
She let out a purr of contentment.
So much for avoiding men for a while.
Chapter Two
Francesco decided he had to dial down his disdain for costume parties. Sure the woman standing by the bar dressed as Elvira, Mistress of the Night did not appeal to him, despite her voluminous breasts that were more than peaking out of the cleavage-baring V in her dress that went all the way to her navel. There was something to be said for leaving a little bit to the imagination.
And the buxom woman dressed as a milkmaid who asked if he wanted to squeeze her teats was just a little too obvious. Maybe if he was feeling super desperate... but no. Not even then.
But then he laid eyes on the kitty cat standing alone against the limestone balustrade on the terrace and he decided he needed to re-evaluate his blanket revulsion of this particular party genre. Because wow, meow, that one instantly took his breath away. He’d love to stroke that kitty cat, in more ways than one.
The tail alone... And by t
ail—while his curiosity was certainly piqued by the velvety one dangling from her butt—what he really meant was that ass, perfectly shapely in a pair of tight jeans that hugged those two round globes, one of his many favorite parts of a woman. As an added bonus, her legs went on and on, ending in some sexy little high-heeled sandals, complete with vampy black polish on her toes. His eyes scanned up her body and stopped at nipples that were poking out from her silky top, leaving him curious—make that desperate—to see even more. As his gaze continued upward, he was especially pleased with her face: bowed lips in an innocent smile and wide, kind, earthy-golden eyes that fit her cat costume perfectly, topped by coils of shiny, blonde waves he’d love to grab onto while she... he had to tamp down that thought or he’d scare the poor kitty away.
Meow indeed.
He decided he had nothing to lose—after all, he was dressed like a damned musketeer—so he snuck up behind her and purred into her ear.
She turned around and just stared. He wasn’t sure if it was the crazy get-up he was wearing or what that caused her to not say a word, and it made him nervous to think he looked like a giant wanker and she was just devising how many different ways to tell him to beat it.
But she then lifted a brow and smiled. “Well, hi there, stranger.” She made a point of looking him up and down. “I gotta say, I love a man in tights.”
And Francesco breathed a sigh of relief because there were likely far more women turned off by that than on.
“Then that makes us even because I love a beautiful pussy when I see one.”
She laughed. “I’m not sure whether to laugh or be shocked at your impertinence.”
“Impertinence? Me?” he batted his eyelashes in jest.
“I was trying to use a word that a damsel in distress in the time of the musketeers might use.”
“You tend to mine the language of antiquity?”
She shook her head. “Nah. I’ve just read plenty of historical romance novels.”
Francesco cocked his head. “You mean bodice rippers?”
Allie scrunched her nose. “No one uses that term any more. After all, I’m not reading novels where rogue men force themselves on women.”
“What do these rogue men do, then?”
She laughed. “Sorry, this is sort of a weird conversation. I guess I’d say they seduce their way in. Much kinder and gentler that way.”
“So it’s the seduction that appeals to you.”
Allie lifted a curious brow. “Doesn’t that appeal to pretty much everyone?”
He held his hands up. “You’ll find no argument with me. I’m a big fan of the seduction.”
She sized him up again. “With an outfit like that, you’ll hardly have to lift a finger.”
“Ahhh, so then all I need to do is discuss the size of my... peacock feather to win the hand of a fair maiden?” He flicked the thing hanging over his eyes and smiled broadly.
She blurted out a laugh. “Well, I know I always love a man with a big... feather.” She fingered the large one dangling in front of his face. “Though I suspect this is an ostrich feather and has absolutely nothing to do with a cock, pea- or larger.”
Francesco’s interest was indeed piqued. This woman was surprisingly comfortable making suggestive conversation with the likes of him. How could he not want to see where this led?
He held out his hand. “Francesco Romeo,” he said, reaching for hers.
Allie extended her hand and he gently pulled it toward his lips and pressed them to the back of her fingers. She blushed, which he loved, as it showed him that while she was not afraid to get sassy with him, she also had some moral constraints that probably gave her great internal conflict. Clearly it wasn’t the norm for her to talk to a man like this. Maybe it was the costume—it let her hide behind it to reveal a more unencumbered version of herself. He’d take this over the cherry-popping beer wench any day.
“I’m Allie. Allie Ledbetter.”
“Enchanted. Or as we say in Italy, incantato.”
“Incantato...” she played with the word on her tongue, which made him want to reach out with his own tongue and tangle their words together. “In France it would be enchanté. N’est-ce pas?”
“You speak French?”
She shrugged and held up her hand with a small space between thumb and forefinger. “Un peu. A little bit.”
“Parlo Italiano?”
She shook her head. “I’ve tried to learn a little with the Duo Lingo app, but I’d embarrass myself if I attempted to communicate with it. But by all means, please do use your mother tongue. It makes me swoon just a bit to listen to Italian being spoken.”
Francesco rubbed his hands together. “So I’ve got three things in my favor: I’m dressed like a swashbuckling man of yore, which turns you on. I speak Italian, which makes you swoon. And of course there’s that big, uh, feather of mine. What more do I need to convince you of my worth and honor?”
“Yikes,” she said, wagging her finger. “I suppose I showed my hand too soon. Remind me next time to keep my big mouth shut.”
“A il contrario.” He rubbed his stubbled chin with his thumb and forefinger. “To the contrary. For me it’s quite a turn-on when a woman owns her sexuality.”
She blushed again. Even the pale skin on her chest turned rosy. He wondered if the soft flesh just beneath the edge of her shirt had also shaded pink. He imagined slipping his fingers beneath the edge of the silky black fabric and his mouth grew dry. Clearly it had been too long since he’d been laid.
“Speaking of size,” she said, reaching for the cutlass secured to his waistband. “I like your saber.”
“Why, thank you. And it’s sized to your satisfaction?” He knew he might be pushing the envelope with his double entrendres, but he decided to go for broke.
“The bigger the better.” She licked her lips. “But I wonder—”
Francesco couldn’t wait to hear what she wondered. He hoped it had something to do with the many uses of that oversized épée of his.
“Why do musketeers carry swords—aren’t they supposed to be all about the musket?”
So much for a suggestive innuendo. But he had a rebound response to get back on track. “Because swords are far sexier.”
“Oh really?” she crossed her arms over her chest. “How so?”
“You can use your imagination.” He drew his sword. “Imagining where that sword might penetrate.” He lifted the sabre and gently drew it beneath her breasts, like a threatening Barbary Coast pirate might. “Isn’t this how they do it? Here,” He said, moving the small, rounded tip and pressing it toward her pubic bone. “Or here?”
“Hmmm,” she said. “I would think if you were looking for penetration with something that size you’d have some other more appealing options.”
His eyes grew wide. Then they were interrupted by a very drunk man dressed as a monkey asking where the bar was.
Francesco turned to Allie and reached his arm out to link with hers. “What say we tuck into a more private corner where we could at least monkey around without being interrupted by strange simians?”
They walked toward the furthest end of the terrace, far from the crowd, where there were no lights and they could have some privacy.
“You’re not quite like any woman I’ve met before,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m just plain old me.”
He shook his head. “Trust me, there is nothing plain about you. I know a gorgeous pussy when I see one.”
She blushed again and playfully smacked her hand to his chest. “Stop. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Mea culpa,” he said. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” He pointed to the far corner of the stone railing. “I have something I want to show you.”
He steered her up against the railing and stood behind her, pointing far off to the right. “Can you see it?”
She turned her head in the direction he was pointing. “What?”
“There,” he said,
nodding in that direction. “The full moon is just beginning to rise on the horizon. You can barely see an orange sliver as it creeps skyward.”
“Ahhh,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s known as the thunder moon,” he said. “Because of the propensity for volatile storms at this time of year.”
“Sounds tempestuous.”
“Lively and heated. Just the way I like it.” Francesco came up behind Allie, leaning his body against her back and bringing his arms around her, tucking his thumbs into the front pockets of her jeans. He could feel himself growing larger as he pressed along that sweet kitty-cat tail of hers.
“I thought you’d sheathed that saber of yours.” She turned and gave him a sly look with a wink.
He leaned down and nibbled on the edge of her ear as he whispered into it. “Sometimes it just doesn’t want to be so confined.”
She pressed her ass up against him and he moaned. His mouth trailed along her ear, delivering tiny kisses and bites, then along her jawline until his lips found hers and he paused, pressing his lips to hers. Allie turned her head slightly and opened her mouth to him, allowing him to slick his tongue along the edge of her teeth as he sought out her tongue. She moaned and slid hers along his, deepening the kiss.
Francesco slid his hands along Allie’s hips, moving up toward her breasts, where he cupped his hands over each one, rubbing them as she reached behind to press his body toward her even more, which thrust her breasts toward his reach. Francesco took that as a sign and moved his fingers along the top edge of her camisole, sliding his fingers down, nudging her barely-there strapless bra out of the way as his fingers sought those hard nipples he’d so wanted to feel earlier. He pressed them between his thumb and forefinger, massaging them as he felt them grow tighter in his fingers. She gasped. Good lord, if he wasn’t careful he was going to lose it right here on the terrace of his mother’s best friend’s palazzo, which would so not be cool. He broke the kiss but continued to play with her nipples and massage her breasts.
Blue-Blooded Romeo (The Royal Romeos #6) Page 11