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 porcelain 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.”

“Rather scare them than let them think you’re fair game.”

She snorted. “He’s just a boy.”

“And you’re just one person. With so many around, you might not see the enemy coming until you have a knife buried in your belly.”

Isabella’s lips quirked upward. “Thank you for the bloody detail.”

“If it keeps you on your toes, I’ve done my job.”

She straightened, smiled at the next guest and shook her hand. Once she’d passed, she leaned toward Ronin again. “Really, you don’t have to hover.”

“I made a promise to your father.”

“And you take your promises seriously.” She curtsied for a man dressed as Georgian dandy and allowed him to raise her gloved hand to his lips.

Ronin glared.

Behind the half-mask, the dandy winked and released Isabella’s hand.

Isabella poked Ronin in the gut with her elbow. “Stop glaring. You are scaring people.”

“I can’t help it. I don’t like it when other men kiss you.”

“It was only a hand.”

He shrugged. “First, it’s a hand then it’s an arm,” he muttered. “Who knows where it will lead.”

“To Hotel Eden?” She smiled up at him. “Seems you started with a hand.”

“My point, precisely.” He lifted her hand, turned it over and pressed his lips into her palm. Then he closed her fingers into a fist. “Save that as a promise for later.”

A rush of people entered, bringing their banter to a stop.

Several times, Ronin stepped in front of a man or a woman getting too close to Isabella. He’d rather piss off them and Isabella than risk Isabella’s life.

An hour and a half later, the number of new guests trickled to a stop, relieving Isabella of her duties in the receiving line.

“I need a drink,” she said and moved toward the bar set up in the opposite corner from the musicians.

Ronin stuck to her like a magnet, using his body like a shield to get her through the throng of dancing, gyrating people. The band played a mix of old-fashioned waltzes and modern rock and roll. At that moment, it was rock, and everyone was in the middle of the room, bumping and grinding, flinging their arms in the air to the beat of the drummer.

To Ronin, the evening was a nightmare. To the guests, it was a great party, and they appeared to be settling in for the night, drinking enough alcohol to make them stupid.

Isabella asked for a glass of wine.

Ronin requested a bottle of water.

Isabella stared at him over her glass, her eyebrows rising above her mask.

He frowned. “What?”

“No wine?”

“I don’t drink when I’m working.”

She took a sip of the red liquid, some of it clinging to her lips and making him want to lick it off. “That’s too bad. You must have had a few drinks before you asked me to dance two years ago.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You have yet to ask me to dance now.”

“Finish your wine, and I’ll dance your socks off.”

The music slowed to a hauntingly beautiful slow song. A song he remembered from the night they’d met. Ronin plucked the goblet out of her hand and set it on a nearby table. Then he pulled her into his arms and swept her out into the middle of the foyer.

Many of the younger people chose to sit out the slow dance, preferring the faster, rock songs.

Not Ronin, and not the other couples who knew it was a good time for a little belly-rubbin’ to music.

Keeping an eye on the others nearby, Ronin held Isabella close, his hands around her narrow waist. The dress kept him from sliding lower to cup her ass. “I liked it better when you dressed as a bandit in pants. This skirt is impossible.”

“The better to tease you with,” she murmured against his neck.

“Oh, it’s teasing me. I’m wondering if the study is empty and how difficult it would be to get beneath all that fabric and make love to you on your father’s desk.”

“Mmm. I’m sure we could manage. But you saw what went under the dress. It’s not just the dress and petticoat. There are pantaloons, as well.”

“You’re right. It’s too much to deal with.”

She leaned back, a frown denting her brow. “Since when is a US Navy SEAL not up to a challenge?”

His hand found hers, and he squeezed it gently. “Since never. Come on.” He led her away from the dancers to the side of the room, aiming for the hallway and the study beyond.

“Signorina Pisano,” a female voice called out.

Isabella stopped, bringing Ronin to a halt in his headlong rush to get inside her.

The servant who’d brought them breakfast and waited on the table stood in a doorway.

“What’s wrong, Amina?” Isabella asked, and then switched into Arabic. The two women spoke in hushed tones for a minute, far too fast for Ronin to keep up. He picked up words like woman and bathroom, but not much more.

Amina turned and hurried away.

Isabella sighed and touched his arm, giving him an apologetic grimace. “I have to go check on a woman who is ill in the bathroom. I might be a few minutes.”

“I’m going with you,” he said.

She laughed. “Only as far as the door. We have two bathrooms on this floor. One designated for women, the other for men.” She smiled. “I’ll be in the women’s bathroom.”

“I’m still going with you,” he insisted.

She shrugged. “As you wish.” She led the way, circling the large entryway and dodging revelers dancing again to rock music. The lighting dimmed, and a disco ball shone down on the party goers. Ronin blinked, and then realized he wasn’t blinking, the disco ball was, making the room even more confusing. How could he keep Isabella safe in an environment as chaotic as a battlefield? Any moment, he expected to hear the popping sound of gunfire and the rip of a burst from a machine gun. He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the music. But the lights continued to blink. “Can we turn off that confounded light?” he shouted over the noise.

“After I check on the woman, I’ll see what I can do.”

Ronin followed her, almost dizzy with the cacophony of light and sound.

Focus. He had to focus. Isabella’s life depended on it.

They reached the other side of the big hall. Isabella led him down a short hallway with doors on either side. When she came to one marked with the universal sign of a woman, she paused. “I can handle myself. I spent a year in Syria. Trust me.”

He frowned. “I trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

“I will leave the door open long enough to make you comfortable, but the women inside will be disconcerted if you march in like you own the place.”

He nodded. “Don’t be too long, or I’m coming in whether or not the women will be comfortable. I don’t give a damn about their comfort.”

Isabella smiled. “But I do.” She touched his cheek and ducked into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar long enough for him to see inside.

As she’d predicted, there were other women standing in front of the mirrors, adjusting their wigs, masks, hair and whatever else women did in front of mirrors.

He couldn’t see into the stalls, but Amina stood near one, wringing her hands.

Obviously, whoever was in the stall wasn’t feeling well, and it worried the woman.

The door closed between them, leaving Ronin to wonder what was going on. If he heard even a peep out of anyone inside, he’d be in like thunder.

God, he hoped he didn’t hear a peep. Then again, he hoped he did. If something bad happened.

Waiting sucked, especially in tights and a velvet waist coat. He’d give anything for his Ka-Bar fighting knife and an M4A1 assault rifle at that moment. He hoped the night didn’t end in violence, but his gut was telling him something was looming.