Ascension (Book 4, The Watcher Chronicles) (9 page)

Mason comes up to me and takes one of my hands.

“If you need us, call,” Mason tells Aiden. “Keep them safe.”

Aiden nods with a newfound respect for the job he’s been given.

Mason phases us to my house so I can pick up my suitcase.

“Where are we going first?” I ask.

Mason holds out his hand. “Wouldn’t you rather let it be a surprise?”

“Depends,” I say. “Is it somewhere I’ve been before?”

“No, it’s completely new.”

“One of your other homes?”

“No, this is a hotel room but a nice one.”

I take Mason’s hand with my free one and instantly find myself standing by a pair of closed French doors that lead out to a stone terrace. The sound of lapping water makes me look out past the doors to a sight I never thought I would see.

Of all the cities in the world, Venice, Italy has to be one of the most recognizable. Who doesn’t know about the city surrounded by water with its canal streets and gothic style?

I look at Mason by my side and smile.

“How long do we get to stay?  Can we go sightseeing?”

Mason takes me in his arms and I know he’s pleased by my excitement.

“We can do whatever you want. The Watcher for Italy has a ball every year to kick off Carnival. I thought we would go this evening.”

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a ball.”

“I’ve got that covered,” he says, taking my hand and leading me from the grand parlor we’re in into an opulently appointed bedroom.

It’s decorated in gilded Venetian style furniture and yellow brocaded walls. The floor is marble with various throw rugs underneath the furniture. A large bed fitted with a yellow silk comforter and a glossy brown wood head and foot board is butted up against the outer wall. A wardrobe made in the same style as the bed is on the wall to the right and there is another set of French doors that lead out to a separate terrace from the one in the front room. On the ceiling is a beautiful fresco depicting three chubby cherubs flying in the clouds and blowing slim trumpets with white stucco work surrounding it like a frame.

Lying across a wing back chair in the room is a beautiful ball gown. Its color lies somewhere in the color spectrum between coral and pumpkin.

I giggle because I feel too happy not to and then pull Mason fully in my arms.

“Make love to me,” I tell him.

And that’s all I have to say…

We do get some sleep afterwards. Sometime around noon in Venice, we roll out of bed and get ready for a little sightseeing. Mason and I walk hand in hand down to the hotel’s concierge desk on our way out.

“Ahh, Signor Collier,” the man behind the desk says. He’s older, possibly in his fifties with grey hair and wire rimmed glasses. “I am glad to see you in our establishment once again.”

“Thank you, Arnoldo,” Mason says. “Good to see you too. Would you mind having supper sent up to our room at around five this evening?”

“Si, Signor Collier. The usual?” Arnoldo looks at me and I see a moment of confusion in his eyes but he quickly looks away from me and back to Mason.

“Yes, that’ll be fine.”

Mason and I walk out of the hotel and get into one of the gondolas which serve as water taxis in the city. We don’t stray too far from the area the hotel is in but we don’t have to. Mason takes me to see the Piazza San Marco, St. Mark's Basilica, and Doge's Palace, which are all close in vicinity to the hotel. All through the city, I see people dressed in colorful costumes and intricate masks to celebrate Carnival. The atmosphere feels alive with excitement and it only adds to the joy I feel having Mason show me one of his favorite cities.

By the time we get back to the hotel, it’s a little past five and our supper is waiting for us. I sit at a small table in the main parlor room as Mason brings me my plate from the cart.

“What is it?” I ask looking at the food on the white china plate he places in front of me.

“Calf fillet with nutmeg cream potato tart, salted shallot, sweetbread and morel sauce.”

“Ok, steak and potatoes,” I say making it simpler to understand.

Mason chuckles. “Yes, basically.”

After supper, we take a bath together, which ends up drenching the marble floor from an impromptu make out session in the bath tub. Before Mason gets to the point of no return, I pull away from him and quickly step out of the tub. Mason groans in frustration and looks at me like a little boy whose favorite toy was just snatched out of his hands.

I giggle.

“Later,” I tell him, picking up one of the hotel robes and putting it on, “when we get back from this ball you’re taking me to.”

“Are you purposely trying to torture me, woman?” Mason moans.

“Torture is such a harsh word,” I say to him playfully, leaving the front of the robe open as I turn back to him. “Just think about how much you’ll want me when we get back.”

Mason stands from the tub fully displaying just how much he wants me now.

“If I wanted you any more than I do at this very moment,” he tells me, “I’m not sure I could walk properly.”

I giggle again, pick up the other robe and walk over to hand it to him.

“It’ll be worth the wait,” I promise him. “I want to try something new with you tonight.”

“New?” Mason asks, sounding intrigued by my proposition as he steps out of the tub and puts the robe on. “What is there left that we
haven’t
done?”

“It’s something I haven’t done to you yet,” I tell him, feeling shy all of a sudden, trying to explain exactly what I want to do to Mason.

Mason squints at me in confusion still not understanding what I’m trying to allude to.

“I guess you could call it… a reverse marshmallow,” I say, not being able to think of another way to describe what I want to do without it sounding crass.

Mason’s eyes light up in gradual understanding and he grins.

“Now you’re really just making my torture excruciating,” he tells me. “You know we could just stay here for the rest of the evening. I’m sure no one will notice us missing from the ball.”

“And let that beautiful dress go to waste?” I ask. “Not a chance, buster. You’re taking me to the dance. But just remember, when you see me lick my lips, I’m thinking about what I’ll do to you when we get back here.”

Mason phases and is immediately standing in front of me. His hands delve inside the interior of the robe and his mouth descends upon mine. He snakes one of his hands in between us and makes me seriously reconsider his offer of staying in the room for the rest of the evening. He brings me to the brink of finding fulfillment and pulls away, leaving me gasping for breath and desperate for more.

“Two can play at your little game,” he tells me as he walks away with a satisfied grin on his face.

I stare after him trying to steady my breathing.

“I can’t believe you just did that to me,” I say.

Mason turns to face me, still grinning.

“My offer still stands,” he says.

I feel my resolve harden like concrete. “No, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of winning.”

“But really, Jess, wouldn’t we both turn out to be winners in the end?”

I stick my tongue out at him which makes him chuckle.

“You’re not winning,” I tell him and close the bathroom door so I don’t have to look at his devastatingly handsome, completely sexy face smiling at me.

Damn him and that smile.

After we get dressed, Mason phases us to the residence of the Watcher of Italy. It’s a fully restored piano nobile close to the church of Santa Lucia which overlooks the Grand Canal. Being that it’s a Carnival ball, we have to wear masks just like we did at Angela’s ball on New Year’s Eve. Mine looks like a glittery monarch butterfly which matches my dress and Mason’s is a simple black mask that only covers the upper portion of his face. If there is anything just as sexy as a naked Mason, it’s him dressed up in an exquisitely tailored black tuxedo. Even with half his face covered, he seems to attract the attention of every female we pass on our way to what Mason told me is usually the living room in the house, but tonight it has been emptied of most of its furniture to become the ballroom for the festivities.

The room is large with marble floors and wall size frescos decorating two of the walls. Four ceiling high doors lead out to a large stone terrace which overlooks the Grand Canal. Hanging from the stucco ceiling is a large crystal chandelier which provides most of the illumination in the room.

A man phases in beside Mason. I recognize him as Andre Greco. Even before I met Mason, I was able to recognize many of the Watchers who were in charge of the other nations in the world. Andre stuck out in my mind because of one thing:  he was so dang pretty. Every Watcher is gorgeous but the best word to describe Andre was pretty. Not to say he didn’t look manly but his pouty full lips were shaped into a perfect stretched out heart. When you looked into his eyes it was like looking up into the brightest clear blue sky marbled with white clouds. His rectangular face was softened by perfect high cheek bones. Even though you could tell he shaved, the dark brown hair had already grown out to a short stubble accentuating his strong jaw line. His dark hair is slicked back this evening making him look very debonair.

“Glad to see you could make it, my friend,” Andre says to Mason, as they both shake hands.

“I wasn’t allowed to miss it,” Mason tells Andre, and I hear a slight grumble with the words as he lets me know he would still rather be in our hotel room.

Andre turns his full attention to me and smiles.

“You must be Jess,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake. “Andre Greco, your host for this evening’s festivities.”

“Nice to meet you,” I tell him, firmly shaking his hand.

“Please consider my home yours while you are here,” he tells me. “There will be a parade out in the canal in a little while. I highly suggest watching it if you’ve never been to Venice during Carnival. They put on quite a show.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. “We’ll be sure to look for it.”

“As for anything else you might need, there is a table of refreshments in the room off to the right,” he says, pointing to a large set of doors which are open and lead from the ballroom to said room.

“Andre!” A woman on the other side of the room calls out, waving for him to come over to her.

“Please excuse me,” he tells us. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Andre phases and is beside the woman requiring his attention before I can even blink.

“Since you’re forcing me to stay here,” Mason says turning to me and bowing at the waist with his hand out, “may I have the pleasure of this dance?”

I place one of my hands in his and say, “Yes, you may.”

A small string quartet is set up in one corner of the room and is providing the music for the ball. Just like at Angela’s party, I let Mason lead me around the room and find it even easier than before. A lot has happened between then and now and I guess my trust in him has grown accordingly. We dance three times in a row before I ask to stop to get something to drink.

I’m standing off to the side in front of one of the painted wall frescos. Mason is walking from the room where the refreshments are. He holds two fluted glasses filled with champagne, one in each hand. He looks over at me and I casually lick my lips. He grins almost shyly at my subtle reminder of pleasurable things to happen later that evening.

Just as Mason steps back into the ballroom, it happens.

A woman I don’t recognize dressed in a frilly blue gown wearing a glittery green mask with peacock feathers jutting out from the side stops Mason by placing one of her perfectly manicured hands on his chest. I watch as he looks down at her and before he can say anything the woman wraps her arms around Mason’s neck, stands on her tip toes and kisses him deeply, full on the mouth.