Lair of the Lion

battle, signore," Isabella answered, deliberately packing the snow in her hand tighter.
    "I fear it is unfortunate for you and your captains that you walked into the middle of it."
    Without hesitation she threw her missile straight at Don DeMarco. "You may get hit in the heavy action."
    Nicolai deflected the projectile in midair, preventing it from hitting his head. Ignoring his shocked companions, he bent to scoop up handfuls of snow. "You just made a mistake, signorina. No one is better than I at this type of warfare," he declared.
    Isabella took Violante's hand and began backing up, laughing. Violante caught at Theresa, who remained stiffly staring at the ground.
    "With your permission to disagree, Don DeMarco," Sergio said, reaching for some snow.
    "I believe I used to be the champion." He fired off two snowballs at Nicolai, both hitting their target, then lobbed a third projectile playfully at his wife.
    Violante lifted her skirts to run, but the ice crystals hit her shoulder before she could move. Without hesitation she caught up handfuls of the flakes and tossed them at her husband, running backward as she did so.
    Isabella hit Rolando square in the middle of his forehead and doubled over laughing at his expression. Nicolai took advantage of her merriment, pelting her with snow until she was nearly covered in white flakes.
    Rolando began to laugh, suddenly stooping to shape the snow into weapons of his own.
    He threw two at Isabella, who was laughing so hard she couldn't retaliate.
    "Theresa! Help!" Isabella pleaded as Nicolai dove at her. Violante clearly had her hands full warding off her husband.
    Isabella's pleas roused Theresa to action, and she proved to be the best of the women at the warfare, accurate and swift. Isabella loved the sound of Nicolai's laughter. More than anything else, she loved that the others saw him as she did. A man. He seemed young and carefree, the battle fast and heated, his worries set aside for the childhood game. She loved the feel of his arms around her waist as he rushed upon her, tipping them both into the snow. She felt the brush of his lips in her hair as he kissed her temple before firing off a flurry of snowballs at Sergio and Rolando.

    It was all over much too soon, the men helping the women out of the snow and dusting off their clothes. Children had crowded around to cheer them on, most staring in awe at Don DeMarco, shocked and happy that they saw him out and about.
    Nicolai brushed the snow from Isabella's hair and shoulders, his hand lingering against the nape of her neck. She looked happy, her eyes sparkling with joy. Everything in him melted as it always did when she was near. Isabella. His world. "Where were you going, Isabella?" he asked, his gaze scanning the crowds restlessly as if something or someone might harm her. "I wasn't informed you were going out."
    "How dreadful." She reached up and brushed snow from his wild hair with her gloved fingertips. "You really must talk to those spies of yours. They aren't doing their job." Her gown was wet, and she was beginning to shiver despite her warm cloak.
    He caught her chin firmly and forced her to meet his gaze. "You need to get warm. Go back to the palazzo," he ordered.
    "You have incredibly beautiful eyes." She flashed a sassy grin. "Very unusual." She loved the color, gold with nearly translucent irises, loved his long, almost feminine lashes.
    "You told me the truth when you said you did not understand the meaning of the word obey. You do not obey even the dictates of your don." He leaned close, so that his lips were against her ear, so that his body brushed hers, sending little whips of lightning dancing through her bloodstream. "Do not think to distract me with your pretty words."
    "Never, signore. I would never consider such a thing." Her mouth curved in a tempting smile. "I believe you men have much to do, so we will, of course, excuse you to your more serious duties."
    Nicolai couldn't resist the temptation of her smiling lips. He simply bent his head and fastened his mouth to hers. Just like that he created magic, fanning a fire from smoldering embers so that flames raced through her bloodstream and her body throbbed and pulsed in reaction.
    Energy crackled around them, and the very air seemed alive. He lifted his head slowly, regretfully, oblivious of the children giggling and the four grown-ups staring in shock at him. His hands framed her face, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "It grows dark