All For A Blast Of Hot Air: Tour Director Extraordinaire Series, #5

By R. Ann Siracusa

A secret pre-nuptial honeymoon, a hot air balloon safari, and a plot to kill the US president all come together at a Vatican wedding.

I'm Harriet Ruby, tour director extraordinaire. Finally, I'm tying the knot with Will Talbot, my favorite spy and the love of my life, despite my nagging concerns about his dangerous profession. He could get killed!

I don't want my children to grow up with an absentee father...or a dead one, but Will's work is his calling. I can't ask him to give it up. When he holds me in his arms, I have no doubt he'll find a way to make everything right.

To avoid the huge Italian wedding my mother is planning in California, I jump at an offer to get married in the Vatican, only to learn my whole tribe is making the trip to Rome for the ceremony. Darn. Now, I'm stuck planning a big wedding in two months without help. I freak out totally when my boss cancels my vacation time scheduled for the honeymoon.

At Will's suggestion, we get married at city hall, hire a wedding planner, and then take off on our honeymoon before the church ceremony. The first leg of our trip is a hot air balloon safari in Africa—well, it sounded like fun at the time—but afterward, we'll have two quiet, relaxing weeks totally alone.

When a member of our tour is kidnapped, I learn Will accepted an assignment from the US government to keep the kidnap victim under surveillance—after he'd promised me his full attention. All my doubts about the marriage raise their ugly heads.

Have I jumped the gun? Sure, we love each other, but is that enough to make this marriage work?

It won't matter if we don't get out alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Ann Siracusa
• Release date: Sep 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386712572

Book preview

Also By R. Ann Siracusa

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Tour Director Extraordinaire Series

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Book One: All For A Dead Man's Leg

Book Two: All For A Fistful Of Ashes

Book Three: Destruction Of The Great Wall

Book Four: All For Spilled Blood

Book Five: All For A Blast Of Hot Air

Short Story One: First Date

Short Story Two: An Elf For Christmas

Short Story Three: Halloween In The Catacombs

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The Last Weekend in October

All in the Game

A Time for Melody

Family Secrets: A Vengeance of Tears

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Short Story: Tiffany

Shorty Story: Time In A Bottle

Dedication

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This book is dedicated to my friends Lana and Eric Smal

who were such gracious hosts on my trip to South Africa.

I met them on my first solo trip to intriguing foreign lands,

Egypt, in 1993. Rest in Peace, Eric.

Acknowledgements

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In acknowledgement of the many friends, relatives, and colleagues who helped me, I thank you for your support and contributions.

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My special thanks:

To my husband and hero, Luciano

To my dear friend and colleague,  Shirley Wilder, who went with  me on my trip to South Africa, Zimbabwe, Botswana, and Namibia.

And

To my critique partners

Shirley Wilder

Toni Noel

Mary Galusha

Stephanee Ryle

Chapter One

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Mom! In my excitement, I almost yelled into the telephone. You can stop planning the wedding.

Six simple, everyday words. It's amazing the effect they can have, given the correct ― or incorrect ― combination.

Silence dropped with a thud that resounded all the way from California to Rome and stretched into eternity.

Perhaps not an eternity, but long enough for me to realize my particular choice of the six words might not have been the best. In an instant, they had wrought total devastation on a dream my mother had harbored for the last twenty-one years.

A huge Italian wedding for her only daughter. Me. Harriet Ruby.

I heard her draw in a huge gasp of air and let it gush forth. Oh, Harriet, dear! Why are you calling off the wedding? What happened?

I held the receiver away from my ear. Relax, Mom. It's nothing like that. We―

I'm so sorry. Isn't there something―

Mom! The damage was done. She didn't hear another thing I said. I covered the speaker and whispered, for no particular reason, to my fiancé Will Talbot. She thinks we've broken up and are calling off the wedding.

Shaking his head with resignation, Will took the phone from my hand.

Hello, Maria?—that's my mother—Yes, this is Will. No... no, everything is fine.

I hung onto his arm and leaned into him, unable to decipher the nonstop flood of words bouncing from satellite to satellite and spewing out as an incessant buzz into his ear.

No, but―

Oh, boy. Have you ever had those moments you wished never happened? That you could wipe the slate clean and start over, after putting your brain in gear?

No, but ― Maria, stop!

The buzz ceased. Will Talbot, my über spy extraordinaire, is amazing in lots of ways, including dealing with my mother.

Thank you, Maria. Now, listen to me. You can relax. Harriet only wants you to stop planning the wedding because ― he paused for emphasis ― we're getting married in the Vatican.

Those final six words created another long hiatus, but for a different reason. Why didn't I think of that?

He shook his head and grimaced at me in mock disgust, no doubt wondering the same thing. It might have been real disgust... at least disappointment.

Yes, I know they only do that for special people. I guessed Will had responded to an astonished protest from my mother. She would never accuse him of lying, because she adores Will. Besides, he never lies. He does omit details occasionally, but only when he's not allowed to mention them.

Life's a little complicated with him being a spy and all.

When certain people there heard we were planning to get married, they offered, he went on. "You know, because we saved the Pope's life a year ago. He glanced at me and winked. We couldn't possibly reject such an honor."

More buzzing. The fourth of September. Pause. Right. The fourth is a Monday. Another pause. No, I'm afraid they don't do weekends. St. Peter's is pretty well booked.

When he hung up a few minutes later, he put his arms around me, and we snuggled back under the covers, our legs tangled together. I'd waited to call my mother until after dinnertime in California, and it was four o'clock Saturday morning in Rome.

I yawned and molded my body against his, attempting to dispel the tension holding me in thrall. How'd she take it?

He chuckled, a deep amused rumble in his throat, and nuzzled my neck, sending ripples of desire skittering through me. Your Mom's tough. She'll be all right, but you'd better let me do the explaining from now on.

The elephant of despair which had been sitting on my chest seemed to pop and, with a sudden swoosh, a huge weight lifted from me. I heaved a deep sigh of relief from the bottom of my soul. Happiness bubbled through my blood.

Thank goodness. Even with Mom and Aunt Connie doing all the planning, I couldn't have faced a gargantuan wedding. My nerves are already raw. I cuddled tighter against him and buried my face against his muscled chest, savoring the scent of sweet musk and essence of Talbot.

He chuckled with amusement and a tad of relief. I know. You were already driving me nuts. That's why—

You pulled some strings, I finished for him. "You did that for me?" Touched by his concern, I swallowed hard, gulping down the flood of emotion. My eyes filled. I love this man so much.

For both of us. Not a totally selfless act, I'm afraid, and it was the one reason your mother couldn't object to. She can recoup her good standing in the Italian community by announcing we’re getting married at St. Peter's in the Vatican. I doubt anyone she knows can top that.

"You are so good! That's why I love you so much."

That's all?

We-ll, maybe it's because you're gorgeous, you have great buns, and you're the sexiest man alive. And because you're smart and speak seventeen languages fluently, you smell good and you're gentle and fearless and—

Stop talking. His soft lips covered mine, his tongue penetrated, demanding, sucking on mine until my head spun.

This too. Then my senses overloaded and I couldn't think, totally lost in shuddering pleasure.

Later, sated and limp with contentment, we dozed. I awoke to him nibbling at my ear.

Hmm. Is it morning yet? I eased away, stretched long and hard, then curled against him again. Will...

I hesitated so long he pulled back and turned me so he could peer into my eyes, holding me in place so I couldn't escape.

His voice conveyed concern. What's the matter?

"Mm, nothing. I was wondering if—is this going to change when we get married?"

Will stiffened and gazed into my eyes with an unreadable nuance of expression. If you're asking if I'm going to whip out a roll of duct tape, run a line down the center of the bed, and put my Kevlar vest and a can of Mace between us, the answer is definitely not.

I grimaced. Mace would be risky.

He laughed with amusement and some other undefined emotion which made me fidget in place. He wasn't done with me. With your track record, we'd better forget the Mace. But if you mean this...

Cupping my breast, he took the swollen nipple into his mouth, pinching lightly and pulling, sending bolts of sexual desire to my core, flushing my body with heat, then trailed hot kisses down my quivering abdomen and between my legs. My body arched, and, in a heartbeat, I flew from unprepared to orgasm to spinning in space among the stars.

He gave me time to come back to earth and relax, utterly contented, and then said, "If you mean that—yes, it's going to change."

My heart seized, then slammed against my rib cage. I pushed him away and sat up. What do you mean, it's going to change? Confused and alarmed, I grasped his shoulders and shook him.

Gently clamping his strong hands around my wrists, he pulled me back down onto his chest, our faces inches apart. Our gazes locked in the dim early morning dawn seeping through the slats of the veneziani shutters. As I understood it, you were asking me if our sexual relationship would change when we get married. I answered you.

But I don't want it to change!

Get a grip, Tiger. You know everything changes.

I sniffed and held back the tears burning behind my eyes. M-maybe we shouldn't g-get married.

Sucking in a deep breath of frustration, he rolled me under him, nudging my legs apart and settling his weight in the V of my thighs, his gaze boring into me.

"Jesus, Harriet. I didn't mean that. Think! Do you remember how our relationship was when we first met in Morocco, three years ago? Do you want us to go back to how we were then?"

"Yes, I remember. It was good—really good—but I like things the way they are now." His erection pressed against me. Oh, yeah. I definitely like things the way things are now.

We've both changed, Tiger. Our relationship has changed—for the better, but it's not the same. We're at a different time and place in our lives. We'll never be back there, and we'll never be back here again, either.

My lower lip trembled with trepidation and disappointment. You're scaring me, Will. Promise me everything will stay the way it is now. Even as I pouted and sniffed like a child, I regretted my foolish statement. Of course, there was no way to stop life from evolving, no going back. I clamped my teeth on my lower lip to stop the quivering.

His face softened into a tender expression, a faint smile tweaking the corners of his luscious lips. He shook his head. "Can't. I can promise you this. As long as I live, I will never love you less than I love you now."

Music to my ears, a silken caress to my fluttering heart. You are so... The word sweet came to mind, but he didn't like being called that. Loveable. I arched my body and brushed my lips across his with feather lightness, then relaxed beneath him.

With his weight on one elbow, he pushed strands of my undisciplined hair off my face and hooked one behind my ear.

I mean it. His pause made my heart constrict, as though his next words would be momentous. But there are a few things I'd like to see change in the near future.

My stomach flip-flopped, and my suddenly-dry throat scratched as if I'd swallowed a mouthful of desert sand. Lifting my head, I managed to rasp, What things?

He grinned mischievously, knowing the panic his words evoked in me and enjoying my discomfort before putting me out of my misery.

First, I'd like to find a way we can actually live together when we're married.

Overflowing with relief, I blinked my damp eyes and forced a weak smile. I thought you were already working on a change of venue.

I am. For now, Robards is pulling strings to transfer me to Rome. After that... He let the sentence dangle.

Whether or not he continued his career with Europol as a special agent still remained an issue for us. A big one. Being a spy couched in the cloak of law enforcement ― ridding the world of evil ― was not only what he knew and what he did, but also his calling. We can live here until we've made long range plans.

Right. Plans for what we intended to do with our lives and careers. For now, I had no intention of giving up my tour director job with Adventure Seekers Travel. Will's purpose in life was still saving the world. Major decisions loomed on our horizon.

You're not going to sell your house in Spain, are you? I attempted, without much success, to suppress the concern in my voice. It's so beautiful.

Beautiful didn't matter, of course. He didn't invest his life in possessions, but the place meant a great deal to him. He adapted to any location and circumstance as necessary, but there I'd seen him actually relax. There he could be himself, without pretense. His house in Algeciras was the one place he felt completely comfortable and safe. I wouldn't take that away from him for anything.

No. At least not for now. My housekeeper and her husband will continue to live there and take care of it for me.

I waited. He'd mentioned two immediate changes he wanted, but his words dribbled to a halt like water stoppered in a tweaked garden hose. I would have quaked in my boots, had I been wearing any. As it was, quaking with trepidation in my birthday suit, I asked, my voice wobbly, What's the other change you want immediately?

For a few moments, silence filled the room like dense smoke. I want you to stop taking those birth control pills.

I think that's when I stopped breathing. Maybe my heart stopped too. This was huge. Fighting for breath, random thoughts tumbled through my head. Mixed emotions burned in my arteries. A troupe of butterflies tap-danced in my stomach.

Before I could get it together and respond, my cell phone beeped.

Why does that always happen?

Your mother, no doubt. Will rolled off me and sat up. I'll get it.

Dazed, I stared up at the ceiling, a mass of jelly, nerves, and incoherent thoughts. We both wanted a family ― we'd talked about it when we were in Russia ― but neither of us seemed ready. We hadn't agreed on what we were going to do with our lives. We hadn't decided about our jobs. We hadn't―

Here. He held out the cell phone. She insists on talking to you.

I struggled to sit, but my unresponsive muscles couldn't find enough traction. Total mush. Will pulled me upright and placed the phone in my trembling hand.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my mother dearly. We're close and good friends. She's awesome. However, she's been planning a big Italian wedding for her only daughter from the time I was five. Unfortunately, I didn't want a big wedding.

Hi, Mom. What's up? How lame was that?

Harriet, darling. I have wonderful news.

Oh, I can't wait! What news?

I've been on the telephone non-stop since I talked to Will.

Not a promising omen. And?

You'll never guess.

I sucked oxygen. My heart pounded so hard I had to order it to behave. Probably not. Can you just tell me?

We're all coming.

Blinking with surprise and confusion, I cleared my throat and tried again. Back up a little. Who are 'we all' and where are 'we all' going?

What's the matter with you, Harriet?

Nothing a couple of fifths of hard liquor wouldn't take care of ... for a while, anyway. I'm fine, Mom. You were saying...

I telephoned everyone in both Dad's family and mine. September fourth is Labor Day and most of them have the week free. And because we won't be spending so much money on the wedding, we've decided to go to Rome for the ceremony. Everyone. Your aunts and uncles and your brother's family. Aren't you excited?

My mind seized. Panic flooded into every cell in my body. Excited didn't begin to describe it.

I dropped the telephone on the floor and collapsed face down on the bed.

*****

For a full five minutes, Will watched my frustrated pacing back and forth across the kitchen while he drank his coffee and ate breakfast. When he finished, he set down his cup with a decided thunk and rose. Stepping into my path, he took me by the shoulders and shook me gently.

Cool it, Tiger. You've blown off your head of steam. Now, settle down. We've got other things to do today.

I crumpled against his hard chest and drew in a ragged sob of frustration. Oh, Will. You just don't understand. Sniff, sniff. You have no way to know how incapable I am to do this.

Instead of cradling me and sympathizing, he held me at arm's length and with one finger lifted one eyelid, then the other.

Annoyed, I stiffened. What do you think you're doing?

Looking.

Pulling away, I planted my hands on my hips in my usual indignant attack mode. For what?

You can come out now, Harriet. I know you're in there somewhere.

Harrumphing, I slapped his hand away as he reached out again. You are making light of my problem, and I don't appreciate it one bit.

Grow up, babe. He cocked his head and shot me a scathing glare that should have shriveled me into an embarrassed lump. You're an adult. Act like one. You've got two months.

Make that seven weeks.

Okay, seven weeks, then. You handle larger events than this wedding on a daily basis.

That's not the same.

Yes, it is. If you can keep tabs on forty ditzy tourists for two weeks in a foreign country where no one speaks the language, manage hotels and bus drivers, and chase terrorists and murderers in your spare time, you can plan a wedding. So what's with this drama queen routine? It's not like you.

Well, I didn't like that attitude at all. Where was his love and support when I needed it?

You don't know my mother. Everything is going to have to be perfect.

"Wrong. I do know your mother. All she cares about is your happiness. Frowning at my childlike behavior, he tapped his forefinger on my shoulder. You are the one demanding perfection. Ease up on yourself."

This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.

Stop pouting. I asked you if you wanted to accept the Cardinal's offer to marry us at St. Peter's, and you insisted you did. Now it's a done deal. I'm not going back to him to say we've changed our minds. So suck it up.

Swiping at my moist eyes, I squared my shoulders and stood straighter. I hate it when he's right.

You're right. I can do this. I'll start this morning.

'Fraid not, sweetheart. We've got to work out, and then we're due at the shooting range for the rest of the morning.

Why am I not surprised?

On the other hand, shooting skills and an assault rifle might come in handy when planning a wedding and managing my family when they got here.

I stifled a sigh of resignation and smiled instead. This afternoon, then. Should I look for a wedding dress or full body armor?

*****

"You were wrong, Will. I can't do this."

I waved a legal-sized piece of paper in his face. He barely walked through the front door of the apartment we shared when he came to Rome on business or for conjugal visits. This was one of the many apartments and accommodations reserved by Europol for guests and out of town personnel. The rest of the time I shared an apartment in another part of Rome with two roommates who were airline flight attendants and never home.

He pushed the paper aside, put his hands on my waist, and pulled me to him. I threw my arms around his neck and enthusiastically accepted his long deep kiss that curled my toes and almost incinerated the dratted to-do list I'd crumpled in my hand.

I swear, when I looked at it after we finally separated and my breathing returned to normal, the edges were singed brown.

Or maybe those were coffee stains.

Hmm. You taste good. You can't do what, Tiger?

I followed him as he hung his jacket in the entry closet and went into the kitchen.

I can't plan this wedding. Not while I'm working too. Summer is the high season for tourists, so Adventure Seekers can't cut me any slack. In fact, I'm going to be working overtime.

He opened the wine refrigerator housing our selection of better wines at an even fifty-five degrees and crouched in front of it, focusing his attention on the twenty-five bottles. Mmm. Something smells good. What's for dinner?

"Costolette alla Marsala." Thanks to my mother, I did know how to cook, although Will and I shared chef duties depending on our schedules.

"Bardolino, then. He removed a bottle of red wine and read the label. Corte Marzago Superiore, 2003. Good year. He set it on the counter. Why do you think you can't plan the wedding?"

Hoping to muster a more sympathetic rise out of him, I attempted the list-wave maneuver again. I've been working on this for a week now, and look...

He took the paper and studied it. Good for you. You bought a wedding dress instead of body armor. That's progress.

Damn agent.

"Actually, I did check out the latest in ballistic protective stabvests but decided it might be overkill, even for my hot-headed family. Besides, they only come in black. Tossing my head, I shrugged off his comment, but the blank expression on his face irritated me. Look again, Einstein. The dress is one lousy thing off a tome with at least a million items."

Where'd you get all this? He flipped the paper onto the counter as though the singed edges still burned, or like a snotty handkerchief he abhorred touching.

Out of a wedding magazine. I dug in the utensil drawer for his preferred corkscrew and handed it to him. Here. At this rate, we might be married before I'm fifty, and by then the dress won't fit. Besides, I only picked it out and paid enough down for the boutique to hold it. I wanted to talk to you first.

He took the corkscrew, but set it beside the wine. Leaning his tight buns against the counter, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, a frown carving two deep grooves between his eyes. I love those little lines, at least when he isn't mad at me. At the moment, his usually brilliant blue eyes were clouded, so I wasn't sure.

You know I don't need to approve your wedding dress.

I shot him a scathing glare at the mere suggestion. "I'm not asking for your approval, but wedding dresses are expensive. We haven't talked about a budget since I found out all the things we need to do. We started out with you, me, the Cardinal and two witnesses. Now, with my family coming, we're into a cast of thousands."

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head a tad and uncorked the bottle of wine to let it breathe. I watched his deliberate and graceful movements and considered myself the luckiest, most blessed woman in the world. I loved him so much.

In my heart, I felt sure God had finally approved our sex before marriage arrangement. Well... maybe not approved, exactly. Forgiven? Overlooked? How about decided not to strike us dead at any moment?

After all, a Cardinal had offered to marry us in St. Peter's Basilica, in the Vatican. We hadn't asked. That had to count for something, didn't it?

All right. Will's abrupt, decisive I've-made-up-my-mind statement brought me out of my thoughts. After dinner we'll talk budget ― I'd like to eat in peace ― but for the rest of it, we're going to hire a wedding planner.

Astonishment caused the air to swoosh out of my lungs, which remained deflated for what seemed hours, then I drew in ninety percent of the oxygen in the room in one horrendous gulp. A wedding planner? Why?

How in the name of dirt and earthworms did an ex-Special Forces, special agent and covert operative know the words wedding planner, much less what they meant?

Will Talbot was an amazing man of many talents.

Befuddled, he stared at me, apparently confused by my negative-sounding reaction. You claim you can't do it all. I don't want you stressing out, so we'll pay a professional to do it.

Nonplussed, I gaped at him. My emotions wavered between pleased I wouldn't have to deal with the wedding and insulted because he thought I needed help. I'm a real piece of work sometimes, right?

Hmm, yes, I guess that's what they're for. I never thought about it. Is that articulate, or what? But to tell you the truth, I never considered a wedding planner. After all, I had my mother.

Chapter Two

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Had being the operative word. She lived over six thousand miles away. Not a lot of help, under the circumstances.

After Will returned to his home in Spain on Monday morning, I tackled the task of hiring a wedding planner.

Here's the thing. At a mere twenty-six years of age, my job as a tour director had already brought me into contact with a vast variety of people from many cultures and with many beliefs. It had saddled me with the responsibility for hoards of tourist-types, many of them strange, quirky, and unusual individuals.

Beyond that, being in a serious relationship with a real spy and special operative had exposed me to another whole world of characters at extreme ends of the spectrum. Some ruthless, fanatical, and deadly. Others, whether compassionate or coldly calculating, dedicated their lives to justice. And then, of course, I couldn't forget my large extended Italian family who reacted emotionally and argued over everything.

In spite of all this exposure, nothing—absolutely nothing—in my life had prepared me for wedding planners. Although they came in all different sizes, shapes, and guises, they were, I learned, a species unto themselves.

Upon the advice of close friends, I insisted on interviewing the planners at our apartment, so I scheduled several appointments for the coming Wednesday, my next day off.

Here's another thing. Free advice from your friends is worth what you pay for. Once they give you advice, it's clear they aren't really your friends. Even when you ask, people who have your best interests at heart keep their mouths shut and let you make your own mistakes.

That morning, anticipating the doorbell, I stood in the apartment's entry hall and waited anxiously. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I adjusted the crease of my linen slacks and checked to be sure nothing like a thong or panty hose hung out of a leg opening. I buttoned and unbuttoned the cuffs of my long-sleeved silk blouse. Staring at the mirror, I reapplied lipstick and fluffed my hair. I even examined my shoes for toilet paper stuck to the soles.

Who me? Nervous? Whatever gave you that idea?

When the ring sounded, I threw open the door. On the threshold stood a petite woman, attractive and carefully coiffed, wearing at least five thousand dollars worth of Alberta Ferretti garments of soft silk. The luxurious scent of Caron's Poivre, at a mere two thousand dollars per ounce, drifted into the room, and from the appearance of her everyday jewelry, I estimated its worth at fifty times the cost of the perfume.

"Signora Molinari? Please, come in. I'm Harriet Ruby." I stepped back and waved her inside, tugging at the back of my slacks as though that might make me appear more able to afford her services.

"Contessa Molinari, from the Molinari Agency." With a slight dip of the head in my direction, the woman brushed past me into the living room and planted herself in the center of the room, studying the décor in minute detail with her chin in one hand.

Now, what do we have to work with? You're planning a wedding for some time in September, I see. How unfortunate. The season is quite important to weddings, you know, and the weather can be so unpredictable. Rome in September can be frightfully hot, so an outdoor reception is quite out of the question. I'm―

I circled around her and thrust out my hand. Ms. Molinari, I'm Harriet. Harriet Ruby.

Her face went blank but her mouth continued to work with no sound coming out. After a tense few seconds which seemed like long minutes, she extended her hand as though she expected me to kiss it.

Miss Ruby? Yes, of course. And you are? The question dangled in the air between us.

I'm the bride.

She pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed as though she questioned whether or not there was a groom—at least she stared at me as though she was sure no one in his right mind would marry me—but never missed a beat.

My dear Miss Ruby. In fact, this is rather nice. Her low melodious voice carried a tone of vast surprise. "I must say, I didn't expect this area to be at all respectable. Some of these old buildings in the center of Rome are usually ugly and squalid, you know—very old and unstable—but you've done an acceptable job on this old place, cara. I'm sure we can work well together. Your own taste