Page 95 of Smoke and Shadows
He whispered the words over and over like a chant, as he pressed kisses on her face like a benediction.
17
It wasn’t toohard to get a man like Viktor to the mall, but good luck with having him try on anything. Marissa went through his closet to find something suitable for dinner at her parents. Some slacks with a nice sweater would do, but none could be found. He had several suits and a tuxedo, which were too formal. That’s when she told him they were definitely going to go shopping. He simply shrugged.
When they arrived at one of her favorite boutiques, and after holding up several sweaters against a scowling man, Marissa decided that this simply wouldn’t work. Too much raw energy was bouncing off this guy, and he wasn’t meant to be stuffed in something as tame as a sweater. She needed to think outside the confines of her snobby family and consider clothes that Viktor would feel comfortable wearing.
Jeans. Yes. Her man agreed. He raised a brow at the four-hundred dollar price tag, but knew better than to argue and simply grunted.
So now, they’d entered the gated community of her parents’ house in Bethesda, Maryland. Viktor rolled Marissa’s new BMW behind the latest model Porsche Cayenne Turbo S, what looked to be Trent’s ride. Her parents’ nine-thousand-square-foot brownstone mansion was all lit up, and Marissa prayed that it was only the small crowd her mother had promised.
Viktor got out of the car and walked over to her side to open her door. Marissa was wearing a black tulip blouse over cream silk pants. Her hair was piled in a high knot, with tendrils framing her face.
“You look extremely edible,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to the side of her head.
“You clean up nicely yourself.” Viktor was wearing a white-dress shirt tucked into indigo jeans in an elegant wash. Over this he wore a caramel tweed coat. The whole look enhanced his European ancestry and the best part was, he looked very relaxed. Sometimes she wondered if he was just pretending to hate dressing up. After all, he did attend Senate committee hearings and she was certain he had been in briefings with the President before, which explained the suits. “Although, I’m realizing I could have probably put you in an ugly sweater.”
“Not a fucking chance, sweetheart.” Viktor placed a hand on the small of her back and escorted her into the mansion.
Though Marissa had warnedher mother, Diana Cole’s eyes widened in awe as she took in her daughter’s date. Hard to ignore a man who was towering above everyone else, including six-two Trent. Viktor transformed himself into some suave European gentleman as he kissed the back of his mother’s hand in greeting.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cole.”
She watched her staid country club, pearl-wearing mother visibly preen at the charming smile Viktor bestowed upon her, and for some reason, it irritated Marissa.
“Call me Diana, please,” her mother replied. “You don’t know how relieved I am that my daughter finally has a man.”
“Mother!”
Viktor chuckled.
“Well, it’s true. What with the work you do.”
Marissa shot her mother a warning look, noting that they had relatives—aunts, uncles, and cousins—in attendance who didn’t really know Marissa’s real job. Only her parents and Trent knew of her work with the CIA, and even her mother didn’t know she was in black ops. All Diana knew was that she was a case officer.
“So what do you do, young man?”
It was her turn to control her amusement upon hearing Viktor called a “young man.” It looked like it had disconcerted him too, although he hid it well, barely blinking, but the muscle in his jaw ticked once . . . twice before he told her mother that he worked in security.
The standard answer. Always.
Viktor madehis way through the row of marbled columns, following the personal assistant of Trenton Cole III to the study. He had been summoned. Marissa’s father acknowledged him briefly when they were introduced before dinner and both men immediately sized up the other. Firm handshake, a meeting of eyes, silent communication of an underlying challenge. And Viktor never backed down from a challenge.
Dinner was fairly civilized. A sit-down affair of twenty people in an enormous dining room decorated with expensive renaissance art. The domed ceiling had several arches that were gilded in gold. In between the arches were landscape murals. The whole house was a fucking museum, and Viktor wondered how someone as real as Marissa could grow up in such an environment. Though it did explain her penchant for collecting antique pieces and art. Thedifference was she did it on a smaller and more personal scale.
Some of her relatives were wary of his presence and he couldn’t blame them because unless he consciously tried to relax, his natural aura was intimidating. That was just the way he was honed.
Trent had come up to him during cocktail hour and handed him a drink—a peace offering.
Marissa’s brother had a wry smile on his face. “We got off on the wrong foot, Baran. I owe you an apology.”
“I hope your sister didn’t put you up to this,” Viktor replied. He didn’t need Marissa fighting his battles.
“She talked to me,” Trent admitted sheepishly. “She set me straight.”
Viktor raised a brow.
“She told me to mind my own business.”