Smoke and Shadows (28 page)

That sounded like her antique glass coffee table. If this early morning tussle was because Trent’s buddies were horsing around and still shit-drunk as could be, she’d gladly put them out of their misery. She knew better than to let those four men crash at her place, but they’d played on her sympathy. They moaned that it had been months since they’d had a drop of whiskey seeing that there was an alcohol ban in military outposts in Afghanistan.
 

It was painful to watch these big badass-looking men, in their thirties no less, whine like little girls. Her brother included.
 

The light in the kitchen came on, followed by Trent yelling, “Who the fuck are you?”

Oh fuck.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Viktor stood in the middle of her living room, one hand gripping the scruff of the shirt of Trent’s buddy, who was on his knees. The other two were piled on top of each other, right where her coffee table once sat.
 

Marissa didn’t know how to react to the scene before her. She was pissed that her precious antique was smashed, relieved that Viktor was back, and alarmed that her brother had a gun pointed at her lover.
 

Knowing that her brother had not decompressed from heightened vigilance that followed each deployment, she was worried that he would shoot first and ask questions later. Viktor wasn’t helping things by pasting on that cold, unfeeling mask of his. There was nothing more chilling than being faced with a man wearing an expressionless face, who had just taken down three men—big men she might add—with his bare hands. They were drunk as sailors judging from the pervading stench of whiskey in her living room, but the tension in the air was electric.

Time to prevent a disaster.
 

“Trent, put down your weapon. I know him.”

“One of your men?” Trent asked. Marissa knew what he meant, but Viktor took it the wrong way and scowled darkly.

“We do work together, but no, he’s not CIA.”
 

Trent relaxed and lowered his gun. Viktor released the guy he was holding who face-planted on her floor.

Still scowling, Viktor said, “Marissa, put some fucking clothes on.”

“Now look here—” Trent began, confusion in his voice as her brother’s eyes swung to her, then said, “Um, he’s right, sis.”

She looked down at herself, appalled that her nipples were clearly visible through her low-cut sleeping camisole which also left little to the imagination. She crossed her arms in front of her and warned, “Don’t break anything else.”

“Iz—”

“All right. I’m going.”

Actually, she was eager to get out of the kitchen. Let Viktor deal with the awkward questions she was sure Trent would be asking.

*****

“So you and my sister?” Trent asked tentatively.

Viktor nodded, but kept his eyes on the three men who were slowly coming around from the systematic takedown he’d given them. They were lucky he’d quickly dispelled the thought that Marissa had replaced him with three whiskey-wasted fuckers. If they had been Reed’s thugs, they wouldn’t be spending their night drunk in their target’s living room. So when one of them ambled toward him, he quickly sidestepped him and sent him crashing—quite purposefully—on top of the ugly coffee table that he detested. The second man was more prepared and actually caught Viktor in the gut with his shoulder, sending him crashing against a wall. However, he quickly caught the second guy’s forehead on his knee and sent him tumbling on top of the first guy. A third man came at him with an iron poker and nearly took out his eye. That just pissed Viktor off, so he swiftly side-kicked him into Marissa’s glass dish cabinet. The man came at him again—quite unsteadily—so Viktor kneed him in the gut, sending the man to his knees. Viktor caught the scruff of his shirt and was ready to knock him out when the kitchen lights came on and Trent Cole appeared with a gun pointed at him.

Marissa appeared behind her brother, half-naked for Christ’s sake. How dare she go to bed in those clothes in a house full of men? Drunk fucking Army guys who probably hadn’t gotten laid in months. Didn’t she have any sense of self-preservation? Did she think her brother could fight off three men like he did? Didn’t she know how fuckable she looked, looking so disheveled with her breasts almost spilling out, her nipples taunting him to take a bite?

To take his mind off the tightening in his pants, he answered Trent. “Yes, your sister and I are together.”

“I find it hard to believe she’s dating you,” Trent said, oblivious to the way Viktor was now glaring at him. Or maybe Marissa’s brother was testing him.
 

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Viktor said. And that was the truth. He was not one who went on dates.
 

It was her brother’s turn to scowl. “She deserves more than being a f— someone you sleep with.”

“You’re her dirty little secret,” Trent continued when Viktor didn’t correct him.
 

Now wait a minute. He definitely didn’t want to be her secret. He wanted every single male—attached or unattached—to know that she belonged to him. Besides, he and Marissa had grown into their relationship amidst danger and mayhem, which tested the mettle of what they shared more than any damned date. Before he could set her brother straight, the idiot added, “I knew she wouldn’t consciously be with someone like you—”

“You do realize you’re insulting me,” Viktor said, his voice had taken on an edge.

“Not at all,” Trent shrugged, but the smirk on her brother’s face belied his words. The three men on the floor started picking themselves up, moaning probably more from a hangover than the beating they had just received.

“Despite her kickass persona, Marissa’s a princess,” Trent said with fondness, Viktor grudgingly noted. “You’re kind of like these guys,” he nodded to his buddies. “Rough and probably exciting. But hate to tell you, man, she’s all Italian leather pumps, haute couture, and five-star restaurant dining.”

“You don’t know your sister very well,” Viktor replied, but a damned pain gripped his chest hinting that maybe it was he who didn’t know Marissa well. Without all this danger, would she still find him appealing? He knew she hated the sterile environment of his house. Knew she loved this prissy row house and everything classy that went with it. Hell, he’d been tempted to tell her to decorate his loft to her liking, but cringed at the idea of her moving her ugly antique table into his living room. Thank God, he took care of that problem, quite expeditiously in fact.

“Look around you,” Trent invited. “This,” he waved his hand over the French stove, to the silly matching rooster salt and pepper shakers, the wrought iron scroll work on the wall, and down to the expensive Persian rug along the hallway, “will always be her. And if you know her at all, the stuff she uses for personal care could cost a mint and probably your entire month’s salary.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Viktor gritted through his teeth. “Are you suggesting your sister is slumming? For all you know, I may want to be her kept man.”

Trent chuckled. “You don’t know my sister at all. She’s a damned strong woman. I doubt she’ll want a man who would allow himself to be kept. The man for her needs to be more than her equal. Look, man, you pulled off some serious shit here, but I doubt you could’ve taken my guys if they were sober.”

Bring it on, you prick
, Viktor thought. He was angry. And he simmered with one emotion that was entirely foreign to him—insecurity. Just when he thought he was beyond his dockworker past, the insecure boy from the projects reared his ugly head. He knew Marissa’s family could trace its roots to American royalty and her father was American shipping magnate Trenton Cole III. But he had made something of himself, damn it. AGS was no small enterprise.
 

“You’re not intimidating Viktor, are you, Trent?” Marissa asked with a grin on her face. Oh, her brother already did, but not in the way she thought.

“Viktor?” Trent frowned.

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Men.” She turned to Viktor. “You guys didn’t introduce yourselves?”

“I know who your brother is, Marissa. I have a file on every single one of your family all the way to your second cousins,” Viktor drawled, noting with satisfaction the deepening lines on Trent’s face.

“Who exactly are you?” Trent asked warily.

“Viktor Baran.”

“Holy shit balls!” One of the drunken men exclaimed, coming forward to take a better look at him. “The Viktor Baran. Man, you’re a living legend.”

Viktor hated groupies. But this was one time he was thankful for his reputation, for it wiped the smirk off Trent Cole’s face.
 

“All right, no fan-girls in my kitchen,” Marissa said. “I’m making coffee, but you guys have to go somewhere else for breakfast. I have cereal, no milk. I haven’t done groceries yet.”

“I’m back and have stuff at my place,” Viktor pulled Marissa into his arms and nuzzled her neck. Trent was glowering at them, but Viktor didn’t give a fuck that it made her brother uncomfortable. He needed to feel his woman.
 

“So you’re bringing him to Tuesday dinner?” Trent asked casually, and he felt Marissa stiffen.
What fucking dinner?

“I just checked my messages last night, Trent, and Viktor just got back,” Marissa said flippantly. “Haven’t mentioned it to him yet.”

The smirk was back. “My mom’s dinner parties are legendary. Sit down, not black tie though, don’t worry.” Trent leaned in as if conspiratorially. “But definitely no cargos, jeans, or tees.”

“Um, Mom’s parties are not Viktor’s style,” Marissa said desperately, and Viktor caught the warning glance she shot her brother. Then looking up at him she said, “Don’t feel pressured to come. You’ll be bored out of—”

“I’ll go,” Viktor said shortly. He was pissed at Trent and Marissa for different reasons.

“Seriously, Viktor—” she tried again, but he cut her off.

“Might as well meet the parents,” Viktor said sarcastically. “Make some coffee, Iz.”

*****

Marissa put the dirty coffee mugs in the dishwasher, sighing with relief when Trent and his friends decided to leave. She couldn’t wait to be alone with Viktor. Whether she admitted it or not, this last separation had been hard. Probably because they hadn’t spent much time together since the attacks in DC. And something was bothering her man. She could sense it in the way he touched her. The brand of his possessiveness was more distinct. His gaze, normally cold when other people were around, was scorching every part of her body.

She could feel the heat emanating from him as his arms pressed around her. His right hand went straight for her breast. The left slipped down and stroked the mound between her legs. He was already hard. He pushed that hardness against her, his hot breath fanned her neck and he whispered, “I wanna fuck you.”

“Um . . . I can tell,” Marissa teased lightly. “Let me—”

But he spun her around and captured her lips ruthlessly. His chest bending her slightly backwards over the sink. Her arms came up to tangle her fingers into his hair. He pulled her away from the kitchen. They were spinning and kissing, his hands gripping her face as he plundered the hell out of her lips.

Her foot hit the bottom of the stairs and they went tumbling. Her back struck a step, thankfully cushioned by his arms, but it still hurt.
 

“You want it rough, huh, baby?” Viktor rasped as he gazed down at her. Marissa had a strange sensation in her stomach. Despite the smoulder in his eyes, his behavior was distant, his words different.
 

“What’s wrong, Viktor?” She tried to prop herself with her elbows, but he shoved her back down.

“Nothing is wrong. I just want to fuck you,” he said. “Take you real dirty with these filthy hands of mine. But don’t worry, your parents will never know you’re slumming.”

Oh, God
. Anger took her out of her sensual haze and she used her legs to push him off.

She scrambled to her feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? What did Trent tell you?”

“He didn’t need to tell me anything.” He tried to reach for her, but she batted his hands away.
 

“Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, so now that your worlds are colliding, you don’t want me to touch you?” Viktor said scathingly. “What’s next? Stick me under your precious rug?”

“No! Trent caught me off guard, and I don’t know if you think we’re serious enough for you to meet my family.”

“You’re laying this shit on me?”

“You know, for all your badassery, you’re quite immature when it comes to everything else.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re forty-six, Viktor. You intimidate senators and directors of every government agency I know. You can certainly handle one Trenton Cole III.” She was spitting mad that he would think she was embarrassed to be with him. “I don’t give a flying fuck that my dad or mom would turn up their noses at you. I’m thirty-six freaking years old. I have my own money. I run a black ops team. And you . . . you run a multi-million dollar security firm.” She looked up and down at him in disgust and shook her head. “You think I’m so shallow after all we’ve been through. I don’t need your shit!”

She ignored the flash of panic and remorse on his face and ran up the stairs. He caught up with her in the hallway, pinning her against the wall with his body.

“I’m sorry. Damn it.” He cupped her face and leaned his forehead into hers. “I’m so fucking sorry, kitten.”

“Didn’t take you for an insecure jackass,” Marissa mumbled. “Your hotness level just dropped to six point five.”

A rumble of laughter shook his chest. His lips were a breadth away from hers. “Could I make you reconsider?” His tongue shot out and traced her lips.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m pretty pissed at you right now.”

Viktor immediately dropped to his knees and ran the back of his hands under the stretchy jersey skirt she had changed into. His fingers trailed up the back of her thighs before he palmed her ass, bringing her core right smack into his face.
 

“I can smell your arousal, duchess.”

“Drop that stupid nickname or I’m . . . Oh, God . . .” He just tongued her through the thin material.