“A kiss?” My face warms. Why does that make me turn a shade or two of pink? He told me moments ago we’re getting married but I think maybe he’s teasing. As my eyes search his face I come to the conclusion this man is likely not one that makes jokes about serious things.
“A kiss.” His free hand that isn’t still holding mine comes to my hip. He pulls me into his big body. I have to let my head drop all the way back to look up at him. His hold on me is both possessive but soft. Gentle is not a word I would have ever thought to use to describe this man when I first saw him.
“Your eyes,” I say. They look soft too. I no longer see that deadly assessing look they had.
“My kiss, Kotyonok.”
“Violet,” I correct. “You can’t call me another woman’s name and then kiss me.” I tisk him with a thump to his giant chest. This makes his lips curve up in a little smile.
“Kotyonok means kitten in Russian.”
“Oh.” I furrow my eyebrows together. “You call other people that?”
“No, Kotyonok. Only you.”
“Okay. Then you can have your kiss as payment.” I pucker up, thinking this is going to be one of those fast smacks on the lips. His mouth turns from the firm line to another smile. It makes his face light up for almost a second before it’s gone.
I miss seeing more of it though because my stupid eyes fall closed when his mouth comes down on mine. He pulls me more into his hard body. I melt into him as my feet leave the ground. He makes it easier for his mouth to meet mine as he deepens the kiss. There is nothing quick about this. His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip. He may have picked me up on his own and pushed for this kiss but he is asking me to open my mouth for him. He’s silently willing me to give it to him. He wants my consent before he takes my mouth fully and I now want to know what he tastes like.
I give him exactly that. My lips part for him, allowing his tongue to slide in and meet mine. Each new thing I discover about him is never what I expect it’s going to be. I thought our kiss would be rough and rugged, yet it’s nothing like that. His sweetness fills my mouth as he gently owns it. I realize now that he’s a gentle giant when it comes to me. I don’t know how I thought he would taste but it wasn’t of sticky sweet marshmallow. I moan into his mouth not only from what he’s doing to me but from the taste of one of my favorite desserts. I now know he stole some of the ones that were being passed around at the party. There has never been a kiss better than this in all of history. No one can top the taste of Victor mixed with a hint of mini smores. My mind drifts to how his giant hand looked picking up the tiny desserts and popping them into his mouth. I’m guessing by the way he’s devouring me right now that I look like one of those tiny little snacks to him.
My tongue continues to tangle with his as I try my best to mimic his actions. This kiss is my first. I’m not counting the one that was stolen on the playground by Johnny when I was six years old. I’d pushed Johnny to the ground and sworn off boys at that time. I dig my hands into Victor’s shirt, not having any thoughts of pushing him anywhere. I feel him free my hair from its tie. The only thing I can think about is how I’m going to get more of his kisses without him realizing.
Chapter 3
Victor
She kisses like an innocent—an untouched, unpracticed innocent. I can still taste her a day later.
“Is Lennox really getting married?” Ted asks as we oversee a desk being carried in by two workers in white jumpsuits.
I doublecheck their photos the company sent over to ensure that we don’t have imposters.
“Apparently.” Earlier this morning, Lennox arrived in the suite to announce that he was getting married. I initially thought it was a joke, although Lennox is not one to make jokes, but given his previous monk-like existence and focus on business, the statement felt out of place.
“Can’t believe it. Sure, Smooth is hot, but you don’t have to marry a girl to bone her, am I right?”
King reaches over and slaps the back of Ted’s head. “Don’t be a fuckhead.”
Ted tries to duck out of the way. “Yo, Vic, you agree with me, don’t you?”
“Sokolov.”
“Huh? Oh, that’s right. No first names. What do the women say in bed when you call them by their last name? That doesn’t ruin the moment?”
I make a note to fire Ted. King gives me a wry glance over the head of our soon-to-be ex-employee. We do extensive profiling of our hires because they need to be free of any outside entanglements that might open them up to blackmail schemes or other pressures, but apparently our process allows for the occasional small-dicked, big-mouthed, loose-lipped asshole to slip through. That will have to change.
After all the furniture is changed around in the suite to accommodate the new temporary headquarters of Lennox Luxury Living, I direct King into my suite at the other end of the hall.
Tossing my clipboard onto the low wooden coffee table, I ask, “What report do you have on Eugene Collins?”
&nb
sp; King takes a seat while I pour him a drink—decaf, as stimulants are not allowed on the job. He accepts the cup of hot liquid gratefully and gulps down half the cup before speaking.
“Nothing as far as I can find. Eugene Collins is a fifty-six-year-old man, married with three daughters. He owns four car dealerships in New Jersey and seven apartment buildings. The buildings are managed by Collins Properties, Inc. which is run by the eldest daughter, Amethyst Collins, otherwise known as Amie—to everyone but you, of course. The middle daughter is Daffodil and she is in San Francisco working at a tech startup specializing in game apps. Violet, who, in my opinion got the best name of the group, was sent down here a year ago. The Collins finances appear clean.”
“Appear” being the operative word. “Dealerships are a common way for syndicates to wash money.”