Kingsman: Statesman Meets Challenger

Chapter 7

* * *

Jack shrugged into a fresh suit while Marissa prowled through his suite, not touching anything but observing, he was amused to notice, everything. He had an entire closet now all suitably tailored by Kingsman for every occasion, and because Harry, Eggsy and Merlin all still had grave doubts about the sartorial judgment of any American -and after working with Agent Tequila he really couldn't blame them- each hanger had a neat tag labeling exactly what occasion it was for. This one bore the legend 'semi-formal: impress social climbers' and Jack snickered appreciatively at Merlin's sense of humor as he adjusted the bolo tie pin bearing an understated version of the Statesman logo in sterling silver and black opal that harmonized unexpectedly well with Marissa's blue opals. He selected an appropriate Stetson and matching boots -black with silver trim- yanked on the boots, clapped the hat on his head and went to find his sugarplum.

He found Marissa in the den perusing the small collection of books he kept there -mostly classic Westerns- and was amused to discover she was looking at The Flying V Mystery, his childhood favorite.

"You can borrow it if ya want, sugarplum," Jack murmured, putting his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, a pose that was rapidly becoming his favorite, too.

"I have this same first edition in my library at home," Marissa teased, handing him the book with a wink as she turned around and smoothed out his coat lapels neatly before straightening his collar and tweaking his bolo tie straight. "It was our favorite Western as kids... Jean-Pierre, Rafael and I would run around on horseback playing out whole chapters."

"Mine too," Jack admitted, tickled to realize she was unthinkingly tidying him the same way she undoubtedly did to Jean-Pierre and the as yet unmet Rafael.

Jack slotted the book back onto the shelf and pulling Marissa into his arms, indulged in a long, unhurried kiss that left both of them breathless when they finally -and very reluctantly- had to stop for air.

"Say the word, sugarplum, and we'll blow off the damn party and go to bed here," Jack muttered, half minded to do it anyway just to teach Champ a damn good lesson, but the idea of Poppy's drug ring re-establishing itself all over the world was enough to tank that notion even as it crossed his mind.

"I'm not having you neglect your responsibilities for me," Marissa admonished, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, "even if the notion you would gives me a thrill."

"You want thrills, sugarplum," Jack breathed, "just wait until we're done with the damn party."

"Promise?" Marissa murmured, and Jack had to kiss her again.

* * *

Even with all that, they were only an hour past the party's start time when they pulled up to the valet station at the Manhattan Yacht Club, and the first valet handed Marissa out with a discreetly appreciative glance for her stocking-clad legs while the second accepted Jack's keys with an openly appreciative glance for the vintage Corvette he was about to park.

Jack grinned at the valet. "She handles like a dream," he quipped.

"I'll bet," the valet replied, his eyes sliding sideways to widen at the sight of Marissa in her stunning minidress and silk stockings, a minimalist ensemble that made the neon-pink chiffon atrocity adorning the female half of the couple behind them look trashy and overdone, despite that fact it was obviously obscenely expensive couture. Marissa rolled her eyes in disgust, making sure it was only visible to Jack, and he snickered under his breath as he slipped an arm around Marissa's waist and guided her down the dock along with a crowd of other guests.