Page 9 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

Maksim.

One bed.

Her mother chose this weekend to renovate not one but all of the guest bedrooms, and being a modern woman, has decided we’ll be just fine if we sleep together.

I grin, grateful to simply be off the plane and on ground again.

It’s unnatural to fly. Half the flight, I had to hold in my vomit, not wanting to look weak in front of that hick.

The other half, I had to watch the way Parker watches Sabrina.

Maybe she doesn’t have feelings for him, but he definitely feels something for her.

Doesn’t matter. She belongs to me now.

After introductions, but before making it up to her bedroom, I’m given a tour of their country home by Matilda, Sabrina’s mother.

I hate to say it, but she’s… pleasant. Nothing like Sabrina.

Or maybe she’s everything like Sabrina, and I just don’t give a flying fuck enough to actually get to know my future wife.

But Sabrina hasn’t made any moves to get to know me either, so… there’s that.

Matilda was kind enough not to mention the bruise around my eye, and I’m grateful for that.

“I’m smaller. You take the bed; I’ll take the sofa.

” Sabrina says, rummaging through one of her bags.

I can’t help but watch her heart-shaped ass as she bends lower, deeper to get to the bottom of whatever’s in there.

It’s a weekend trip; we’ll be leaving Sunday morning, and this woman packed two suitcases full of…

possibly everything in her closet. She opens the door to her bedroom and…

you guessed it - pink . From the walls to the comforter on the four-poster king-size bed to the shaggy rugs on the hardwood flooring is a light pink.

Christ, it’s like she decided to drown her sorrows in Pepto Bismol and spewed it everywhere.

I kick off my shoes, unfasten my belt, and when I'm about to drop trou, she yelps and turns around. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to nap before this ridiculous dinner with your parents,” I mutter.

“Can you at least wait until I leave the room?”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Why? You like what you see? Afraid I’ll have my way with you on this Barbie bed?”

“Barbie bed?”

I gesture about the room. “All the pink? It’s like you called the makers of Pepto and said, ‘yes please, come over and shit all over the place,’ it’s just like you, princess .”

“Don’t call me that.” she snaps, standing ramrod straight and for some reason, my dick stirs at her bratty attitude.

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you not to.”

I let my tired eyes peruse her from the pink polish on her toes, her dainty ankles, strong calves, up her thickset thighs, hips wider than her shoulders, her stomach with that soft swell, her ample chest, clavicles, chin, full lips and that adorable cupid’s bow, rounded cheeks, the beauty mark, green cat eyes, the way her hair frames her face… no. Not a princess. A goddess .

All the air seems to leave the room, and even though she’s ten feet away from me, she’s too close. I swallow thickly, my mouth suddenly too dry. “Fine,” I growl.

She goes back to what she’s doing, and I swear I hear her mutter, “ Beast ,” under her breath. She finally finds what she needs and heads to the door, leaving me to myself.

I put my alarm on for an hour before the aforementioned dinner time, then undress quickly, diving under the covers into the dream-like mattress.

Fuck, I’m going to need one of these for the penthouse when we get back to New York.

The scent of laundry detergent and something else, something…

floral yet fruity hits me. I breathe in the familiar scent, rolling my eyes when I realize it’s the same scent that follows Sabrina around.

The same scent that was permeating in my nostrils the entire seven-hour flight from New York to here.

I don’t let myself think about it, I just close my eyes and let sleep take me, inhaling just a little deeper.

“Mr. Giordano.”

Tap, tap, tap.

I grumble something along the lines of “not yet,” and turn to burrow myself deeper under the blanket.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Maksim?”

Ugh, Christ. I’m fucking exhausted and sore everywhere.

My lips roll inward. Persistent she-devil. I shove the blanket down, gripping it tightly at my abdomen, and I open my eyes to stare at the crystal chandelier above me. Because of course, the Princess of Kensington would have a goddamn sparkly chandelier in her bedroom. “What?”

Sabrina stiffens, standing to her full height in a fluffy pink robe, her hair tightly tucked into a matching towel.

She looks tiny. She sans makeup and she looks so…

so… tender . Youthful. She looks exactly her age, not a wrinkle in sight.

No acne. No worry lines. She’s… I swallow thickly. I can't think about that.

“Didn’t mean to upset you. I tried waking you earlier, but when you turned away in your sleep, I decided to shower first to give you a bit more time to rest. Dinner is in an hour. Is that enough time for you to freshen up? I can tell mama to push it back if you need more time?”

The gentility in her cadence makes my hostility toward her waver, but not completely. I inhale sharply. “No, that’s more than enough time for me to get ready.”

She steps away as I sit up, clutching her… her hands are bare . Naked. Gloveless.

I let my gaze drift to her face, and she looks so much smaller now that I’m sitting up and she clutches her bathrobe tighter across her chest, so much so that her knuckles turn white as if she’s afraid I’ll try to tear it off her curvy body.

She clears her throat, eyes everywhere but my face.

“Perfect. I’ll get ready whilst you shower and then we can go downstairs together. ”

She goes to the walk-in closet, and I tear myself away from the bed, stretching my arms high then wide, yawning without a care.

When I open my eyes, I see her standing just at the threshold of her closet, watching me.

I’m tempted to send a wink her way to ruffle her pristine little feathers, but if I’m honest, she looks more scared than intrigued.

That’s a first for me. Usually, women look at me and their eyes dilate with lust or desire. Not fear.

I head to the ensuite, catching the bruising around my eye has gone down even more with the nap I had.

Then I stare at all the different knobs behind the glass of the walk-in shower and step right the fuck back out into the room - stilled as I catch Sabrina in nothing but a white, satin thong, high on the curve of her waist, just below her belly button, and a matching bra, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror, each curve on display for my greedy eyes.

Little zings zap around in my brain like sparks, shooting straight down to my dick.

I shake them away, not allowing myself to think of her as…

attractive . That’s the last thing I need to think about my bride-to-be.

She said it herself - we’re nothing but a farce.

Names on a piece of paper. Nothing more, nothing less.

So, I smirk instead at the knowledge that it seems she does own something that isn’t pink, other than that fucking black dress she showed up in to the world’s poorest excuse of a funeral.

I wonder what she sees in herself.

Kitten eyes snap to mine, yelping as she dives for her robe. Once she has it on and tied it in place, her eyes are glued to my feet. “Is... something the matter?”

“Yeah, there’s forty fucking knobs in the goddamn thing. How do I work it?”

Her eyes lift and widen. “Oh! Sorry,” she rushes past me a little too quickly, that scent of her infiltrating me as she powers by.

I follow her as she starts pointing to all the different knobs.

“Heat, Cold, Power. If you’d like to turn on the body spray jets, it’s this one,” she mumbles nervously, and my nose scrunches.

Is she afraid of me? “This button out here warms the floor for you when step out. I recommend turning it on at least a minute or two before doing so. I also took the liberty of ordering the things on your preference list Jonathan gave me, they’re all there. ”

Of course she did. My fiancé might be a bit of a bitch, but she is zealous.

I stare at the corner of the shower where the marble shelves are.

It’s a state-of-the-art kind of shower; the kind that’s in my penthouse only flipped.

I should’ve just played with the knobs and figured it all out.

I grunt at her which causes her to leave me with an aggravated sigh.

When I saunter out of the bathroom, she’s sitting at her vanity, hair in champagne waves falling to the middle of her back, held back by some stretchy, fuzzy pink thing around her face.

Her eyes are already lined and cat-eyed, lips glossy, and I stare without wanting to while she applies powder, or contour, or blush, or some shit.

The dust of the powder bounces off her cheeks, creating a soft glow. So… feminine.

I should have jerked off in the shower.

I blink when her eyes land on me in her reflection, and I have to look away, then look around sheepishly for my suitcase. Not finding it, I ask, “Where’s my luggage?”

“Oh, I put it away in the closet to the left.”

I head there, even though I'm right where I hesitantly want to be.

I open the fucking suitcase, pulling out casual slacks, a blue button-up, and undergarments.

I dry myself properly, hang the towel on the doorknob, then step into my boxer-briefs, socks, and trousers.

I step out with my undershirt, shirt and socks in hand, and Sabrina brushes past me.

“Are you finished in here?”

I grunt, “I’ve already seen you, you know? You don’t have to hide.”

This time I watch as the pink crawls up her neck to the apple of her cheeks, unable to meet my gaze. “I’d prefer you forget that.”

I won’t.

It’s the entire reason I should’ve fisted my cock until I came all over the fucking tiled walls of the shower.