1. Adam
One
Adam
Fucking hell, it’s hot. I crank up the AC another notch in the Aston and roll my shoulders. Four days in this swamp and I cannae figure out how the locals walk around without melting. Christ, give me Edinburgh rain any day of the fucking week.
I take the turn off the main road.
Right then. Let’s go meet the bride. That’s what I’ve been calling the wee thing in my head.
The bride . Jasmine Venn. Twenty years old.
Cute in the picture in her file, and looking like a fucking bairn .
The bairn I’m about to put a ring on so my mother and sister can sleep at night while I run operations on the other side of the ocean. Jesus…
Worse plans have been made, lad. Fucking suck it up!
The estate comes into view through tall trees, and I let out a low whistle.
Christ, Venn. Ye lived in a fucking palace and didnae bother to paint it.
The place is a shitehole. Big old white house turned grey, paint peeling off the columns, shutters hanging by their hinges, a fountain that hasnae had water in it since the dinosaurs, weeds in the gravel…
I run a hand over my beard, settle my jacket, and take the porch steps two at a time, the wood giving under my boots.
I don’t use the brass knocker. That’s for guests. I use my fist. Three hard knocks that say open the fucking door .
I hear footsteps inside; the lock turns, the door pulls open. And every plan I made walks out the back of my skull and shuts the door behind it.
Fuck. Me.
She’s not the girl in the photo. She’s a woman .
In her mid-thirties, maybe. With deep brown skin that looks soft and warm in the sunlit hallway, a full fucking mouth, gorgeous big brown eyes that look a bit tired.
She’s wearing her curly dark hair pulled back in a bun.
A blue cotton dress with thin straps falls to her knees, doing fucking criminal things to my blood pressure.
I stare at her soft, round shoulders, the full tits pressing against the cotton of the dress, the slope of her soft waist, thick fucking thighs I can see the shape of through the thin fabric…
But I also notice how her arms are crossed tight, like that’s the first thing she does when she hears an unexpected knock on her door.
Aye, you been hurt before, darling.
The thought makes me want to find everyone who’s made her build these walls and take their fucking teeth out, starting with her dead husband, who I’d dig up just for the pleasure.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I want her in my house, in my bed, on my arm.
I want my name on her papers and my mouth on her cunt and my hands all over her fucking mouthwatering curves.
I want to know what she smells like up close, what she sounds like when she laughs, when she comes, what she looks like first thing in the morning and when she drifts into sleep at night.
I want to put a whole fucking flock of babies in her.
I want to slide my ring on her finger. I want to fucking marry her tonight and figure out the paperwork in the morning.
The contract requires a member of the Venn family to marry a Maksimov. This is MY bride. I want her so bad I can feel it in my teeth.
I take a slow breath. “Mrs. Venn?” I ask. My voice comes out rough. I clear my throat and try again. “Adam Maksimov.”
She’s looking at me like she’d put a bullet in me if she could.
She nods. “Mr. Maksimov.”
Christ. Her voice. It’s low and has a bit of grit in it.
Two words and I’m sporting a semi on a stranger’s porch like I’m fifteen fucking years old.
I want to know what she sounds like saying, Adam , begging, please.
. . I want to know what she sounds like at three in the morning with my hand wrapped around her throat, my cock buried deep inside her warm, wet pussy.
Down, Maksimov. Just fucking got here.
My woman is waiting with one eyebrow raised, her arms still crossed defensively over her chest.
I slightly incline my head, the way my mother taught me when I was a boy and she wanted me to know I could be terrifying and a gentleman.
“May I come in?” We both know it’s not really a question.
There’s a flicker behind her eyes. Her arms tighten across her ample chest. Then she steps aside.
I walk past her into the house. Close. Close enough that my sleeve nearly brushes her, close enough to catch the smell of her.
Something soft and warm, vanilla maybe, and just her.
Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.
But she doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. She lets me pass with her chin up, arms tight, and her deep brown eyes fixed on the side of my face.
Oh, lass. Ye have no idea what you just let through your door.