FOUR
KIERAN
When Amelie’s uncertain fingers had trailed down over my torso, my dick instantly gave my brain mixed messages.
What the actual hell?
She was slim but had curves in every place my hands wanted to be. And she was so damn small, barely reaching my shoulder. I could probably rest my chin on the top of her head. I was never usually attracted to petite girls. I was a big guy, and they were much too breakable.
Breakable. Why did that word in that sentence get me hard again?
As soon as I saw Vanessa and my sister leave Amelie’s bedroom, I’d decided it was time to introduce myself to my new ‘sister’. I certainly hadn’t expected my body’s reaction when she touched me. It felt like a bolt of lightning shot straight through my dick.
As I’d left her room, I knew I would need to be on my guard; something about the girl had tunnelled under my skin, physically and mentally.
She was too beautiful, and that was a huge fucking problem.
My original idea to have some fun with her could easily backfire.
There was also a vulnerability to Amelie that you didn’t see in today’s woman.
She’d attempted to hide it, but that hurt expression when I’d told her she wasn’t part of the family made me feel ashamed of myself.
As did my comment about her accepting my sister’s cast-offs.
And that hint of conscience proved to be one thing. Amelie Thorn already had the power to make me give a shit, and that was dangerous.
I’d spent the next hour punching the shit out of the fitness bag in the gym, which had helped me to reset my monster.
To say dinner was tense that evening would be an understatement.
It was a minefield: the rhythmic scrape of knives and forks against China was like a deliberate screech across my skull.
I couldn’t fucking think straight. Plus, I was opposite Amelie, my foot grazing hers by accident several times.
Each time we touched, it was like electricity had been wired to my toes, and I knew she felt it too from the way her body twitched in her seat.
Vanessa and my father attempted to keep the conversation flowing, talking about wine pairings, like his kids or our house guests could join in with that bullshit. Although that droning noise was better than silence, it still felt awkward and forced (even more so than usual).
From Amelie’s expression and how she pushed the food around her plate, decimating her chicken, you could tell she didn’t want to be there.
I saw straight through her shy, polite smiles as my family attempted to keep the subject as far away from her parents as possible.
They barely achieved that; what her father had done sat there like a huge fucking elephant in the room.
And when Jessa brought up what subjects Amelie enjoyed at school, the girl went bright red.
I remembered her revelation that she hadn’t been to school for years, but didn’t come to her rescue?
I was determined to remain the bad guy, so why would I?
Bottom line: dinner was as fucked up as it gets. It was the girl's first night after all; she hadn’t even been given the chance to settle for twenty-four hours, and I felt like a shitbag for semi-forcing her to show.
It was a shame that Maisy had been put down early and hadn’t joined us, as her excitable presence would easily have filled out those quieter moments and put Amelie more at ease.
You’re a heartless bastard, but not without reason. If you allow this girl’s vulnerable act to get under your skin, you’re screwed, Rook!
At the end of the day, Amelie had coped under the pressure of dining room banter, but the one-word answers were in no way the height of the conversation.
I hadn’t got a clue where Lincoln was, probably avoiding the fallout of having to play nice. Clever fucker.
Jessa droned on about Sixth Form at school, and her voice started to get on my nerves.
I didn’t want Amelie Thorn anywhere near campus; that was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.
After what our house guest had confessed in her room, I had raised the subject of schooling with my father in his office before dinner.
When I turned up to see him, he was instantly suspicious, as I rarely sought him out. My father had been dismissive, leaning back in his leather chair as he laid out the "plan".
Because of some fluke with her birthday, Amelie was the ultimate academic wild card—she would either be the oldest in Y12 or the baby of Y13. Her case worker, in all their infinite wisdom, wanted her to restart the clock in Y12.
"And the lack of GCSEs?" I’d asked, my voice tight. “The girl’s just going to magic her way into A-Levels?"
Cameron didn’t even look up from his laptop. "They’re looking into B-TECs. Level 3 Nationals. It’s more... vocational."
Vocational. What the fuck?
"Stop worrying about Amelie ‘tainting’ your crown, Kieran. She won’t be in your year group," he’d said, finally looking at me with that cold, parental disappointment. "Although it would be the decent thing to do: help her settle. Try putting your popularity to good use for once."
Fucking great. I wasn't just being forced to share my house; I had also been drafted as her fricking campus PR manager.
Although we’d been sworn to secrecy, there was no doubt in my mind that it wouldn’t be long before the whole school knew who she was.
And when they did, everything would shatter around me when they learnt that the Rooks were basically harbouring a fugitive.
Dramatic, I know, but Amelie was the daughter of the man who put a member of our student body in a fucking coma.
Don’t get me wrong, Rebecca Blake wasn’t one of Northridge’s elites, but she went to our school and was part of the community.
That alone gave her some privileges and, most importantly, the protection of that hierarchy I mentioned to Amelie, namely me.
After being told to put my phone away several times and not listening to that no-tech-at-the-table bullshit, I bailed after the main course, muttering something about a killer headache.
I probably should have felt bad for faking after the sympathetic look my stepmother gave me.
The woman was so gullible and seemed to believe everything that came out of my mouth; more fool her.
Cameron not so much; his face hinted that he didn’t believe that crap, and Jessa, well, she also saw me for the lying sack of shit I was.
And no, it wasn’t a twin thing. I was always the epitome of health, so I couldn’t act sick to save my life. Ferris Bueller, I was not.
At the table, little Amelie Thorn didn’t make eye contact with me unless she had to.
In fact, her gaze was everywhere but directed at me.
The girl did a stellar job of pretending to listen to Jessa’s lecture on the 'liberation' of Year Thirteen. The grand prize? No more blazers. Whoop-de-doo. Who really gave a shit about that? I’d never worn mine anyway.
Dragging my frustrated arse up the stairs towards my room, I spent the rest of the evening listening to music, wondering if Amelie had come upstairs yet.
I kept thinking about what she was doing on a fucking loop.
Which side of the bed did she sleep on? What did she wear to sleep in?
What was her first impression of the house, my family and most importantly, me?
Glancing at my phone, I saw it was almost eleven, and on autopilot, I went to check on Maisy. Padding across the landing, I saw Amelie’s door was closed, blocking me out. Which probably wasn’t a bad thing.
As I peeked my head into my baby sister's bedroom, she was out cold, tucked up in bed, surrounded by her soft toys; the little gurgling noise she made was her version of a snore.
Cute as fuck. A heavy warmth bloomed behind my ribs as I snuck over and tugged the duvet up further over her shoulders.
In a house full of head-cases, she was the only thing that made sense to me.
Turning to leave, I noticed Maisy had left her curtains open again; she was convinced that the moonlight kept her imaginary monster, Sprout, out of her room.
Whilst I was sure that was probably the case in her head, not closing those fuckers meant Jellybean would be up at the crack of dawn again.
Having spent most of my time that day in the gym, I could do without a four-year-old alarm clock jumping up and down on my guts before sunrise, so I moved to close them.
Maisy’s unicorn nightlight cast a sickly-sweet glow across my bare forearms as I started to tug the material together. And then, through the glass, something caught my eye.
The air seized in my chest. Squinting my eyes at the driveway below, I attempted to see out into the darkness, through the trees surrounding our estate, and the boundary wall that wrapped around it.
What the hell was that?
My brain told me it was playing a trick as I took in a shadow on top of the boundary wall, like a gargoyle, that looked far too much like a person.
Pretty impressive stuff considering the wall was over twelve feet high.
As I strained, I started to doubt myself.
It was hard to see through the glass with the lights dancing around the room behind me, and I released the curtain I had been gripping and shot over to Maisy’s nightlight.
As I flicked the switch, plunging the room into blackness, I moved back to the window.
Clearing my throat, I mashed my face against the glass around the rainbow-covered curtain.
The tall trees cast shadows across the stonework, and when my eyes came to land on that same spot, it was empty: just wind and shadows.
Get a grip, man!
Dashing a hand down my face, I grabbed the curtains and hauled them together, masking the outside before switching Maisy’s nightlight back on.