The Dare Collection January 2019. JC Harroway

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      I slid my hands around Poppy, cupping her breasts in my palms, concentrating on the slippery warmth of her body rather than that goddamn ache. ‘Dad ran her over.’ I kept my voice level. ‘He didn’t like me being...distracted.’

      Poppy stilled. ‘He ran her over?’ She sounded appalled.

      I didn’t know why I kept talking. Maybe it was simply that I’d never told anyone about Seven before and I wanted to. ‘She disappeared one day. At first I thought she’d found a meal somewhere else, so I didn’t worry too much. But then a few more days went by and I decided to go looking for her.’ My hands slid over Poppy’s smooth skin. ‘I couldn’t find her and I thought maybe she’d moved on. And then, a couple of days after that, I was searching for something in Dad’s garage and I noticed that the front bumper of his car was bent. And when I looked closer, I saw a red stain.’ I took my hand from Poppy and rubbed absently at my chest, at the ache there, remembering the gut-punch of understanding that had hit me. ‘There was white fur in the treads of the tyre. Seven was white. And I knew.’

      Poppy was still for a moment. Then she turned in my arms suddenly, her eyes dark with sympathy as they looked up into mine. ‘Oh, Xander...’

      I shouldn’t have said anything more and yet I kept going. ‘Dad didn’t want me having friends. He refused to let me have a pet. Numbers were all he allowed me because they made him money.’

      She leaned into me, her warmth sinking into my skin. ‘That’s awful. You must have been so lonely.’

      I didn’t need or want her sympathy. It hurt for some reason.

      ‘She was just a dog,’ I said, dismissing the subject. ‘I got over it.’

      But the words sounded hollow and I hated myself for saying them. Seven hadn’t been ‘just a dog’. She’d been the one thing I’d had—even so briefly—that was mine.

      Poppy put her hands on my chest then spread them wide, her arms coming around me. Then she laid her head right over my heart, her wet hair soft against me. ‘It’s okay. I know what it feels like. I was lonely too.’

      The simplicity of the confession felt like a blow, hitting me in a place I had no idea was vulnerable. I couldn’t help thinking back to the day Dad had brought Lily home to meet us, and there had been this little girl trailing in her wake. I’d been excited to meet her and the minute I laid eyes on her I’d wanted to make her my friend. She’d reminded me weirdly of Seven, the same wary, lost look in her gaze. So I’d smiled at her.

      And she’d turned away, as if she couldn’t bear the sight of me.

      The lost note in Poppy’s voice got to me, reached inside me and twisted hard.

      ‘I tried,’ I said hoarsely. ‘I wanted to be your friend, did you know that? When you first came to us, I was excited to have a little sister.’

      There was silence, filled with the sound of rushing water.

      Christ, I sounded pathetic. Like a kid.

      Poppy turned her head then lifted it, looking up at me, a crease between her brows.

      ‘I’m sorry, Xander. I behaved...terribly over the years. I just... When I came to live with you and your family, I’d just lost my father. And Mum was very angry about it. She was angry with him for choosing to leave us and angry with me for... I dunno...being alive, I guess. She resented me in many ways.’

      Poppy paused and looked down at my chest. Her hold on me shifted and she began to draw a small circle on my left pec.

      ‘She never wanted me. I was a mistake. And after Dad died I became this millstone around her neck. Losing him was awful and Mum made me promise to be good when we came to see you, because she needed Augustus and didn’t want me to give him any reason not to marry her.’

      The movement of her finger slowed, the sparks of her touch echoing through me.

      ‘I guess I resented all of you. I wanted my dad, not another family. And then I saw you and...’ She stopped all of a sudden.

      My chest was tight, the protectiveness inside me reaching out, wanting to enfold her, wrap her up, keep her safe. Show her that she was never a mistake and that she would never be lonely.

      But, more than that, I wanted to know what she’d thought when she’d seen me.

      I put a finger under her chin, tilting her head back. ‘You saw me and what?’

      Her gaze was full of something I didn’t understand. ‘It sounds stupid, but you smiled at me and it was the first smile I’d had since Dad died. It made me feel...connected to you somehow. But I didn’t want it. I didn’t understand it.’ Her expression was full of regret. ‘I was afraid of it.’

      The thawed piece of me ached, a raw, bruised feeling.

      ‘I wouldn’t have hurt you,’ I said thickly. ‘I would never have hurt you.’

      ‘I know you wouldn’t. But I was afraid and I’d lost my dad and I didn’t want a friend. Not right then. But even so I...couldn’t leave you alone. I was drawn to you and I hated it, resented it, and yet...’

      So pointless. So fucking pointless. Not instinctive dislike after all, but the opposite. That was what it had been, all these years of enmity. That was all it had been. A neglected ten-year-old’s fear and an isolated fifteen-year-old’s inability to understand it.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I’m so sorry, Xander. I didn’t mean to—’

      I put my finger over her mouth, pressing into the softness. ‘No. No apologies. What’s done is done. We can’t go back. We can’t change it. All we can do is make sure things are different going forward.’

       You need to tell her about her father.

      The voice in my head was insistent, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to disturb this moment between us and I didn’t want to upset her. There had been too much of that already. And maybe that was selfish of me, but I didn’t care.

      I wanted to make her feel good, not rip her world apart. There would be a better, more appropriate moment but that moment wasn’t now.

      She blinked up at me then murmured against my finger, ‘And how will things be different going forward?’

      A night. That was what I’d told myself. One night to have her as mine and no more. But...what if that wasn’t enough?

       It won’t be and you already know that.

      I also knew that there were many reasons why it shouldn’t be more than one night too. The fact that she was my stepsister—though, to be honest, I didn’t give a shit about that kind of scandal. But my role in her father’s death? Yes, I gave a shit about that. It made all the things I wanted to do to her even more wrong.

      Except... I couldn’t shake the thought of what having her like this for more than one night would feel like. If she was mine for maybe another night, or two, or three. Or even a week...

      The idea made me burn.

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