Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

"Damn, Quinn. You look fucking hot."

Emmeline’s voice went bouncing off the concrete of the underground garage before either of them had got within twenty feet of the car.

Quinn was already waiting beside the open rear door. Jacobs stood near the driver’s side doing that impressive guard thing where a man managed to look entirely uninterested while tracking every moving object in the building.

Park stopped walking.

His hand was still tangled up with Emmeline’s, and for a second he forgot they’d been moving at all.

’Well.... Fuck.’

The shopping trip had apparently saved one final act of violence for his peace of mind.

Quinn had traded the sharp security suit for one of the outfits Emmeline picked out for her, and the result was genuinely dangerous.

A fitted black dress clung to her from chest to hips with deliberate precision, shaping every soft rise and curve before ending high on the thighs. The short skirt was cut by a single deep slit on one side that opened with every shift of her weight, flashing smooth skin in a way that made looking away feel like a conscious effort.

Over it she wore a white blouse—wide ruffled collar folded down across the black neckline so the contrast sat right against the upper swell of her chest, sleeves full and soft to the elbow before flaring into neat pleated cuffs at her wrists.

Two heavy black satin bows had been tied around the upper arms, and they turned the entire look into something that landed halfway between elegant, playful, and unfairly distracting.

The white against the black only made it more impossible for Park to focus.

The ruffles framed the line of her collarbones and the soft upper curve of her breasts where the dress held them, while the bows on her arms drew the eye every time she moved. The short hem and the slit together left far too much of her thighs visible, and the fitted bodice made it impossible not to notice how the black fabric followed the narrow span of her waist before easing over the full shape of her hips.

Quinn looked like someone who had been dressed carefully by someone who understood exactly how much trouble she could cause without saying a word.

Black socks came up over her calves to just under the knee, leaving a long clean stretch of bare thigh between the top of them and the hem of that dress.

’So this was what Emmeline had meant by helping Quinn blend in.’

Wonderful.

Nobody in Aurora was going to mistake her for a bodyguard now.

They might mistake her for the beautiful woman Park had spent most of the morning having irresponsible thoughts about, which was, if anything, considerably an understatement given how wild the young peerless’s mind was running.

Quinn looked less enthusiastic about the whole arrangement.

One hand kept drifting down to the hem, tugging it toward her knees every few seconds as though another two centimetres of fabric might materialise if she simply believed hard enough. It did not.

The dress returned to its original position the moment she let go, and her expression tightened a fraction each time, quietly offended by the laws of tailoring.

Park watched her try it again, and a laugh got out before he could stop it.

Quinn’s eyes found him instantly. "Something amusing, Young Master?"

"You’re fighting the dress."

"I am adjusting it."

"It keeps winning."

Her hand left the hem at once.

Emmeline looked between the two of them and grinned. "She’s been doing that since she came out of her room. I’ve told her it isn’t getting any longer."

"It is unnecessarily short."

"It reaches your thighs. Congratulations, you have thighs."

Quinn looked like a woman who had prepared several excellent answers and rejected every one of them on the grounds that Emmeline was still technically the Prime Minister’s daughter.

They reached the car, and Park gave her another slow look without bothering to disguise it.

’The outfit genuinely has changed her.’

The strength was all still there — in the shoulders, in the posture, in that low readiness sitting underneath every movement she made — but now it came wrapped in ribbons and fitted black and an amount of bare leg that had his imagination behaving like an unsupervised minor.

"Em was right," Park said. "You look incredible."

Quinn’s face stayed under control. The warmth climbing her ears did not.

His favorite color on her.

Before she could retreat behind another professional answer, he stepped in and put an arm around her in a quick half-hug.

Quinn went completely still.

So did Emmeline.

For one second Park felt her against him — soft dress over hard discipline, the full press of her body, the warm weight of her breasts flattening slightly against his chest through the thin blouse, the whole coiled length of her holding perfectly rigid — and then he drew back just far enough to look at her properly.

"Good morning, Guard Queen."

Her hands had come up somewhere during that, caught between returning the hug and placing him under arrest.

She lowered them slowly.

"Good morning, Young Master."

Park smiled. "See? Much warmer already."

Emmeline stared at him. "Are you seriously teasing her before your audition?"

"I greeted her."

"You practically jumped on her."

"That was a respectful half-hug."

"Nothing about your face is respectful right now."

Park pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. "This is my innocent face."

"That face has never been innocent a day in its life."

Quinn looked away — not quite fast enough to hide whatever was happening at the corner of her mouth.

Emmeline caught it too. "Look at her. You’re making her uncomfortable."

Park glanced over. Quinn had returned to standing perfectly straight beside the door, spine like a ruler, colour still sitting high along her ears and down the side of her neck.

’If only you knew, Emmie,’ he thought. ’If only you knew.’

Emmeline thought he’d started teasing Quinn this morning. She’d walked into a series four episodes late and was confidently reviewing the opening scene...

’Well, ignorance is a beautiful bliss for many.’

Park gave his sister his most harmless smile. "I’ll behave."

She narrowed her eyes. "That sounded fake."

"It came from the heart."

He climbed into the back seat, and Emmeline followed him in rather than stepping away — settling beside him on the leather, still holding his hand, apparently unwilling to let the car leave before she’d finished deciding what final instructions his life required and shut the door behind.

She glanced at the notebook under his arm. "You’ve got everything?"

"Three songs, several demos, a guitar waiting at the agency, and enough talent to make their music department reconsider its hiring standards."

"So no humility."

"Left it upstairs... it didn’t match the outfit."

Emmeline rolled her eyes, and her fingers tightened around his.

"Do well."

Park looked at her. "I’m going to murder them."

"That sounds slightly evil."

"Artistically."

"Better."

"Text me when you’re finished."

"I would, except somebody stole my phone."

Emmeline’s expression turned suspiciously innocent. "Quinn has it."

Park looked past her toward the locked door, where Quinn stood outside.

"Of course she does."

"You were asleep," Emmeline said. "And you nearly dropped it in the garage."

"So my phone was rescued."

"From you."

But Emmeline’s hands were still on his collar.

She hadn’t moved them in a while now, and somewhere in the last few seconds the temperature inside the car had quietly changed. Her thumb moved once along the edge of the fabric. Her eyes came up off the collar and found his lips, and whatever had been light and teasing thirty seconds ago wasn’t anywhere in her face now.

She’d been like this all morning, if he was honest.

Underneath the breakfast performance, underneath the alarm-clock argument and the red ears and the hand she’d tried twice to pull out of his — this.

Sitting right there under everything, waiting for a moment with a locked door on it.

’And so did I sis.’

The garage was quiet. Jacobs hadn’t got in yet. Quinn was standing outside on the far side of the car with her back to the window, doing the thing she was extremely good at, which was being professionally absent from a situation while remaining four feet away from it.

Emmeline’s hand slid up from his collar to the side of his jaw.

"Little Brother."

"Mm."

"I’m going to be unreasonable for about eight seconds."

He turned his full head toward her, which was all the answer either of them needed.

She leaned over and hugged him — tight, both arms locking around his neck making her round breasts pressed full and heavy against his chest, the soft weight of them flattening and spreading under the thin fabric of her top as she pulled him in hard.

His hands found her waist without thinking.

His palms slid over the curve of her sides, slow and greedy, mapping the soft give of her body. His fingers spread wider, pressing in, then he slipped lower until they found the edge of her top.

He didn’t stop.

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