Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Emmeline looked Park over with frank appraisal, entirely unhurried, and then delivered the rest of it with the cheerful bluntness like commenting on the weather.

"So if you’re extremely well endowed, little brother. What exactly do you think you’re protecting?"

Park’s eyes went wide.

He stood there in a nightshirt he hadn’t put on, over nothing at all, and processed the fact that his half-sister had just complimented his dick before breakfast.

’I am a shameless man,’ he thought, with something approaching professional respect. ’I have built an entire personality out of being shameless. But this girl has just lapped me on the inside without breaking stride.’

But she wasn’t wrong but the important part was that half of what was currently coming out of his mouth was just the old Park’s script running on autopilot. The old Park would have been horrified:

The new one was standing here with his ears going warm, and not at all from outrage.

"That," he said almost to himself, "is the single most idiotic thing I have heard since I woke up in this world."

Emmeline tilted her head. "Since you woke up today, you mean."

"Yes, that."

"Fine. Go tell Mother and Father."

"I will."

He stepped fully off the bed and put both feet flat on the cool tiled floor — and stopped.

’Something is different.’

This body had always been in good condition; the old Park had trained, eaten expensive food that arrived with nutritional charts attached, the house had a huge gym, and had access to trainers and doctors and treatments that ordinary people only found out about when celebrities lied about not using them.

He’d already grown used to the easy strength of it, the balance, the quiet vitality humming under everything.

This morning it ran cleaner; his spine settled into alignment without being asked, his breath came deeper and cost less and his muscle under the nightshirt sat firmer against him, refined rather than heavier, as though his body had spent the night quietly editing itself and deleting a few imperfections out of spite.

Even the floor felt a fraction farther away than it should have.

’Perfect Crown,’ he thought. ’It’s already work—’

"By the way." Emmeline slid off the bed and came around to stand in front of him, and he lost the thread entirely. "Is it just me, or did you grow a few inches?"

She looked up. Then higher; her eyes narrowed.

"You did. You’re taller."

"I’ve always been taller than you."

"Yes, but now you’re irritatingly more taller than me." She studied his face with the intense concentration of a woman inspecting suspicious merchandise, then clicked her tongue. "And somehow you got more handsome overnight. That seems excessive. Greedy, even."

"Give it a rest. Nobody becomes handsome overnight."

He paused and reconsidered the statement. "Besides. I’ve always been good-looking. Criminally so, if we’re being precise about it."

Emmeline’s whole face lit up. "A narcissist too~ Oh, how I love this new version of you, dear little brother~"

"It isn’t narcissism when the verdict came back unanimous."

"You sound unbearable."

"I sound accurate."

She laughed and stepped in closer, lifting both hands to the collar of his nightshirt and smoothed the fabric flat with a slow proprietary care that lifted the small hairs at the back of his neck at the brush of her hands on his skin.

At that distance the robe stopped being a garment and became a formality.

Park could see the individual threads of the lace where it lay against her skin, the scalloped edge of the bralette rising and falling with her breathing — soft, full, and barely contained, the thin fabric doing almost nothing to hide the warm weight of her or the faint shadow of her nipples when she moved.

His eyes slipped lower for half a second, pure accident of course, tracing the deep open V of the robe down to where the lace cups pressed against her and the soft curve of her cleavage caught the morning light.

The wide sleeves had slid back down her forearms when she raised her hands, and the eyelash trim brushed his throat with every small adjustment she made, so light he felt it more as temperature than as touch.

His eyes slipped once again down the open front of the robe to where the lace bra cupped her boobs and strained softly against her, then flicked back up like it had been an accident. It wasn’t.

Her fingers stayed at his collar a beat longer than the job required.

"You really are different," she said quietly, close enough now that he could smell her — something warm and faintly floral off her hair, and beneath it the specific unguarded scent like she had come here straight out of her own sheets.

’Step back,’ he told himself, without any real conviction, and did not.

His gaze wandered again, slower this time, tracing the line of her collarbone down to the swell of her chest before he forced it back to her eyes with pure innocence.

Park caught both her wrists and peeled her hands off his collar.

"Stop inspecting me like Father dragged home a suspicious artifact."

"Perhaps he did; years ago."

He walked her backward two steps and sat her down on the edge of his bed, her wrists still trapped in his hands.

The robe slid off one shoulder and gave up entirely on the other as she pulled him with her, the satin bow pulling loose at her waist, the long panels fell open to either side of her so that the lace was no longer even pretending to be involved.

Park’s eyes dropped for half a second — pure muscle memory, pure mistake, pure lie — landing on the soft curve of her hips and the high-cut lace that did nothing to hide the smooth skin beneath. He dragged them back up before she could catch him, but the damage was already done in his head.

Emmeline looked down at her captured hands she had used to pull him with theatrical helplessness, then raised her face to him.

That was the moment the room quietly changed temperature. Her smile had gone cheeky and teasing and openly daring, she made no attempt whatsoever to take her hands back, and she did not so much as glance down at the ruin of her own belt.

’She isn’t going to fix it,’ Park thought, and something low in him turned over slowly at the realization. ’She hasn’t even noticed. She’s sitting on my bed in nothing but white lace with her wrists in my hands and her chin up, and the only thing on her mind is winning the argument. Is she aware of what she’s doing and just pretending innocence?’

He leaned down over her, and kept his eyes on hers by main force.

"Get out." And peeled himself off her.

Her smile widened, she held his eyes and did not move an inch.

"I’m going to shower," he continued, quieter. "And then I’m calling Mother to explain how her youngest daughter breaks into locked rooms and undresses unconscious people, and she’s going to—"

"Mm. Actually..."

Emmeline slipped her hands and pulled him back; she reached up, and took his face between her palms, holding him there like something she’d found and decided to keep.

"Dear little brother," she said sweetly. "I didn’t do such a thing."

Park’s suspicion arrived instantly. "No?"

"No."

"Then who did?"

"I called in your new staff." Her thumbs moved once across his cheekbones. "Quinn."

Park’s eyes widened.

"She came in, stripped you down, changed you and put you to bed." Emmeline’s smile was pure sunlight. "I merely spectated. In a supervisory capacity."

"That’s worse, Emmie. That’s so much worse. What is wrong with you?"

"You were sleeping like a corpse."

"I had a difficult evening."

"You were sprawled across that couch with one arm hanging to the floor. I genuinely checked for a pulse."

"And your solution was to summon Quinn and have her undress me."

"She’s responsible for your care now and you forbade me from undressing you."

"I was unconscious."

"Which made you wonderfully cooperative."

Park stared down at her in open horror, because somewhere in this house — probably three corridors away, probably with her spine perfect and her suit hugging her hot body — was a woman who had seen every inch of him before the two of them had survived a full day of acquaintance.

The same woman he’d spent half of last night flirting with in a moving car.

’The same woman I’d sent a love song to at some indecent hour, with no caption, like a man with a plan... and now knows every intimate inch of me! Emmie you little demon.’

His campaign had gone from ambitious to catastrophically out of order in a single unconscious night.

’Great. First date already over. She has seen the merchandise.’

Emmeline patted his cheek. "You’re welcome."

"I didn’t say thank you."

"You should. I rescued your spine, saved your neck, and made sure you slept well." She released his face and rose off the bed, sweeping past him with the triumphant elegance; she had committed several offences and now expected a thank-you note.

"Now let’s go and hit those showers. Breakfast is waiting."

His eyes followed her without permission, tracing the way the open robe swayed against her bare legs and the soft bounce under the lace with every step.

She glanced back over her shoulder.

"And let’s hurry up. Unless you’d like the Two Musketeers to come up here and conduct your morning lessons in person."

Park’s expression changed.

"...The Two Musketeers?"