Additionally, I don’t think Alan ever meant to ask Amelia about the guy she’s seeing in front of everyone, but he did, and when he mentioned that she was being taken advantage of…well, I didn’t take too kindly to that. I wanted to set him straight. To tell him that I would never take advantage of her. That I cared for her more than anything.
But I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to avoid an all-out brawl in the middle of his living room. So, instead, I tried to keep my voice as even as possible and asked him to end the interrogation, even though I could feel my blood beginning to boil. He didn’t need to play bad cop right now. Especially with his daughter.
Amelia was hurt, though. I could see it in her eyes as she forced a smile and excused herself from the group without another word on the subject. Julia looked at me apologetically—not because she knew about us, but because she didn’t mean to cause an argument—and Alan sighed, clearly upset with himself.
He’d offered to go talk to her, but Carla gently suggested he leave her for a few minutes, telling him that Amelia just needed a little “girl time” to process things. I knew otherwise, though. What Amelia needed was to be reassured of us. And I needed to reassure her as much as she needed to hear it.
I waited a few minutes before excusing myself to use the washroom, and when no one was looking, I bypassed the stairs and headed for the basement door instead. I never meant for things to escalate as far as they did between us. All I knew was one minute, I was telling Amelia that I wasn’t taking advantage of her, and the next I was kissing her.
It was only supposed to go as far as kissing as a means to reassure her of my intentions, but our mutual need to prove our feelings to one another takes over. In a burst of intense heat, I’m throwing her up on the washer with her legs around my waist. Her skin is warm and soft as I slide my hands up her thighs and beneath her skirt. She moans my name, sending a tremor through my body, and I instantly grow hard as I pull her hips toward me.
I know I should stop—I even try telling myself to step away several times—before it gets to the point of no return, but we’ve already passed it. More than once. Just like every time Amelia’s hands are on me, I forget about everything around me. Her lips anchor me to wherever she is, and nothing else matters.
We’ve completely lost control—a known problem—and it seems unlikely that either one of us is within the right mindset to put a stop to the runaway train we’ve found ourselves on.
There is one thing that can stop us, though. One thing we’d wanted to avoid more than anything during our stay here, and it happens: we are found out.
“What the hell is going on down here?”
Amelia inhales sharply, and I remove my lips from her neck as she meets my startled gaze, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. We both recognize the voice but are too stunned, having been ripped back to the reality of the situation, to visually confirm her presence.
Once Amelia fully realizes the weight of what’s happened, she drops her hands to my chest and pushes, hopping off of the washer and adjusting her dress as she rushes toward the stairs. My eyes follow her and land on a very surprised and confused Carla Atwood staring between the two of us with wide-open eyes.
“I-I came down to check on Amy,” Carla tries to explain. “Figured she’d need someone to talk to. Definitely didn’t expect to walk in on…” Most people who walk in on a scene like this would sound apologetic, but Carla doesn’t; she sounds upset.
“Carla, I can explain,” Amelia says pleadingly, her voice quivering with fear.
“Oh, I think I understand quite clearly.” Carla looks past Amelia at me, and I stop in my tracks, a healthy distance from both of them as she shifts her gaze back. “Your dad—”
“We’re going to tell him,” Amelia interrupts desperately. “We were just waiting until the right time. Th-this wasn’t supposed to happen here.”
“But it did.” Carla shakes her head and heads back upstairs.
“Wait, Carla… Please!” Amelia’s voice is strained as she calls after Carla, chasing her up the stairs and reaching for her. “You can’t tell him. N-not today.”
Carla whirls around at the top of the stairs and looks Amelia straight in the eye. “You want me to lie to your father?”
“Not lie,” I interject carefully, quietly.
Amelia decides to finish explaining, letting me off the hook. “We were going to tell him after Christmas. You know how much this time of year means to him. We couldn’t risk upsetting him now. This—what you walked in on just now—wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t…and then everyone was…it just…” She sighs, defeated. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. We…we slipped up for a second.”