Page 2 of Perfect

That ugly jealousy I’d felt was doused by the truth that Daddy was happy.

It was also refreshing to learn that I hadn’t been replaced; at least not by a stupid boy. The thought of Connor taking my place in my father’s affections had been on my mind, I’m not going to lie.

And for the record, my concerns hadnothingto do with inheritance rubbish. I wasn’tthatsort of girl.

My father hadshoweredme with affection saying how much he missed me and I’d felt loved and wanted. Family meanteverythingto me. I couldn’t care less about money. My friend Lisa said my attitude towards money was because I had always had it. I’d told her to mind her own business.

The anniversary party (if you could call it a party) was pretty basic, which, under the circumstances, it should have been really. One year together was certainlynota milestone. Just an excuse for a ‘do’ had been my thinking, and what did one wear to a ‘do’? Party dresses. Or so I had thought. I still felt annoyed by gettingthatone wrong.

Rachel had seemed pleasant enough. She was taller than me, which wasn’t difficult considering my five-foot-two height, and she had mousey hair and clear blue eyes. She was younger than my mum and I was relieved to see that she possessed her own boobs, standard skin tone, and regular-sized lips. My mother’s description of Rachel had conjured up the ‘caked-in-it’ clichéd WAG. Daddy wasn’t a footballer or a celebrity, but he was well off, and wealth encouraged the wrong type of woman.

Rachel had been sweet and kind and paid attention to me. She asked interesting questions and encouraged me about my aspirations. Irrespective of my friends saying I’d never need to work, I wanted to. I had plans; ones that didn’t rely on my parents' wealth. My conversation with Rachel had given me a confidence boost. It felt nice that someone wanted to listen to my dreams about my future.

During the hard times when my parents were fighting, I didn't feel like I had much of a voice. Rachel had listened, likereallylistened and after the party, I decided that her presence in my father's life should be considered a positive thing. For both my dad and me.

Her son, however, conjured up anentirelydifferent response.

Connor James Barratt was the main reason I’d had second thoughts about spending the summer at the farm. He was my go-to thought when I felt shitty about the whole idea. I’d really wrestled with my decision.

The concept of spending my entire summer with someone so obnoxious had forced me to unpack and repack my case several times over the last week. When I first met a boy close to my own age, they turned into drooling idiots but Connor had been unfazed. To the point where he was actually mean to me.

The fact that I found him so physically attractive only added to my torment. And I hadneverchased a boy, ever! Why would I? I usually had to bat them off. His indifference was extremely aggravating.

I half-heartedly scanned a text from my friend Lisa as I recalled how awkward I’d felt in his company. He’d been flagrantly indifferent, and I wasn’t used to that response from members of the opposite sex. Bizarre doesn’t even come close.

I also hadn’t realised who he was, at first, and so had beensickeninglyunprepared. Yes, Dad had told me that Rachel had a son but his use of the word ‘child’ had conjured up something entirely different in my head.

The word ‘child’ shouldneverbe used to describe someone like that. As everybody sat down to dinner, he was seated at the opposite end of the long table. Yes, I had noticed him as a fitty but had assumed that one of the whiny kids sitting closer to Rachel would have been hers. Not the guy placed so far away. After I had heard him speak, or should I say grunt, I silently applauded the seating plan. Thank goodness they had put him so far away. The guy clearly had social issues. Connor rarely commented during dinner. He had watched me with abrooding expression and never returned any of my smiles, his face a hateful mask of relaxed indifference. His attitude screamed, 'I really couldn't give a shit.'

After the main meal, I’d found him leaning against the bar like he was posing for a photo shoot, a bottle of beer in his hand. I remember approaching him fairly confidently until that punch of heat hit me in the stomach, like an actual fist. Or at least how I imagined that would feel. It knocked me out of my comfort zone. I had the hots for my new stepbrother and that made me nervous.

As I’d walked shyly towards him and came closer to his sinfully handsome face, I admitted that he was one of the hottest guys I hadeverseen. Clichéd, I know, but frustratingly true nonetheless.

Connor Barratt oozed masculine confidence, his expression switching in and out of a bored, ‘anywhere but here’ look.

Tall and broad-shouldered with black hair sticking out in all the right directions, he was major-league hot. The guy had it in spades; his perfect male model-like features, deep dark eyes, and a strong masculine jaw. It was an almost beautiful face, yet it boasted one of those autocratic straight noses and high haughty cheekbones. Connor was borderline pretty. Not that I would have said that to his face, of course. He was also well-muscled, and I had imagined that he would possess impressive abs beneath the T-shirt he had been wearing. The boy would appeal toanyoneover the age of fifteen.

Connor had towered over me, over six foot plus tall with the body of a definite gym goer. His skin was also naturally tanned, which he must have inherited from his dad’s side. Either that or it was due to him spending so much time in the outdoors. His mum was whiter than Lisa, and being so ruggedly male, he certainly wasn’t the sunbed type like my friend Niall. Niall didn’t go anywhere without a quick thirty-minute top-up and was constantly golden.

My stepbrother was seriously hot, and let’s be honest, I’d seen attractive men before, but he made even the most macho, sporty guys at school look like first years.

Once Dad spotted me lingering by the bar, he briefly introduced us before dashing off to help Rachel with her mother.

Remorse flooded me as I remembered standing before him, the silence circling us like a shark’s fin. You could almost taste the brooding intensity that surroundedhim. Connor had stared down his perfectly straight nose at me; an unimpressed look on his face.

The pull I’d felt was strong, yet he wasnothinglike the usual type of boy that attracted me. My ex-boyfriend Andrew had been tall and beanpole-like, with hair and skin whiter than mine. Connor was the opposite of that. Tall, dark, and dangerous andunbelievablysexy. The type of brooding male to make most girl's lady parts flutter.

“Hi, good to meet you,” I’d said, filling that painful silence.

Connor had tilted his head to one side, watching me intently before taking an insolent mouthful of his beer. He’d been in no rush to reply to my friendly greeting. I remember watching his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed and that strong, tanned column of his throat.

“Is it? Shame I can’t say the same,” he replied with a careless smirk. It was like a slap in the face. My new stepbrother was obviously fluent in sarcasm.

How my heart hadracedin my chest. I remember biting my tongue and feeling flummoxed as to how to respond. He’d struck a nerve. I wasn’t used to such nastiness off the bat.

When I look back, rude doesn’t even begin to describe it. I wasastounded, having warded off attention from teenage boys since I’d first developed boobs at thirteen. And please believe me when I say I don’t consider myselfoverlyvain, but I do ticksomeboxes.

I’m petite, with long natural wavy, white blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and an above-average complexion. Yes, I am a little on the slim/slight side but I have a pert bottom (so I’ve been toldcountlesstimes) and small, firm breasts (most definitely the required handful).

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