Free Destined by Allyson Young Page B

she’d spoken in tongues. How in hell
hadn’t he seen this coming?
    Because
you told yourself—and Craig—for so long, that Sinclair was your little sister
in order to quell those urges you both felt, and you ignored all the signals
she gave off these past years.
    Sinclair had graduated high school a
year ahead of others her age, a bright star his parents had agreed to raise
when her teenaged birth parents couldn’t parent a fly. He’d been nearly
fourteen when the six year old had infiltrated his life, a whirlwind of a
child, so affected by benign neglect she had no filter and no boundaries. Both
he and Craig hadn’t been pleased to share their home with such a brat, but had
come to appreciate the feisty, engaging kid she became, surviving without
direction or guidance all her formative years. His mother, a social worker who
specialized in children, and who had worked her magic on the girl, had
explained it all. His father ensured they treated Sinclair with care and
respect, if they couldn’t love her like a sister.
    Love. Goddamn it. They’d lost Mom and Dad in a
pile up on the interstate in a snowstorm, the year Sinclair turned fourteen,
and both Ashton and Craig had found out what love really did to a person. To
say their little foster sister had been devastated was an understatement, and
they came to understand what a huge part she played in their lives. All the
years of her tagging along and bothering them, the snitching to their dad, her
total loyalty and hero worship had struck home. She knew them inside and out,
with that uncanny ability to read others that certain people developed when
raised early on without structure. Sinclair had learned to protect herself , and he hoped that skill served her well now,
because she had to understand she couldn’t be part of what he and Craig did
together and expected of their women. Never mind they’d lusted for her over the
past years, never acting on it because it was wrong.
    Ashton knew exactly when he’d
fallen. Graduation. Without their mom to help out,
he’d taken Sinclair shopping for a dress and other fripperies, listened to her
bemoan how awkward it was to conjugate with classmates a year her senior. Who
would be away to parties afterward, drinking the night away. Not to mention the couples who’d booked hotel rooms in the surrounding towns.
The thought of his foster sister getting drunk and taken advantage of, had made
him so incensed he’d nearly crushed the steering wheel with his grip while he
plotted.
    And the dress… He’d watched Sinclair grow up wearing pink girl clothes, and dance outfits,
accessorized with cowboy boots and a Stetson. She was a free spirit in both her
actions and her clothing choices. His mom had encouraged her, and while he’d
vaguely been away of Sinclair’s body changing as she grew to her five foot six
height, he deliberately hadn’t paid much attention. Until the
dress.
    Black, form fitting, it featured a
sweetheart neckline that set off the creamy slope of her breasts and slender
shoulders and the column of her long neck, bared by her upswept, dark hair. The
look in her crystalline blue eyes, seeking his approval, had knocked him into
next week. Sexual need didn’t cover what he felt. She had been seventeen years
old, beautiful and so damn appealing, and he’d castigated himself as being a
pervert. The relief he’d felt, remembering she’d be away to school by August,
living with old friends of his family, doing her undergraduate studies, had
been overwhelming. He wouldn’t be tempted, and could deal with her coming home
for holiday visits. He’d avoided thinking about what she might get up to when
away at college, whom she might meet.
    He’d talked her into a demure white
gown. Arranged for a nerd to take her to prom, threatening
the kid with a horrible death if he didn’t take good care of Sinclair and return
her—intact. Because he and Craig, aided by Rose, their
housekeeper, had protected their jewel. Not