Their Virgin Mistress (Masters of Ménage #7)(4)

Tori nodded because she didn't want to talk about this anymore. It was easier to deflect this subject with the Thurston-Hughes family. They didn't know her the way Piper did. Tori easily handled them with a fake engagement ring and a couple of phony calls to her "fiancé."

She used that pretend engagement like a blunt instrument. It worked best on Oliver. Callum and Rory still flirted, but the moment Oliver had heard the "news," he'd become chillingly polite. Every now and then, she still caught him looking at her like a hungry lion. Whenever that happened, she flashed her cubic zirconia rock, and poof, they were merely work associates again. 

"Tell me about Sabir's birthday party," Tori said, completely changing the subject. The elder of her two adorable nephews was having his birthday soon, and Tori intended to forget her romantic issues for a while and play auntie. It was her favorite role.

For a moment, Piper looked like she would press the subject, but she finally stirred her tea again and sipped. "I'm so glad you're coming. I hope you can stay for a while. The boys miss you. I think we're going with a pirate theme."

While her sister chatted away, Tori thought about the men she should never, would never touch.



* * * *



Oliver Thurston-Hughes clenched his fists and tried to quell his urge to punch someone. Then again, a day rarely went by that he didn't feel it. "What do you mean?"

"I need a place to stay temporarily." His younger brother Callum leaned forward, wearing an earnest look on his sun-bronzed face. "Just until the crack pot births her spawn and I get the results of the DNA test. Apparently, I can't force her to do one until the nipper makes his actual appearance, so we've got some months to wait."

Oliver bristled. "You're talking about a child, potentially your own."

Yet his brother treated the baby as if he or she meant nothing.

Callum's remark gnawed at Oliver's brain. The rage that constantly seethed inside him rose. He breathed through the violent urge but couldn't deny the fact that he'd enjoy beating his brother right now. Usually he preferred strangers, but the former footballer would be a nice change of pace and provide a good challenge besides.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Oliver stood and looked out the rain-splattered window over St. James's Park from the office that had once been his father's. What would Albert Thurston-Hughes do if he could see his three sons now? Likely shoot the lot of them and start over.

Outside, everything looked peaceful, and he tried to find his calm. A light drizzle fell. Down below, pedestrians hustled about. Women held umbrellas over their prams as they rushed to shelter where their babies would be dry and warm.

Oliver gripped the sill. His children would be too old for prams now-or would have been if that bitch had allowed them to be born.

"Nothing against the baby," Callum assured. "But I couldn't possibly have fathered that insane woman's child."

He turned back to his younger brother, brow raised. "So you're telling me you didn't sleep with her?"

Callum paused, giving Oliver precisely the answer he'd expected.

With a shake of his head, he stared out the window again, refusing to look at his brother. The rage grew, and he needed to find an outlet to release it. He'd been a perpetual volcano set to explode ever since he'd realized Yasmin had betrayed him and he'd learned his whole life was a lie. "You have a flat worth millions. Why can't you stay there?"

"Because she knows where I live and keeps popping 'round," Callum admitted. "She's mental, I tell you."

"Maybe you should have figured that out before you shagged her," a familiar feminine voice offered.

Oliver turned slightly to find Rory and their sister, Claire, entering the room. The entire family was now here. Hurrah for him. Younger than Callum and older than Rory, Claire tended to be the voice of wisdom. Most of the time that was a good thing, but on the days when pent-up violence nipped at his gut, Oliver didn't want to hear reason.

"Then again, he's always liked the crazy ones," Claire went on.

Oliver glanced back out the window. Below, a yellow umbrella caught his eye. He was fooling himself if he thought for an instant that he stared out the window because he couldn't stand to look at Callum. He was staring because he was waiting for her.



       
         
       
        

It seemed that everyone else in London carried a black umbrella. Tori looked like a bright canary amongst all the crows. She disappeared as she walked into the building. Only then did Oliver turn to the others and step into the middle of the room to join them.