Their Virgin Mistress (Masters of Ménage #7)(8)

"Yasmin nearly killed you. Ever since you found out what she'd done to you."

"To this whole family."

"Oliver, don't distance. You're fooling yourself if you think this rage is for the rest of us. It's for you. She betrayed you on every level. And stop saying you didn't love her." 

At least he could be honest in that. He turned back to Claire, settling his palms on the desk. "I might have thought I was in love, but it was a young man's infatuation with an exotic woman who was very good in bed. It wasn't love."

"That's the bitterness talking."

"No, it's experience. I know what it really feels like to be in love, and what I felt for Yasmin is nothing compared to what I feel now. This is a million times worse."

"You're in love with Tori." His sister's eyes went wide. "Oh, what a mess."

Oliver felt his jaw tighten. "I won't act on it. She's marrying someone else. You must know that I, of all people, would never come between a man and his woman."

He knew what it felt like to be the cuckold in that scenario. All too often, he looked into the faces of his former friends and wondered which of them had been his wife's lovers.

Claire bit her bottom lip. "I know you won't … but perhaps you should. She can't be terribly mad for the man-or he for her. She hasn't seen him in six months. Six months, Oliver, and neither has visited the other once. Her sister is both the queen of an entire country and mother to two boys-enormous responsibilities-and yet Piper has already visited Tori twice. I've been thinking about this fiancé of hers. We should look into him."

His sister sometimes enjoyed sticking her nose where it didn't belong. "Absolutely not. You'll leave the situation alone. Tori's contract ends in a few months, and she's already said that she intends to return home. And that will be the end of it."

"It won't be. Can't you see that? You've suffered this malaise for the past two years, Oliver. You can't stay this way. How many other fights have you been involved in? Can't you see you have a death wish, and she might be the only one who can save you? Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at her? I followed you because I was praying I would find out you're sleeping with her, even with all the trouble that would cause between you, Rory, and Callum."

"It's not going to happen. I'm not good for anyone. I never will be again." And he didn't apologize for it. "As for the death wish, well … we all have to wish for something." His brain finally caught on to the rest of her speech. "What did you mean, trouble between me and our brothers? What do they have to do with my ill-timed fascination with Ms. Glen?"

"You really don't pay attention to anything, do you? Who do you think Callum was talking about bringing to the fundraiser? And why do you think Rory looked ready to take his head off? They both fancy her. Callum believes himself in love with the girl and he intends to make his move. If you tell them that you want her for yourself, I think they'll back off. They love you."

Oliver gripped the side of the desk, seething, his knuckles turning white. "He will not touch her. I'll make sure of it."

Rory would have to get in line to take Callum's head off because if their middle brother laid one finger on Tori, Oliver would be more than happy to do the honors.

Without a backward glance at his sister, he strode out of the office, itching for a fight.





CHAPTER TWO


Rory managed to close the door to Oliver's office with a quiet snick. He had to force himself not to slam the thing because he was so bloody angry. What did Callum think he was about? Had the bastard listened to a word he'd said last night? Or had he simply nodded his pretty-boy head and decided to do whatever he wanted, no matter the cost?



       
         
       
        

"Which direction did my brother go?" Rory asked Oliver's fifty-something assistant.

Silently, he pleaded for the proper reply. The only good answer was to the west wing where Callum's office was located.

"Mr. Thurston-Hughes went toward the east wing. He seemed in good spirits," the woman said. "That's nice to see after all the nasty business of late."

Anger flashed through Rory's system. Good spirits? Callum wouldn't be after a thorough throttling. The prick was headed for Tori's office. Callum might be six foot six inches and almost sixteen stone of pure-muscled imbecile, but Rory could hold his own in a fight.

"He won't be for long," he mumbled under his breath as he jogged down the hall to intercept Callum before he reached Tori. He couldn't let his brother botch everything.