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.
She was safe now. He could focus on the meeting at hand.
Oliver had no idea what he would do when she returned to the States and her fiancé. Watching Tori Glen had become his favorite pastime. After his last brawl, he’d come away with a black eye and split lip. He’d told Tori he had gotten pissed at a pub and started a fight. Oliver still wondered if he should admit that he’d beaten the holy hell out of a bloke who’d been stalking her. When she’d gone down the wrong alley, the bastard had whipped out a big knife and followed.
Tori had never noticed that he’d put her would-be attacker in the hospital. Instead, she’d just blithely gone her way. The following day, she’d told him about her misadventure, laughing that she still sometimes got lost in London.
She was going to be the death of him, and he wasn’t so sure he minded.
Only two things kept him from taking her bright light for himself: One was James Fenway of Texas, her loving and endlessly patient fiancé. The second was the fact that he was a black hole, which tended to consume and destroy all light in its path.
“I didn’t know she was cray cray before I slept with her. Also, I might have had a wee bit to drink. However, I can assure you that the baby is not mine,” Callum said.
“Cray cray? What is that nonsense you’re spouting?” Oliver glared at his younger brother.
Callum waved him off. “It’s an expression Tori uses. I very much like the way she talks. In fact, I appreciate the way she does everything. We need to discuss her.”
“First, explain how this can’t be your child,” Claire demanded.
“I’d like to hear this as well.” Rory took a seat beside Callum. “You know condoms break. Did she tell you she was on the pill? I know you think no one would ever lie to their favorite footballer, but really... Do you even watch telly?”
Callum groaned. “Yes, Mummy and Daddy, I did use a condom, and I know how it feels when one breaks. This one stayed solid. But I know this baby isn’t mine because I haven’t had sex with the woman in almost a year. If fact, I haven’t slept with anyone since the injury.”
Oliver felt his jaw drop. “You’ve been celibate all this time? Impossible. Unless something is wrong. Anything we don’t know? Has the medication adversely affected your…sex drive?”
Callum chuckled, his expression open, happy even. Oliver didn’t understand how his brother had survived such a backbiting, throat-slitting profession with his ability to smile like that still intact but he appreciated it.
“No. Little Cal is in perfect working order, thank you. I’ll admit that at first I was somewhat depressed, but I’ve come out the other side of that. I haven’t shagged anyone because I’m only interested in one woman, and until very recently, she was off limits. But did you note that I couldn’t possibly have fathered whatever beast is in Thea’s womb? She claims she’s two months pregnant. I will admit to seeing her at a party at Reggie’s a couple of months back. She started the creepy stalker stuff then. But my willy stayed firmly behind my zip all night.”