Claire shook her head, blond curls brushing her bare shoulders. “No, she’s our problem and we’ll deal with her. Trust me, if I ever acquire my own creepy stalker, I’ll let you handle him.”
After a long moment, Callum yielded. “All right. I’ll keep Tori nearby in case we need some damage control.”
Claire reached for Rory’s hand. “Let’s put this to rest. And keep an eye on Oliver. I’m a bit worried how he’ll handle this.”
Because Oliver was something of a psychopath lately. Rory turned and left his horniest brother in order to deal with the most violent one in a situation guaranteed to rev up Ollie’s temper. Brilliant.
Rory sighed. Sometimes, being the reasonable one was bloody difficult.
* * * *
Oliver stormed toward the security guard. He wanted to blame Tori for wearing that next-to-nothing gown and making him feel so damn possessive. If her breasts hadn’t been on display, maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to murder every man who laid a hand on her, even her brothers-in-law.
He’d watched Kadir touch her as though he had every right. Granted, the contact hadn’t been sexual, but… It was plain to see the al Mussads wanted her back at the palace where they could watch over her and very likely choose whom they believed would be a proper husband for her.
Or husbands, as was their custom.
What did Tori’s brothers-in-law think of her poor fiancé back in Texas? Did anyone give a whit about him?
As he reached the security station, Oliver felt more than ready to deal with any man who stood in his way. Instead, he found a woman beside the gate, wearing a stunning, form-fitting ecru gown that barely covered her. Gown wasn’t the right word actually. Mini-dress might be more suitable. The tiny garment showed off her breasts and brushed high on her thighs. The poor girl couldn’t possibly bend over without showing the world her backside.
If she was pregnant with Callum’s baby, it certainly didn’t show.
“I don’t understand the problem.” She pouted at the guard. “My fiancé is inside. He simply didn’t leave me with the proper paperwork.”
“You need an invitation to get in, miss.” One of the guards sent her an expression of grim apology.
She stamped her designer heel. “I don’t need an invite. My future husband is Callum Thurston-Hughes. You will allow me in this instant.”
Ah, the young and delusional. He looked her over for a moment. Thea Palmer was an “actress.” She’d landed small roles in three films and large spreads as a page-three girl before she’d taken the plunge and gone under the knife. Between the lip enhancements and the overly large breasts that looked ready to pop at any moment, she’d probably spent everything she had on surgeons. Besides being “enhanced,” she had absolutely no education whatsoever. So naturally, his younger brother had thought she’d make a proper bedmate.
According to the reports Oliver had received on her, she’d most recently landed a small role on a show in America that had been canceled after only three episodes. She’d returned to England and apparently decided that Cal was her meal ticket.
By contrast, Tori was smart. A few weeks back, they’d had a long talk about politics, and she’d known far more about European systems of government than he’d imagined. Discussions with her were a pure pleasure. He found himself engaging intellectually in a way he hadn’t since university. He’d debated with her for nearly two hours, their easy camaraderie making the time fly by. He’d been shocked when he’d finally glanced at the clock. He usually felt the weight of time…except when she looked at him with her soft blue eyes and that smile that lit up the world.
The woman in front of him had absolutely none of Tori’s easy intelligence. His publicist handled people with a deft hand. This woman used a hatchet.
“I’ll have your bloody job, I will.” She stared up at the guard.
“What seems to be the problem?” Oliver stepped out from the hallway and into her line of vision for the first time.
Her eyes widened. “Mr. Thurston-Hughes, thank goodness. Please speak with your guard. There seems to be a mistake.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver saw an intrepid twenty-something woman in a modest black dress designed to help her blend in. As she loitered around the guard station, he recognized her as a reporter from The Sun. Damn. She likely intended to snap pictures of the celebrities coming and going, but the minute she realized the drama playing out here, Callum and Thea’s “love child” would be front page news. Again.
And Tori would be furious.
He wanted to throw Thea out, but the chit would likely find the reporters stalking about and give them a tearful story about how the man who had fathered her child was dancing the night away while she was left on the streets to fend for herself.
He should have thrashed Callum more thoroughly. His unruly cock had landed them all in trouble.
“Come with me, Ms. Palmer.” He unlatched the velvet rope and allowed her to pass through. He couldn’t miss the look of triumph on her face as she passed the guard. Oliver shook the uniformed man’s hand. “Thank you. You did well. I’ll handle her from here.”
The guard leaned over. “Be careful, sir. She walked up with a man who looked a bit thuggish to me. He disappeared once she got close. I don’t think she wanted me to see him.”
Oliver nodded. “Keep an eye out for him. And don’t hesitate to work with the al Mussad guards.” Of course, they’d brought their own. “They’re some of the best in the world.”
He turned back and had to hustle to catch up with his prey. She wasn’t lollygagging about, waiting to talk to him. She marched straight for the ballroom, likely prepared to hunt down Callum and cause a scene—along with massive problems for the whole family.