“Have you ever thought about going into business for yourself?” Aidan asked curiously. “Starting your own consulting firm?”
“I have, but it’s such a scary idea, you know? Besides, I love working for Barb. She pays me well, values my opinions.” Claire shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll try it on my own, but for now I’m happy right where I am.”
Dylan snuggled closer to her, then stroked Aidan’s knuckles with his thumb. “I’m also happy right where I am.”
Comfortable silence settled over them, during which Dylan experienced a feeling of pure tranquility he’d never felt before. Screw Seth’s warning about this blowing up in their faces. This felt right. This was right.
The second the thought entered his head, there was a knock on the door.
Since the building had strict security measures in place, nobody was allowed up without being buzzed in and approved by the lobby guard, which meant their bad-timing knocker was either a neighbor or a member of the condo board.
“Not it.” Aidan and Claire blurted out the same two syllables half a second apart.
“You guys are jerks,” Dylan said with a disgruntled groan.
“Not our fault you didn’t say it in time,” Claire answered cheerfully.
Sighing, he climbed off the couch and strode toward the front hall. Rather than open the door, he peered into the peephole first—and his heart promptly stopped beating. Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Just as he was debating whether to pretend nobody was home, another sharp knock sounded on the door.
“Dylan, I know you’re in there,” Chris called angrily. “Your doorman told me you’re home, so open the goddamn door.”
Fuck, he didn’t even have time to go and throw some clothes on. Judging by the seething look on Chris’s face, Dylan was scared that if he didn’t answer now, his brother might actually break down the door.
He took a breath. Dragged a hand over his hair, which was messy from both Claire and Aidan running their fingers through it.
And then he opened the door.
Chris took one look at Dylan’s attire—or lack thereof—and muscled his way inside. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“Chris—” Dylan stepped into his brother’s path.
“Where the hell is she?” Chris gave him a hard shove and bulldozed past him, his expensive wingtips slapping the hardwood as he stormed off.
Racing after his brother, Dylan tried to intercept him before he could reach the living room, but it was too late.
Chris froze in his tracks when he spotted Claire and Aidan on the couch. His green eyes narrowed, absorbed the couple’s half-naked state, then traveled from the couch to the doorway, where Dylan stood in resigned silence.
Sucking in an angry breath, Chris swung his head back in Claire’s direction. “You whore,” he spat out. “You dirty f**king whore.”
Chapter Fifteen
Claire felt like someone had yanked the rug out from under her. She jumped off the couch like her ass was on fire and scrambled around for her clothes, then remembered that Aidan had stripped her out of them in the kitchen, where they’d fooled around before moving to the couch.
Her arms dangled at her sides in defeat, but she lifted her chin in defiance as she met her ex-fiancé’s horrified eyes. “Hi, Chris,” she said coolly. “You look tanned.”
His breathing came out in uneven pants as he advanced on her, but he stopped when Aidan took an aggressive step forward and protectively moved Claire out of the way.
“How f**king sweet,” Chris said in disgust. “Look at your lover, playing the hero.” His furious gaze shifted to Dylan. “I can’t believe you did this! You steal my fiancée and bring her back to your perverted lair for some disgusting orgy with your roommate?”
Dylan’s voice was cold enough to freeze an ocean. “I didn’t steal anything, Chris. You walked out on Claire, which means you have no right to pass judgment on what she does or who she does it with.”
Chris made a sound that was a cross between a growl and a squawk. “I knew you were a horny f**ker, Dylan, but this? This? Screwing the woman I was going to marry? Next thing you’ll tell me, you’re screwing him too.”
Claire saw Dylan’s strong jaw harden, saw his hands tighten into fists, but rather than voice a denial or ignore the accusation, he surprised everyone in the room by saying, “Actually, I am.”
Deafening silence.
Claire almost laughed at Chris’s expression. Shock mingled with revulsion, mixed in with a splash of horror. His face had gone devoid of color, and his mouth hung open as he stared at his brother.
Dylan crossed his arms over his bare chest and slanted his head. “What, no response? No insightful commentary?”
Chris shook his head, once, twice, half a dozen times, as if he couldn’t fathom what he’d just heard. Then his ashen face turned beet red, and he looked like he was about to vomit.
“You sick f**k,” he hissed out. “Jesus Christ, Dylan, you’re in the military and you’re telling me you’re…that you’re…a f**king faggot?”
Dylan flinched.
Claire gasped.
The breathy sound seemed to remind Chris of her presence because he was spinning around again, looking at her with such malevolence she started to feel queasy.
“I am so happy I didn’t marry you.” His voice was low, ominous and dripping with hatred.