10 MEN: A MEGA MENAGE REVERSE HAREM ROMANCE (HUGE SERIES Book 7) Read online

  He shakes his head. “We all have an opinion, Laura, but none of this is new to us. It’s something that Dad has been talking about for a really long time. We’re all probably desensitized to it.”

  “I don’t think there is any ‘probably’ about it.”

  He takes a step closer and I put my hands up. I don’t think he’s trying to get into my space but he notices and adjusts his position. “I get how it must sound to you, but maybe you’ll feel different once you get to know us. Maybe it won’t all seem so bad. Maybe you might like us.” The hopeful tone of his voice makes me feel sad. How can anyone be hopeful about a situation like this? It’s so far removed from the reality of what life is supposed to be.

  I shake my head because I can’t imagine ever getting to that place. “You make it sound like some sort of cult, Donnie.”

  He laughs but it’s self-conscious. “Maybe it is a bit like that, living as a McGregor. It’s us against the world. Always has been, and if Dad has anything to do with it, it always will be. Loyalty isn’t a sin, though, is it?”

  “Depends if it’s blind,” I say.

  He shakes his head this time. “None of us are stupid, Laura. We’ve all seen what it’s like in the world. We’ve dated. We have friends who aren’t part of our family.”

  “And none of that has made you see this as freaky?”

  “Not really. There’s good and bad in everything,” he says. His expression is distant, as though he’s thinking about something from another time and place.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say about this, I still can’t get my head around it,” I say. “I’d like to be alone for a while.”

  “Sure. You want something to eat or drink? This is your home now. Just help yourself to whatever you need.”

  Home.

  How could it ever feel that way now?

  I had these hopes. Silly dreams about what it would be like to live in a big family. Not having to worry about Mom. Settling down.

  All of it has been shattered.

  This home is built on false pretenses.

  Mom has let me down in a way I never would have thought possible.

  As I think through the reality of what my next steps will need to be – dropping out of college, getting a job, leaving Mom behind – a sob leaves my throat.

  4

  I don’t want Donnie or any of Roderick’s other sons to see me crying. I haven’t even met half of them and this wouldn’t be the way I’d want to be introduced. I’m ashamed to be this weak and pathetic, and don’t really understand why I’m responding this way. I guess that I didn’t really realize how much of a picture I had built of what our new life with the McGregors was going to be like and now that fantasy has been shattered, it has left me feeling totally empty and disappointed.

  And Mom knew about their sick plan and wasn’t opposed to it.

  I feel sick.

  Standing, I turn my face away from Donnie and start to hurry away, holding in the sob that is fighting to leave my lips. He starts to call after me but I don’t turn back and he doesn’t follow. I’m grateful that he seems to understand that I don’t need his comfort, not after what I heard.

  I need to find somewhere to hide for a while. Somewhere I can wash my face and let the redness from my eyes recede before I face anyone.

  I begin to make my way across the estate, scanning for a way into the house that’s away from where I assume the McGregor boys are all still hanging out. I’m so desperate that I’m practically jogging, something I haven’t done in six months. A sharp pain surges down my left leg reminding me of my injury; the one I can’t seem to stop aggravating long enough for it to heal properly. Forcing myself to slow down, I curse. I don’t need pain on top of everything else. I wish I had taken the time to put on shoes because the soles of my feet are already tender. The pain in my leg worsens and I know that if I don’t stop for a while, I’m going to be out of action for ages. I can’t risk taking more time out of college. Stopping, I ease myself down to the ground, brush the dirt from my feet and lay back in the thick green grass. The sky is beautifully clear but it’s beauty does nothing to make me feel better.

  I groan loudly.

  For fuck sake! I can’t believe my bad luck.

  I groan again, aggravated and frustrated and furious and disappointed, and to be honest, a little bit embarrassed. I mean, they were all talking about fucking me. I mean, I know that men’s minds work in different ways to women, and I know that I have had some pretty X-rated thoughts about them over Google research but that was in my own private fantasy time, not being discussed casually over food.

  There’s a rustle in the foliage to my left and as I turn, a man emerges. “I thought an animal was dying out here,” he says, resting his hands on his hips. “But turns out it’s just a groaning woman.”

  I scan his features, trying to recognize him. Damn, he’s hot. Is he one of the McGregor’s or one of the staff? I’m trying to scan through my mental recollection of all those Google pictures I have but I’ve obviously not been stalker enough and I can’t match the face to a name. He has dark eyes that aren’t brown or grey in this light but something in between, and straight dark hair that’s cropped short.

  “Humans are animals. You do know that, don’t you? And I’m in pain, here!” I say with a tiny spark of joy that I can still pull out the snark, even when I’m down. I swipe the tears from my face and try to pull myself together.

  His expression softens a bit. “Why are you holding your leg like that? Did you hurt yourself?”

  Unwilling to let the good-looking man get the better of me I lift my chin slightly. “No. I’m just groaning and clutching at myself for the sheer pleasure of it.”

  His curious gaze sparkles with a hint of amusement.

  “Groaning and clutching does tend to go hand in hand with pleasure.”

  Well, he’s got me there but I’m not going to let him see even a hint of a smile. “Are you one of the five brothers I haven’t met yet or the lawn guy?”

  He splutters with laughter. “I’m Grant, so I guess that just leaves four brothers you haven’t met yet.”

  “Might never meet at this rate,” I mumble, trying to sit up a little.

  “Let me help you stand.” He holds out his strong, manly hand and I grasp it, pulling myself onto my good leg and tentatively resting a little pressure on the bad. I wince and he looks really sympathetic. “Have they really managed to make such a terrible impression already?”

  “Let’s just say the choice of conversation topic was the problem,” I say.

  His eyes flash for a moment and he nods. “Yeah. I can see how that might be the case. I mean, anyone would have thought you’d be desperate for ten millionaire husbands.”

  For a moment I think he’s seriously suggesting I’m crazy, then I see the laughter dancing in his eyes and remember it was him that didn’t sound all that happy about the prospect either. He takes my hand and rests it around his neck, putting his arm around me to support my weight. He begins to move in the wrong direction.

  “I don’t want to go this way,” I tell him. “I need to…” I trail off, looking around. In reality I have no idea where I want to go.

  “You need to rest for a little while,” he says firmly. “You definitely need to take the weight of that leg as soon as possible.”

  “What, are you a doctor now?” I wince again from the pain as we continue to shuffle forward.

  Grant stops, looks me over, then scoops me up until I’m resting in his arms like an inappropriately dressed bride about to be carried over a threshold.

  “I wanted to be a vet,” he says softly, eyes fixed ahead.

  I’m about to remind him that I’m a woman not an animal but something about the way he mentioned it, like it was a wistful dream, stops me in my tracks. Wanted. As in, past tense. “You work for your father, right?”

  “It’s the only way,” he says with a bit more grit in his tone. “Roddy is the king of the castle here, and we are j
ust his minions.”

  “I know what minions look like, and none of you are short and yellow.”

  “Might as well be,” he mumbles.

  “But you’re the only one not falling into line over this plural relationship, bullshit.”

  He shakes his head. “How do you know that?”

  “I overheard you talking.”

  He adjusts me in his arms. “Work is one thing, but my dick and my heart are my business.” I find myself blushing like a virgin at his casual mention of his dick. Things warm up pretty quickly between my legs, too. I don’t think I’d be reacting like this if I wasn’t pressed up against his chest with the scent of his alpine-fresh cologne all around me. Or if he looked less like something off the cover of a magazine.

  “Am I that much of a horrible prospect?” I ask, trying to keep things light. His mouth quirks up on one side, morphing into a lopsided smile.

  I notice that he seems to be taking me back to the house and I really don’t want to be facing anyone else right now. “Don’t take me back into that house,” I say.

  He doesn’t look at me when he says, “I’m taking you to my place.” His voice seems lower and just a little laced with smooth caramel. I’m thinking that it must be my imagination because I suddenly remember my Google search that said he’s the one who already has a girlfriend he’s wild about, so he’s not likely going to put the moves on me. Plus, he seems like a genuinely good guy.

  “Your place?” I’m confused. I thought they all lived together. “You don’t live with your family?”

  “I’ve not earned a room in the mansion.”

  “So I guess you’re the one I need to talk to about finding a way out of that place.”

  “Sorry, princess. That kind of information is on a need to know basis only.”

  I flinch at the use of the term princess until I remember my monstrosity of a room and realize he must be referring to that.

  “So you’ve seen Roddy’s idea of décor for the modern woman.”

  Grant laughs and I feel the vibrations of it right through me. “Roddy wouldn’t know a modern woman if one hit him in the face.”

  “I guess I need to tell my mom to get on that one then,” I say as he stomps up the steps of a tiny brick home that looks like it might have been built for staff.

  “I’ll just bet you’re desperate to get thrown out of that ridiculous confection of a room,” he teases.

  “You got kicked out?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, looking slightly embarrassed, then resituates me in his arms in order to open the door. “Truth be told, having my own space apart from the pack gives me a basic degree of privacy from an environment where everyone seems intent on prying into my business.”

  “That proves you’re the smartest one of the bunch.”

  He only grunts, sitting me down in a comfortable armchair with a plaid spread thrown over the back of it. Taking a look around I decide that I love the small, tidy place that Grant calls home. It’s decorated in a lodge style with heavy, dark wood and brown leather furniture and walls covered with pictures of animals. One large framed print shows him bandaging a beautiful thoroughbred’s leg. Catching me staring, Grant explains. “Donnie took that picture of me patching up the race horse my father invested in after he took a tumble. He recovered enough to walk again but he wasn’t up to speed after that.”

  Smiling at Grant who is now kneeling beside my chair, I’m suddenly shy. “If you can patch his leg up, maybe you can do the same for mine.”

  “What happened to yours?” he asks, looking up at me with smoky gray eyes framed by thick dark lashes. My heart skips.

  “I tore my hamstring sprinting about six months ago,” I tell him. “Every time I think it’s healed enough for me to give it some serious use, it craps out on me again.”

  There’s a low whine from the corner of the room. A huge Doberman has been sitting watching us and I didn’t even notice. He seems to be staring my leg. If a dog could look empathetic, this one does. Out comes his tongue and he licks the exact spot that’s hurting on his own front leg. It seems like magic at first, and then I notice a small spasm is making the muscle jerk.

  “Killer, fetch.” Grant’s voice is so commanding that it startles me. The dog rushes off to another room and comes back dragging a black duffel bag. When Grant says, “Good dog” in his deep rumbling voice, the dog wags its tail. I think if I had a tail, I’d wag it for Grant, too.

  Grant paws through his bag, pulling out a cold compress. He squeezes the white bag, mixing the chemicals inside and then presses to my leg. Cool soothing relief soaks into the muscle and slowly the tiny contracting movements stop.

  “Is that helping?” he asks.

  “Yeah, it is actually.”

  “What you said before is true.” Pausing to look up at me, he’s so handsome it takes my breath away. “In a world where there is only animal, vegetable and mineral; humans are animals. Most people are just too self-important to see that.”

  I find myself nodding in agreement. “People like to feel powerful. To feel superior. We tell ourselves that we’re smarter than animals so hurting them and killing them doesn’t seem so bad.”

  Sitting back on his heels Grant gives Killer a scratch behind the ear and when the animal drops its huge head into his lap he nods.

  “I read an article on chimpanzees learning sign language and to follow voice prompts from humans and it got me to thinking,” I say. “We’re not smart enough to know what they are saying to each other when they vocalize, but they somehow learned enough of our language to understand what we’re asking them to do. Sign Language is considered a real language and those chimps picked it up.”

  Grant’s face lights up. “I never thought about it that way.”

  I spy a small silver frame over his shoulder with a woman’s smiling face looking back at me. She’s really pretty. Blonde hair and perfect teeth. The all-American cheer leader type. I can see what he sees in her from the outside but Grant seems like a very deep person and I’m nosey enough to want to find out more. “Does your girlfriend love animals, too?” I ask him.

  Instead of the nod and smile I’m expecting from him I see his eyes go cold and his expression go vacant. It’s as though he’s closed himself off. Without saying a word, he rummages through his duffel again and pulls out a flexible wrap, which he expertly uses to apply gentle pressure to my injured calf. I feel the silence like it’s a physical pressure and want to apologies for saying something wrong but I’m not sure what I did.

  Coming swiftly to his feet, he turns on his heel and strides across the room to the front door. I’m not sure what’s happening. Is he going to just leave me here, injured and currently unable and unwilling to return to the main house?

  When he jerks it open I get my answer. He steps out and walks away, leaving the door ajar behind him. Killer whines again, his eyes also trained on the door. It’s as though all the light just left the room. It seems as though this McGregor brother is well and truly closed off.

  I look back at the smiling woman in the frame and wonder what the hell happened to turn Grant from smiling eyes to stone with just one question.

  5

  Within moments my mom knocks gently on the door. I recognize her knock even before she pokes her head through the doorway. “Little piggy, little piggy, let me in.”

  I can’t believe she’s seriously going with that approach in this situation.

  When I was a kid that was my nick name but it seems completely wrong for her to use is now. Her face falls a little when she sees my expression but she still comes into the room and takes a seat on the masculine sofa across from me. “This day went sideways real fast, didn’t it, pumpkin.”

  I don’t even know what to say. Is she expecting me to be fine with her? Sideways doesn’t come anywhere close to covering what this day has become.

  Devastating.

  Strange.

  Part of a parallel universe where my mom has lost all her morals an
d joined some kind of cult.

  “Mom, you knew about this?”

  She nods. “But it isn’t like you said, honey.”

  “So how the hell is it?”

  She lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. Crossing her legs, Mom wraps her arms around her knee and laces her fingers together. “What I know is that Roderick is intent on finding one woman to be with his sons. They’ve always done everything together. They share the same house, swap clothing and just take whatever vehicle they feel like every day. They operate as a unit, love spending time palling around together and are open to considering one ‘wife’.” She does air quotes when she says wife. At least she’s aware that polygamy isn’t a legal reality. “As far as I know the plan was to offer you first dibs on the wife slot.”

  I make a scoffing noise. “Dibs. I don’t think dibs is really the right word, Mom. This isn’t school, you know. And so nice that I get a choice in the matter.”

  “Of course you get a choice. You know I’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, but I know these are good boys and I know Roderick.” Sighing, my mom reaches out to put her hand on my knee. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. Of course it seems weird to you. You’ve only been here for a few hours. You don’t know these people or anything about how they live their lives, but when you do, you’ll see why I’m not shocked or horrified about the prospect. You know there are lots of benefits to having more than one man. You know how happy Katelin is.”

  An article I read floats through my mind. It was about a group of friends who had all ended up in polyamorous relationships. They explained the difficulties they faced, not only because those around them found it difficult to accept but also because of their own preconceived ideas. They also went on to explain how well it works. More money for the family. More strong men about the place to work and take care of the manly jobs. More strong men to meet the needs of their woman. I remember feeling warm between my legs at the thought of having more than one lover at the same time. That feeling of being shared, of being overwhelmed by the physical strength of more than one man.