The Brat (The Playgirls #3) Read online

  Shane had respected his old friend’s privacy, but he knew there was a story.

  Jack had put it behind him by January, though – and he hadn’t looked that agitated since.

  Was the girl back in the picture?

  “Out with it, what’s up with you?”

  Another long sigh.

  “It’s BB. I’m worried about her, she… man, I shouldn’t talk to you about that.”

  What. The. Hell.

  Shane’s gaze lifted from his laptop, he stopped typing and glared until he was calm enough to talk.

  “What’s the matter with her?”

  Silence. Fucking silence.

  “Jack, you know I love that girl.”

  He should have added something about loving her “like a sister,” but he wasn’t fond of lying, so he left it at that.

  “If there’s anything I can help with, I need to know.”

  “Nothing like that. She’s just... fuck. I don’t know how to say it.”

  With your mouth. Open it and talk. Now.

  “Ok, here’s the deal. You know she doesn’t date all that much, right?”

  He opened his mouth to dispute that, but thought better of it; instead, he nodded slowly.

  “Well, I guess I underestimated how little she dates. We were talking this morning, and… Turns out she’s a fucking virgin. And pretty tired of it, too. She said she was tempted to go to a gigolo and get it over with.”

  Sucker punched. He was sucker punched, straight to the stomach.

  As if the virgin bombshell hadn’t been enough. The girl was twenty-three. She’d gone to college. These kinda things did not happen in real life; those who looked like her were the first to lose it, dammit!

  But the gigolo bit didn’t make a blink of sense; he’d seen her pretty chummy with an attractive guy just last night.

  “Why?” was all he managed to say.

  “I suppose she figured once it’s out of the way, it would be easier to date; she’s got a point, in a way… But I’ll just talk to her and see if she’s interested in seeing Blake. He’s an ass, but still – better him than a fucking prostitute.”

  He meant Blake Carter, an old acquaintance. In any other conversation, Shane would have called him a friend; right now, he wanted to punch the guy in the throat.

  Blake was pretty decent company, as long as you didn’t have a pair of boobs; he was a player to the bones.

  Sure, Shane had become one, too, but he didn’t lead girls on – while Blake liked to pick the fussy ones, and he wined and dined them, pretending he was in for the long haul.

  Would Jack really subject his only sister to him?

  “Anyway, as you see, there’s nothing you can do,” Jack carried on. “Unless you fancy doing my sister.”

  He said it as a joke of course, but Shane was startled all the same.

  “You wouldn’t mind if I saw your sister?”

  That completely blew his mind.

  Blake, he understood; Jack trusted him – more than an escort, anyway. At the same time, they weren’t that close, so if things went south, there wouldn’t be any conflict of interest: he could just bust his balls.

  If Brooke and Shane stopped getting along, it would be a completely different story. They weren’t friends: they were practically brothers. Not to mention, they had equal shares in their business…

  “Sure,” Jack shrugged. “You’d be better than most. I mean, you said it yourself. You love her, right?”

  Fuck.

  “I don’t do relationships, Jack.”

  The words hurt as he forced them out, like sandpaper grinding on his throat.

  He didn’t do relationships because of Fiona Vaughan. Associating Brooke to her in any way, shape or form made him want to kick his own ass.

  On the other hand, now he was divorced, Shane liked his life as it was. He could work a lot, concentrate on his business, without adding up another person’s needs in the equation; his commitment to VandB was the reason why they’d moved on from being two fish in the sea to becoming the sharks they now were in the industry.

  Jack and Shane were multi-millionaires, a year – maybe two – away from the billionaire club.

  “Good thing, too,” his friend replied. “She just wants to punch the V-Card, man. Afterwards, I bet she’ll party like a rock-star for a while; the kid doesn’t have nearly enough fun.”

  Shane should have held out both hands and given up when he felt like breaking something at the idea of Brooke playing the field. He should have left her to Blake’s care, or even the gigolo’s, for that matter.

  Instead, he said:

  “This conversation didn’t take place, ok? You go to Miami. I’ll… talk to her.”

  •

  Shane was struck afresh by her beauty when he made it back to the apartment that afternoon.

  Brooke wasn’t only stunning: she was real. Real soft curves and dips, real tits, real perky ass, real smile. Real fucking boobs. He knew for a fact they were a size 32E. No, seriously. He’d gone shopping with her a while back, and she’d purchased a sport bra that size. The store had to order it especially for her.

  She also didn’t hide behind a ton of paintwork: she wore chapstick, and that was it. Fiona hadn’t ever left the bedroom without primer, foundation, blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, and whatever other shit he didn’t understand.

  That meant he could see Brooke’s bags under her eyes, her light dust of freckles, and every other imperfection that made her perfect.

  The out of control light brown curls fell to her waist, swallowing her whole; she generally pushed it off her face on the left side and it bounced everytime she moved.

  How come no one had tossed her on a shoulder and kidnapped her? He was certainly tempted to.

  She bent over to put her glass in the dishwasher and Shane bit his lip. What an ass. He didn’t know how she managed to pack those lush curves on her slight frame, but it should be illegal.

  “Oh, hi! I thought you were going to Florida?”

  She jumped on the kitchen counter, her lean legs dangling down on the sides, and popped a red lollipop in her mouth; her usual trademark.

  Was she doing that shit on purpose?

  “Jack went. I can assess the property from the reports; besides, he’s better at negotiating prices.”

  An egg timer he didn’t know he had sprung to life and Brooke jumped to her feet, making that ass move in her shorts. Why the hell was she wearing shorts? It was just cruel, and point blank unnecessary in February. Perhaps he should drop the temperature of the heating around the flat to ensure she bothered wearing suitable clothes instead of her fuck-me suits.

  Brooke interrupted his inner ramble by opening the oven.

  Shane gasped out loud.

  No.

  It just couldn’t be!

  But yet, it was. She pulled the tray of brownie out, and there was no denying it: he could have identified that smell anywhere.

  “Mom gave you her fucking recipe?”

  He just couldn’t believe it. How many times he, Katie and Alice had begged for it?

  “Of course not. I just tried to copy it; it’s close, but not quite there.”

  Ignoring her words of caution about letting it rest, he went right for the brownie and broke a corner.

  He moaned.

  Brooke was right; it wasn’t his mother’s brownie, there definitely was a bit of a difference there.

  But it was better, somehow. She’d added another component that made the shell softer without dripping on his fingers.

  Shane was contemplating going down on one knee, but he didn’t have a ring right now.

  Fucked. He was fucked.

  “Anyway, if Jack’s better at assessing stuff, why were you going to go?”

  To avoid you. Instead of saying that out loud, he shrugged.

  “It fit the schedule. We managed to work around it. But before he went, I heard him…”

  There goes nothing.

  “I heard him
on the phone; I don’t know who he was talking to, but he said you’re planning on hiring a fucking escort, Chubs. Tell me that’s not true.”

  •

  Brooke

  She was going to tell him something that was true: her brother was dead – he would be well and truly deceased, the moment she got her hands on him.

  Jack knew full well she’d been bloody joking. Who could he have been talking to?

  She let out a terse laugh without an ounce of humor.

  “I was kidding, Shane.”

  Shit. Even to her ears, it sounded like a lie; it really wasn’t, though. She knew full well she could pick a guy at a club and fuck him for free, no questions asked; why the hell would she waste cash on it?

  “I hope so, Chubs; you don’t know what kind of disease they carry and…”

  She did not need parental advice from Shane Vaughan.

  “One word!” she warned. “One word about it again, and I’m throwing out the brownies.”

  That shut him up for a full minute; he looked at her as though she’d confessed to kicking her way through litters of cute puppies for fun.

  “Right… no need to involve the brownies, but I just need to say this.”

  She glared at him as he breathed in and out, slow and deep.

  “I’m volunteering.”

  Hm? What was he on about?

  Then, he landed his bombshell, clarifying his meaning.

  “I’d like to have sex with you.”

  That explained it: she was dreaming. She’d probably fallen asleep after baking the brownies. Damn, she hoped they didn’t burn.

  “Whether you were serious or not about… hiring someone, I’m there if you need me to,” he carried on. “If that’s something you’re self-conscious and worried about…”

  Strike the daydreaming. It was way too embarrassing to be something she’d ever subject herself to, even in her imagination.

  “Thanks, I guess. But I’m not desperate enough to want a pity fuck.”

  Her brain was in total disagreement with other parts of her on the matter; even as she spoke, she could feel her inside tighten and moisten like she’d been teasing them with a vibrating egg for hours, just because Shane had mentioned sex in conjuncture to her. Please pity-fuck me, the slutty pussy said. She could hardly blame it: that guy was so damn hot.

  The hair that had been long and wavy when it had been cool was now cropped short, he filled his business casual get-ups in a way no professional had any right to, and his smirk held legendary insta-wet powers.

  He’s offering to use that mouth on you. And his hands. And his dick, too. God, she was certain that dick was glorious.

  Brooke did her best to stop the brain freeze and remain focus on retaining her dignity.

  “It would hardly be a pity fuck, Baby.”

  Shane stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he said that.

  Oh god, here goes nothing: she was ready to serve up her dignity on a silver platter. Along with her pussy.

  “When I heard you haven’t had anyone inside that pussy of yours, the last thing I felt was pity, Baby. I wanted to go get you, toss you over my shoulder and take you to my bed until you scream so hard Jack would have no other choice but to murder me.”

  By then, he was a breath away from her, his hands encaging her, holding on to the sides of the kitchen counter.

  “I don’t do relationships, so if there’s a boyfriend in the corner waiting to claim what’s his, fine. But if you want sex? Sex, I do very well.”

  On that note, he stepped away from her, walking towards the fridge. He pulled a bottle of water and winked at her as he left.

  “You just have to holler, Chubs. I’m all yours when you want me.”

  Oh fuck.

  •

  Dana couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Seriously? I’m all yours when you want me?”

  Brooke nodded.

  “Don’t forget the wink.”

  “Damn. Shane Vaughan offering sex on tap. I kinda hate you right now.”

  She shook her head, explaining: “No tap. It was more a tall glass of water kinda offer. One time deal, if you see what I mean.”

  “So?”

  So indeed.

  Brooke wasn’t saving herself, or anything; half of her was tempted to just say fuck it and accept that generous offer.

  The thing was, she had too much self-respect for that. She knew why he’d step in: because the idea of her buying herself a male whore had made him panic, big time.

  Out of Jack and Shane, Shane had always been the one more suited to the usual description of big brothers: he was overprotective to a fault. Whatever he said of desire, his proposal had been made to ensure she stayed safe, like when he’d bought himself a bike and drove her around town everywhere, rather than let her get herself one.

  Then, just like now, she’d learnt the hard way that while the ride was amazing, while it lasted, independence was the best thing for her, in the long run.

  Five years ago

  “You didn’t!” she yelled, her eyes bulging out of her face.

  “I totally did,” was Shane’s reply.

  She couldn’t believe it, but her eyes didn’t lie: he’d bought a Ducati. A canary yellow 916: her dream bike.

  “Fuck. You have to let me ride it!”

  His smile made her heart flutter, as per usual.

  Shane grabbed a yellow helmet tucked between his legs and handed it to her.

  “Hop on Baby.”

  He’d drove her around the whole summer, which had made her feel like she’d started in her own romance flick.

  Then, reality crashed on her lap.

  Shane

  “What was that?”

  Jack shrugged, before repeating his bombshell.

  “Yeah, Brooke’s had the biggest crush on some guy for ever. Rides a bike, has cool hair, even a tattoo, I think. The works.”

  Shane wanted to punch something. He rode a bike, now. For her. He’d sold his car and bought the bike she raved about. His hair was more all-over-the-place than cool, but girls didn’t generally have anything against it. He had a tattoo.

  He’d really believed they’d hit it off, the last couple of months but apparently, he was wrong, if she spoke to her brother about some other guy.

  Fuck. Maybe he’d been hasty when he’d broken up with Fiona, the day Brooke had turned eighteen. Fiona wasn’t his idea of perfection, but she was a known entity, at least. With her, he went in aware of what he walked into.

  That night, he texted Brooke, saying he couldn’t make it to the cinema, and went to get Fiona.

  Six months later, they were married.

  •

  Brooke

  Now

  “So,” she said, “It’s best if I don’t enter one time deals with a guy I’m going to fall in love with. You know, self-preservation and all.”

  She and Dana hadn’t been that close, back in school, and that was the main reason why she could be totally opened right now: to her, the Vaughans were mere passing acquaintances.

  “I kinda see your point… but I’ll tell you two words: what if. Might as well get used to them. They’ll be with you forever if you don’t do it now.”

  She glared at her friend; the girl had married a stranger in Vegas, what did she know about anything?

  Chapter Five

  Shane

  Shane might have got a bike to impress a certain brat, but there had been no going back afterwards; he was hooked.

  He generally travelled on his Ducati, but from time to time, he needed a four wheeler – he couldn’t very well turn up to meetings in full biker outfit; his name wasn’t Brett Webber.

  It had been a while since he had driven his car – a eco-friendly, quick, sporty number that he’d bought just because Jack was happy with his.

  That kind of car was more of a computer than a piece of mechanic; when it went to the shop, the guys just plugged it in to see what was underneath the bonnet.

&nb
sp; Shane really, really should have taken that aspect into consideration when he’d settled on that car.

  Because anything even remotely related to a computer was BB’s bitch.

  It all started when he had to blow the horn to signal his presence to a group of teenagers playing around without paying attention to the road.

  “My little poney….”

  He was going to murder her. Painfully. Slowly.

  It would have been bad enough if the theme song had just blasted inside his cab, but turns out, it was also blowing out.

  The kids sure were noticing him now. Along with everyone else in the main road.

  “I used to wonder what friendship could be…”

  Shit. Never had he wished quite so hard for a miracle to happen and alleviate the heavy traffic.

  “And magic makes it all complete!”

  Would that fucking song ever end!

  Eventually, it did.

  Then, it just started again from the beginning.

  Why, oh why, hadn’t he gone for tinted windows?

  •

  Brooke

  She managed to keep a straight face for all of two seconds when the dark, brooding man stormed into the house, aiming right for her.

  One of her alarms had informed her that he’d activated her little pony stunt. She knew for a fact that she would pay dearly for that, but it was completely, totally, utterly worth it.

  Shane didn’t say a word, he threw her on his shoulder and carried her, laughing and kicking, all the way from the lounge to the rooftop.

  Oh, no.

  There was one reason why VandB had purchased the penthouse: the pool on the rooftop. She had to admit, she’d drooled when Jack had showed her the pictures… But mainly because it had been in May, and she’d spent most of her time stuck in stuffy class rooms.

  They were in February and as no one had used the pool for a while, she bet that if it was full, it wasn’t heated. Shit.

  Now was a perfect time to start begging.

  “Shane, don’t do this, I have phones on me!”