The Brat (The Playgirls #3) by May Sage Read Free Book Online Page B

Day thirty three since she’d made it back to San Fran, and he’d seen her every single day, save for the last two.
     
    First, Shane was concerned, so he called a number he’d probably never used in his entire life.
    “Shane boy!” the Barnes’ old housekeeper replied, enthusiastic as always. “We never see you anymore. You don’t love my cookies now?”
    Her cookies were just one step under Mara Vaughan’s brownies, and she knew it.
    “Never, Monique. I’ll be there soon enough.” He paused for a while, before asking, “Is Brooke around today?”
    “Mhph!” Monique snorted. “That girl’s never home these days. She doesn’t love me either. Wait a minute... Yeah. I see her in the poolhouse. She’s behind that computer of hers, as always. She’s going to need glasses if she doesn’t stop, you know.”
    Shane was lost for words at first. Then, Monique said she’d go get her.
    “No, no. No need. I’ll…” Carry on giving myself a migraine by wondering what I’ve done that could be bad enough for her to prefer staying at the mercy of her dreadful family than working here, with me. “I’ll call her mobile. Nice talking to you, Monique.”
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Brooke
     
    She knew that staying away was a temporary fix, at best, and an unconstructive one at that. In a few days, Jack would be back, and he’d ask why she’d started working at home. There was no answer to that that could even remotely pass as a valid excuse.
    The thing was, Brooke had lived through Shane announcing that he was getting married – with a huge smile on his face. She’d already had to pretend to smile and chock out congratulations. She was not submitting herself to anymore of that.
    He’d either been speaking to Fiona, or to another conquest he needed to use that voice for. She didn’t want to know.
    The possibility that he might have actually been on the phone with an investor or some sort of inconsequential relation crossed her mind… but it didn’t matter. In the end, she’d just been reminded of one heartbreaking fact: Shane Vaughan wasn’t and would never be hers.
    She was so grateful she’d had the willpower to refuse his suggestion about sex; she would never have survived that.
    “What are you doing?”
    Oh for Christ’s sake!
    There she was, convincing herself that distance was definitely the way forward, so obviously he turned up at her place.
    “Working out?”
    Staying home a week had meant eating her weigh in pancakes, cookies and muffins, so the hula-hooping was a necessity.
    Shane’s gaze started at her ankles, and crawled up her legs, lingering on her shorts and her bikini top. He made it to her face, but not quite to her eyes; as per her custom, she had a cherry lollipop in her mouth, and it seemed to retain his interest.
    Then, he cursed.
    “That,” he almost yelled, pointing at her, “is not working out. That’s fucking porn.”
    She rolled her eyes, slowing down her hips gradually; sure, it wasn’t much of an exercise at this rate, but her hips had the time to undulate in a way that made his veins pop.
    Brooke just couldn’t help it; who could blame her, really? She’d noticed that particular exercise had turned him on for years. She knew better than to take it personally; he was a guy, and she was kinda showing how the goods worked.
    But her self-esteem had already taken a huge backlash since she’d started spending time around him; he owed her a few admiring glances to build it back up.
    The problem was that later, she’d wonder why she wasn’t enough. What the Fionas of the world had that she didn’t.
    “I take it you haven’t come all the way to ogle at me?” she asked casually, without stopping.
    “I’m good with ogling for now,” he replied, his eyes ablaze, wetting his mouth – which only served to remind her of what it felt like against hers.
    Or on her tits.
    She heard him swear again when she changed the rhythm, popping her hips a bit higher at each