Free The Brat (The Playgirls #3) by May Sage

defined Brooke. She was always smiling, joking, and pretty much, ensuring that no one understood what was under the pretty curls.
    He understood it better now, it had been a necessity to survive as the daughter of Helena Barnes…
    But it had meant that he’d missed so much time with the girl of his dreams.
    Shit.
    Turning his anger on Jack was tempting, but he knew better. He’d been pretty damn stupid. And ballless. And he’d most probably hurt her – so much.
    Keeping his distances, forcing himself to just let her be, and eventually settle with some potential guy he’d hated with a vengeance had been an effort, sure, but at least, he’d never had to witness any happy ending between her and anyone else.
    Brooke had seen him playing house with a slut who he’d married because she was convenient. If she’d liked him half as much as he adored her…
     
    Instead of punching Jack – as the guy obviously believed he might – he tapped his shoulder.
    “Thanks man. For telling me.”
    Then he got up, logged in behind his computer and got to work.
    He was done with the games, now. Time to play for keeps.
     
    •
    Brooke
     
    “He spanked you?”
    She smiled dreamily on top of her cocktail.
    “With his hand or…”
    “Hand. I’m asking for a flogger for my birthday.”
    They were laughing, while sipping their coffees on their afternoon walk when the sound got her to leave the main street and get in an insalubrious alley.
    “What are you doing?”
    Ignoring Dana, Brooke went to the overfilled bin, and that’s where she found them, just next to the trash, in a soaked empty box.
    The coffees went right in the trash, along with most things they could throw out off their handbags, and they both filled their overprice totes with the content of the garbage box.
    “Shit. What should we do?”
    “We’re going home, it’s not far.”
    She didn’t hesitate, although she knew for a fact that Shane was going to murder her.
     
    •
    Shane
     
    The day had gone pretty well, he had everything he needed, down to the romantic candles; Jack had sworn he’d spend the evening out, too – so at six o’clock, he was just waiting for the lady of the house to come back.
    What he had not expected was for her to arrive smelling of trash, with an equally flagrant friend, and a bag full of moving, fluffy stuff.
    Before he could say a word, she was sending him her best puppy dog eyes to date, and explaining hurriedly:
    “Someone put them in the trash! They’re soaking, and probably starving and really, really cute.”
    On that note, she was opening her handbag as wide as she could. What hit him first was the smell of piss. Then, forcing himself to glance in regardless, he was taken by a sudden wave of rage.
    In the trash?
    “I’ll just call a vet. They’re so cute, I’m sure a lot of people will want to adopt them.”
    “I’m keeping one,” her friend announced, holding a hand up.
    “Me too!” Brooke squealed. Then, sending Shane a guilty glance, she explained: “I’ll take him with me when I move.”
    Yeah, right.
    “Ok. First: pop them on the carpet. The floor’s cold.”
    “Shane, they’ll ruin it.”
    Sure. Did he care?
    “Get them water, I’m calling Blake.” In case Brooke didn’t recognize the name, he added: “He’s a vet.”
    That was not how tonight was supposed to have gone, but he couldn’t help turning back towards Brooke and smiling. He was planning on marrying her. Might as well give up on his carefully constructed plans now.
    “Carter? Get your ass to me place. I have a pussy emergency.”
     
    Two hours later, once they’d been examined, fed, and tucked  in their newly purchased bed, the six kittens were sleeping and the girls, still cooing all over them.
    Giving up on making them move from cuddle reach of the adorable bunch of whiny attention seekers, Shane popped the prep for his romantic dinner in the fridge, rang a takeaway, and extracted Dana’s husband’s phone number from her.
    The