Read The Brat (The Playgirls #3) for Free Online

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!”
    “See if I care.”
    ‘You can’t! I’m on my periods.”
    “Tough.”
    If the feminine issues weren’t working, she was in deep, deep shit.
    “Seriously, I’ll get pneumonia.”
    “You have a great doctor.”
    Oh, hell. The pool was in view – and definitely full.
    Knowing that there was nothing she could do, except limiting the damage, now, she took her various phones out of her pockets and dropped them, before bracing herself.
    Holy shitty hell, that was fucking cold. He’d thrown her right in, the asshole. She tried to get out, but Shane jumped in and before she’d reached the sides, he was catching her by the ankle and pulling her right back underwater.
    Oh, there would be hell to pay for that.
    It was common knowledge that she was just bugging them because she was younger and therefore, entitled to act like a brat to entertain herself if she damn well felt like it, but if they made the mistake of retaliating? That was declaring war. On a crazy hacker chick. 
    Her lips were blue and stiff as hell, and her teeth wouldn’t stop shattering, but she tried to speak until she managed to say:
    “I hope you’ve written a fucking will, Shane Vaughan. You’re so dead.”
    He came out smirking, not even shaking, and looking pretty damn sexy with the wet hair and all.
    “Sure thing, darling. At least, I got to see you compete in a wet t-shirt contest before meeting my fate.”
    Following his gaze to her tits, she felt heat rushing to her face. Fucking hell. Might as well have been naked. Her soaked beige t-shirt wasn’t hiding a thing, and underneath, she’d worn a lace bra – not exactly the kind of die-hard full cup that might have saved her dignity.
    “You’re an asshole.”
    “You like it in the asshole?”
     
    Turned out, the asshole was pretty good at redeeming himself. She didn’t stop glaring, but it took some effort: between the blanket, the hot chocolate and the foot massage, staying mad wasn’t that easy.
    “How come you have so many phones?” he asked, pointing at the six devices on the table.
    She shrugged, but he wasn’t letting it go.
    “I only have one number for you.”
    “That’s because I only have one number.”
    He frowned, moving to pick up one of her phones – the black one. She tapped his hand away.
    “Behave. Those are computers.”
    He opened his mouth, and closed it again. They definitely look like phones, to be fair; and not even the best of the ones out there.
    She was going to have to face up, or he would bug her about it and touch them until he got some clue.
    “I used to have five different computers – I could only carry three at a time, and that was pretty damn heavy, anyway. I just transferred everything on those computers to a very, very small system; look at the phones; do you recognize the make?” He shook his head; they were pretty basic, smaller than her iPhone, but unremarkable, otherwise. “That’s because it’s just a boring shell I’ve made. That one,” she pointed to the one with yellow tape at the back, “I use everyday. I just sync my laptop to it, and I work on anything from website to random internet stalking assignments.”
    “You stalk people?”
    Brooke had to roll her eyes at that.
    “Some private investigators take pictures of people doing the nasty to prove a husband’s cheating; I just do it online.”
    He launched into the expected remonstrance, telling her that it was illegal and blablabla. She tuned it out after a while.
    “Do I want to know what the other phones are for?”
    “No. You want to make me another hot chocolate.”
    And strangely, he did. He also carried on bugging her about her systems, but his questions sounded more curious than forbidding, as though what she was up to genuinely interested him, so she opened up a little.
    “So you never use