There were no emails to answer, text messages to look at, a demanding sister/boss to run after, people to please. It had taken all her strength and a great deal of courage to walk away from her dominating mother and sister, and she constantly reminded herself that she no longer answered to anyone and was a free agent...or she was trying to be.
God, leaving them had been the one and only thing she’d ever done for herself and by herself, and had she not, she would’ve lost herself forever. It had been so damn close...
Brin stared out to sea, trying and failing to remember a time when Kerry’s wants, needs and ambitions weren’t crucially important. Their family revolved around her half sister, and Brin might have still been in Johannesburg, working as Kerry’s very underappreciated personal assistant, had she not caught her sister kissing her boyfriend.
As long as lived she’d never forget their glib, unremorseful responses.
“Look, let’s be honest here. Your sister is smarter, incredibly successful and so much sexier than you. What was I supposed to say when she suggested we hook up...no?”
Well, Malcolm, yes.
Kerry’s eyes had held malice as she had twisted the knife of betrayal. “And, darling, don’t you think that you are punching above your weight with Malcolm?”
Strangely, Kerry’s betrayal and her mother’s reaction to the situation hurt far more than discovering Malcolm was a cheating jerk. On hearing about their fight, their mom instantly dismissed Brin’s feelings and, without hesitation or thought, defended Kerry’s actions, reminding her that her half sister was special, that she should be given a pass because she was beautiful and super famous. And really, who could blame Malcolm for choosing Kerry over her?
Everyone did. And always would.
Standing there, feeling slapped by her mother’s dismissive words, being told she was overreacting, Brin knew she needed to leave, to run, as hard and as fast as she could.
By the next morning she was in Cape Town and, so far, she’d resisted their constant pleas, demands and manipulations to return home because, deep down, she knew her only role was to make their lives easier.
She’d swapped her garden flat for a tiny second bedroom in Abby’s house, the use of Kerry’s Benz for wheezy Betsy, and her waitressing job barely covered her bills. But she was free of criticism, of being micromanaged, of standing in her sister’s very long shadow. In Cape Town, she could breathe.
She could be Brin.
That was, if she lasted in Cape Town. Brin thought about her depleted bank account and rubbed the back of her neck. She’d picked up a couple of gigs doing floral designs to supplement the money she earned from waitressing, but living in Cape Town was pricey and her expenses far outstripped her income. Her savings were depleted and, if something didn’t change soon, she was heading for trouble.
Might-have-to-go-home or ask-my-family-for-a loan trouble. Bleurgh.
About to walk down the steps, Brin heard the low rumble of an expensive car and watched as a deep red supercar swung into the parking lot. This was Clifton, one of the wealthiest parts of the country, so seeing seriously expensive cars wasn’t a novelty, but this was a James Bond car: glamorous, powerful and just a little, or a lot, dangerous.
And sexy. Brin was surprised to see the beast slide into the just-vacated parking spot next to hers. It was a beautiful machine, but not her style. She’d be terrified to drive it, thinking that the smallest scratch would cost her a few years’ salary to fix.
Who needed that sort of pressure? Betsy got her, wheezing and spluttering, where she needed to go.
Brin felt the heat from the pavement burning through her cheap flip-flops, the heat of the sun on her bare shoulders. She couldn’t wait to dive into the water; she was in desperate need of some Vitamin Sea.
“Brinley Riddell?”
Brinley slowly turned at the deep, growly voice and saw the driver of the supercar looking at her. He was tall, broad and whip-her-breath-away good-looking. Brin sighed when he rested his thick arms on the car roof, his big biceps pulling the fabric of his shirt against his skin.
Hot, hot, hot. And...kill me now.
Unlike his brother, Radd Tempest-Vane stayed out of the gossip columns, but Brin instantly recognized the city’s sexiest and most elusive bachelor billionaire. He was even better looking, if that was at all possible, than the photos she’d see of him in magazines and online. His wavy hair was, in real life, a deep, rich brown, his face more angles and planes, and his mouth a great deal grimmer than she remembered. And those eyes, God, his eyes...
Navy blue most would call them. But, to Brinley, they were the color of the inside of a blue pansy or the deep, dark shade of blue delphiniums. They were eyes holding a thousand secrets...
Her knees a little soft, Brin leaned back against Betsy as he approached her, idly wondering what the hell Radd Tempest-Vane, her best friend’s boss’s boss, was doing here at two-thirty in the afternoon. Since he was dressed in casual chinos and an untucked white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tanned arms corded with muscle on display, she presumed he wasn’t headed for the beach.
His body was staggering, all leashed power and feline grace. When their eyes connected, fireworks exploded on her skin and, deep inside, her womb throbbed, wanting or needing some intangible thing—unexplainable, unfamiliar.
“You are Brinley Riddell?” Radd demanded as he approached her.
He was here because he was looking for her. Brin swallowed and swallowed again. Why?
“Yes, I’m Brin,” Brin said, watching as he echoed her stance and leaned his butt against his car, facing her. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants, his expression inscrutable.
“My name is Radd Tempest-Vane.”
They both knew that she knew who he was, so Brin wasn’t sure why he bothered to introduce himself.
“I know.” Brin yanked her eyes off him and gestured to his car. “Nice car,” she said, wanting to break the silence between them. “What is it?”
“Aston Martin DBS Superleggera,” Radd curtly replied, his eyes not leaving her face. She felt pinned to the tarmac, unable to move.
Her stomach whirled and swirled, and all the moisture from her mouth disappeared. She wondered whether his mouth would soften when he kissed her, how his hands would feel on her naked skin. Brinley just knew that Radd was the type of guy who could give her everything she needed sexually and a great deal of what she never knew she wanted.
So this was what sexual chemistry felt like...
If Malcolm was out of your league, sister dear, then Radd Tempest-Vane inhabits a galaxy far, far away. He’s dated A-list Hollywood celebrities, international supermodels and, on occasion, a princess or two.
Brin did not appreciate hearing Kerry’s voice in her head and she silently cursed. She was not going to build him up into some mythical creature just because he was crazy-rich, famous and lava-hot. It was a sure bet that Radd, like her sister, was another bright spotlight, drawing energy from those around him to shine.
It’s just attraction, Brin reminded herself, a biological urge. It didn’t mean anything...she wouldn’t let it.
Brin gave herself a mental slap and ordered her body to return some blood to her head so she could think. When she felt like she could construct a proper sentence, she pushed her sunglasses into her hair and lifted her chin. “You know my name and you aren’t dressed for an afternoon on the beach, so I presume you are here, looking for me.”
“I am.” Radd nodded but didn’t elaborate.
Okay, was she going to have to have to pull teeth to get him to explain? “Would you like to tell me why?”
Because, honestly, she had no idea what Africa’s sexiest billionaire could want with her. Unlike her sister, she was neither bold nor beautiful. She didn’t socialize in the same circles he did; hell, she didn’t socialize at all. She was everything
he wasn’t: run-of-the-mill, down-to-earth, habitually penniless.
Brin saw something flash in his eyes, an emotion she didn’t recognize. Confusion? Surprise? If he hadn’t been Radd Tempest-Vane, with a reputation for being ruthless, cucumber-cool and hard as a rock, she might’ve thought he was feeling a little off-balance.
No, she was just projecting her feelings onto him. After all, being tracked down by a billionaire at the beach was something that happened in romance novels, not to ordinary girls living ordinary lives. From what she knew of him, and it wasn’t much, this Tempest-Vane brother was tough and determined, a prime example of an alpha male who didn’t suffer fools. He had a reputation for going after what he wanted and not stopping until he achieved his goal. He was shrewd, powerful and intimidating.
“My PA has spent most of the morning trying to find me a florist to do some arrangements at my ranch before a wedding party arrives midmorning Monday. He was not successful in his quest to find me a celebrity florist at short notice,” Radd said, his tone businesslike.
Brin wasn’t surprised. It was the end of spring, and the wet and dismal Cape weather had retreated, leaving warm days and cooler nights. It was a busy time for functions, parties and weddings.
“After being unsuccessful at reaching anyone, my assistant called his assistant for help, and she suggested you.”
God bless Abby, Brin thought. “You need a floral designer?”
Radd gave her a try-to-keep-up look. Along with gorgeous and ripped, he was arrogant, too.
Fabulous.
But if he was offering work, she’d jump at his offer, any offer. All she needed was an idea of what the client wanted, the flowers—obviously—and supplies. She was good at what she did, she just needed a chance to prove it. And doing work for a Tempest-Vane brother, or for one of his companies, would be a bright, shiny gold star on her résumé.
And, as a bonus, her bank would stop sending her you-are-low-on-funds reminders.
“I can help you,” Brin told him, trying to not to sound too eager. “When do you need me to start, where must I be and how much are you going to pay me?”
“Now, at Kagiso Ranch and twenty-five thousand.”
Right. Well. Brin placed her hand on Betsy to stabilize herself.
Holy damn, Superman.
Copyright © 2020 by Joss Wood
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ISBN-13: 9781488073052
Breaking the Playboy’s Rules
Copyright © 2020 by Melanie Milburne
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Breaking the Playboy's Rules Page 17
