Bad Bridesmaid (Billionaire's Club Book 11) by Elise Faber (important books to read txt) 📕

need to start reading erotica in order to up her game.

Brad had given her that hot, sleek smile of his when she’d told him that, kissing her in that long and slow way of his before he’d gotten up to bring her a coffee, and she knew he was looking forward to future tequila nights as much as she was.

He’d brought her a steaming mug—two sugars and a heavy splash of cream—before ordering her to stay in bed.

Probably, she should have protested, should have gotten up and helped him . . . but she was being lazy, and she was tired and cozied up with her back propped up by pillows, her coffee in hand, and he’d offered to cook for her.

So, she was lounging in bed and enjoying his care.

But she was also making a mental note to return that care.

Because he deserved to have this same warm, fuzzy feeling.

In the meantime, she thought, setting her coffee down and burrowing deeper into the blankets, she was going to enjoy the break. Now, if only she didn’t need to have her arms out from beneath the comforter to hold her book.

Tough life, she knew.

Sometime later—well, four chapters later—Brad appeared in the doorway, shirtless, with a streak of flour across his chest, a plate laden with goodies in his hands.

“Where’s yours?” she asked.

He smiled, crawled into bed next to her, balancing the plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon in one hand. “Here.”

She pressed her lips together.

“So, where’s mine?”

Another smile, his body pressing against hers. “Here.”

Ah, now she saw how this was going to work.

He settled the plate on his lap, scooped up a bite of pancake onto the fork, and lifted it up to her lips.

Right as a knock came on the door.

They both paused.

Then he shrugged. “Ignore it.”

Dutifully, she parted her lips, ate the bite he’d offered her.

The knock came again. Trailed by the buzz of her phone.

“This is the continue ignoring part,” he said.

Another knock. More buzzing.

He sighed, set the plate on the nightstand. “You get the phone, I’ll get the door.”

She made a face but dutifully reached for her cell, snagging it from the charging cradle, at the same time her glorious—and still shirtless man—headed to the door.

“Hello?” she asked.

“It’s me,” Kate’s voice came on the line, and it was impossible to miss the panic. “Please, tell me you’re staying at Brad’s place.”

She frowned. “No, we’re at mine.”

“Shit. Listen, you need to know that your—”

There was a movement in the doorway, drawing her gaze up, and . . . horror dawned.

“—mom is in town.”

Her cell dropped to the mattress.

Fifteen minutes later, she and Brad were both fully dressed, her phone was back in the charging stand, and she was seated at the kitchen table while Brad redistributed the contents of the two-for-one plate into . . . well, two plates, and then made up one more.

For her mother.

Who was wiping a finger across the wooden surface of Heidi’s table.

Colleen grimaced and reached into the handbag she hadn’t yet put down, extracting a package of wet wipes then cleaning the area in front of her.

Then the back of the chair, and the seat, and the fork and knife Brad had placed on a napkin for her before serving up breakfast.

Brad, who’d turned from the counter, two plates in hand, was watching the exercise with raised brows. Brows he then turned onto her.

And all she could do was shrug helplessly.

This was her mother.

The lite version of her mother.

Because more . . . of her mother’s motherness would come.

“I believe I bought you placemats, dear,” she said.

Ugly ass ones with puke green flowers and red trim—like the most unattractive version of Christmas someone could imagine.

“Ah, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I only use them for very special occasions.” Brad set a plate in front of her mom, rounded the table to set one in front of Heidi, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

She smiled up at him. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Then he returned for his own and sat down next to her.

Heidi didn’t bother saying anything. Her mother wouldn’t trouble herself to listen to anything she had to say that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, so the best tactic was to wait for her to start the conversation.

“Breakfast this late in the day?”

Ah.

Cool.

She was going to start off with a bang.

“Yup,” Heidi said, feeling Brad’s gaze on her face. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, saw his features drawn in confusion.

He cleared his throat. “Heidi and I had a late night.”

“Hmm.”

“And I have to say I’m a big fan of breakfast, no matter the time of day,” he added.

“I see.”

Except, she answered it like she always said something that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Like someone was suggesting they go out and slaughter unicorns.

Heidi continued to ignore her, glancing at Brad as she shoveled in food. “Thank you,” she said between bites. “This is delicious.”

He rested his palm on her thigh. “You’re welcome.”

“You cooked?”

His gaze went from Heidi to her mother. “Heidi has been working really hard,” he said. “I figured she could use a break.”

A sniff. “Working.”

More unicorn slaughtering.

And she knew that she had to take this in hand. “Yes, Mom, working. I’m still at the lab, and I love it.”

“And does Brad love it?”

Her throat seized, but before she could summon a reply, he answered, “I enjoy spending whatever time with her I can, and yes, I love that she has a job that fulfills her.”

Stink face.

That was the only way she could think to describe her mother’s expression.

“Mom—” she began.

“What do you do?”

Brad was nonplussed by the sharp question. “I’m a web designer.”

“And can you make a living at that?”

He chuckled. “I’ve been making a living at it for close to ten years now.”

“Ah.”

Cue silence.

“Why’d you decide to come into town, Mom?” she asked into that tense quiet.

“Your father had a conference.”

And neither of them had decided to tell