Read Online Endgame by Mia Downing - Free Book Online Page B

to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth in case she decided to blow him after he apologized. He was hard enough to try for real this time, even after a cold shower.
    He hoped like hell he would do it right—apologize. He wanted to make her happy, because something told him that Charlotte needed to be happy.
    Aaron padded in quietly. Charlotte perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, her back to him. She sipped coffee and rattled on to Jake in some language. Not English. Or French. Russian? Jake laughed and responded in the same language, and it was surreal. Jake had failed French in high school. Hadn’t he?
    “Good morning, baby cowboy,” Jake said from the stove, in English. His brother was wearing his apron and cooking…pancakes?
    “Since when do you cook?” Aaron eyed the pancakes. They actually looked good. “And fuck you. I’m no one’s baby.”
    Charlotte gave him a cool glare over her shoulder and went back to sipping. Aaron had the distinct feeling he would not be welcomed at the breakfast bar. Not until he apologized.
    Jake set a plate piled high with perfect pancakes on the counter. “Since Tia decided I needed to learn how not to burn food. She’s taught me breakfast and one dinner thing. Fettuccini Alfredo. It’s an improvement, she says. I’m to experiment with baking things from boxes while I’m here. Brownies and shit like that.”
    “Tell Tia I love her,” Charlotte said.
    “Yeah, I’m not baking just for you, iron pig. Make sure you share.”
    “Since when do you speak…whatever?” Aaron stared at Jake. “And have facial hair? And brown eyes?”
    His brother sounded like his brother, but he no longer looked anything like Jake, or Aaron, or…anyone. He sported a small beard and mustache, all very realistic. Brown eyes—contacts. His long hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail.
    Jake stiffened a bit as he put some pancakes on a separate plate and slid it toward Aaron. “That was Russian.”
    “You can’t speak English in front of me?”
    “For this, no.” Jake shot him a warning glance. “Don’t ask, Aaron. I know you’re a nosy son of a bitch, but just don’t ask and things will be easier. Let us do our jobs. Please.”
    This was his life, damn it. They had no right to speak in tongues just to keep him out of the loop. Aaron bristled. “Fuck—”
    Charlotte cleared her throat. Aaron glared but shut his mouth. She arched a brow over cold, violet eyes.
    His ire lost heat and slid into a puddle in his feet. Fuck. He was supposed to be apologizing, and the last time he checked, “I’m sorry,” didn’t start with fuck.
    Aaron swallowed. Damn his impulsive mouth.
    She reached around, removed the gun from the holster she wore at the small of her back and gently set it on the counter. Next to her very full plate of pancakes. In warning.
    He gulped. Do it or die? Holy shit, this woman was intense. His cock loved every moment of it, too, rock-hard still, throbbing at the sight of those long, feminine fingers using a butter knife. He hoped sex was just as hot, though the mere thought of it made him alternate between wanting to come or run.
    Aaron stared at the cold blackness of the gun against the creamy marble and swallowed his pride. “Jake, I’m sorry for being an asshole. I—”
    Jake waved the spatula. “No need to apologize. We’re good.”
    Charlotte cleared her throat again. “Let him.”
    Jake arched his brows. “What? No, we’re good.”
    “Jake.” Charlotte leaned forward on the bar. “This is anger management. He needs to apologize, because I said he had to.” She spoke clearly, enunciating every word as if Jake were an idiot.
    Jake stared at her for a long moment, and something odd passed between the two. Jake’s eyes widened. “You’re not.”
    “I am.”
    “Jesus, Charlotte.”
    “Don’t put the ball in my court if you don’t want the game played by my rules. One of the rules was he had to apologize to you. Let him.”
    Aaron had no clue