Shark's Edge

by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue

  That shot the man’s smile way past devastating. For several seconds, I struggled for a decent descriptor beyond that but had to give up. Words were impossible when I thought about paying the man back for a juicy steak. Basic thoughts were impossible. Where the hell was my inner temptress when I needed her?

  “Why don’t we start with you bringing dessert, Little Red?” He amped the agony of the moment by maintaining the few feet of distance between us—despite the illicit ideas sparkling so clearly in his sapphire gaze. “And then we’ll see what develops after some chocolate and wine.”

  A protest surged up my throat. I was ready to give it full rein, along with a dozen more reasons why this “date” was a bad idea. Topping the list was my own cardinal rule put in place by my sound business sense—which had borne a huge black eye the second I let Sebastian lay his lips on me.

  But if I didn’t do this . . .

  “You know this is bordering on extortion, right?”

  It needed to be voiced. Without snark or lip or anything except what it was. The truth.

  Trouble was . . . it also gave Shark a damn good excuse to reclose the steps between us.

  Then to tunnel his hand back beneath my ponytail.

  Then to move in even tighter, invading my space and my energy every way he possibly could.

  Then to flood my senses with all his heat and size and power and determination . . .

  Oh, this is so nice . . .

  “Extortion might work.” His voice was like a gathering storm, vibrating my senses with wild anticipation. “But I choose . . . exploration.”

  I dragged my gaze up to meet his. Sure enough, he was already starting the expedition. His mesmerizing blues raked every plane of my face. “Like a modern Daniel Boone?”

  He dropped his voice lower. “Like a modern Bluebeard.”

  And again, he sucked the air from my lungs and the stability from my legs. “This really isn’t fair, Shark.”

  “Life isn’t fair, Ms. Gibson.”

  He stepped back once more. I was swaying. He was swaggering.

  “That’s one lesson you can skip,” I said. “Learned it already.”

  “Then at least you’ll get a great steak out of all this.”

  “And you’ll get my triple chocolate orgasm cake.”

  His eyes flared. I’d handed him that one on a silver platter, but it was worth it. No matter what quip he cued up now, I knew he’d have as much trouble waiting for our dinner as I would.

  “Uncle Bas?”

  A little girl popped into view. I hadn’t met Vela Shark in person yet, but thanks to the photo shrine of her on the credenza behind Sebastian’s desk, it felt like I already knew her. She was even more endearing now, standing in all her I-came-and-conquered glory. Her socks were slouched, her legs were grass-stained, but her face lit up when she saw her uncle.

  “Hey there, Vel.” The affection in Sebastian’s voice exposed him at once. “What’s up?”

  Vela approached and burrowed against his side, and he affectionately tugged at her ponytail.

  The girl bounced back a huge grin. “Guess what?”

  Sebastian curled up an answering grin. I watched, enraptured, as the girl’s pinky finger and that man’s soul got tight with each other. “What?”

  “The Intrepids don’t just make snow cones.” Wrap, wrap, wrap. Yeah, very tight. “They also have . . . brownies!”

  “Whaaat?” The man’s deadpan was, hands down, one of the sexiest sounds I’d ever heard. “You don’t say.”

  “I do say. And they. Are. The. Best. Ever.”

  As I succumbed to an even bigger smile, Sebastian replied, “Did you know that the Intrepid Entrepreneurs only sell those treats? The person who actually makes the brownies is this lovely lady right here. Ms. Abbigail Gibson.”

  Vela broke into a wide grin. “You’re really good at your job, Ms. Gibson.”

  “Well, thank you, Vela.” I gave her a little bow while arching an eyebrow at her uncle. “Some people don’t exactly agree all the time.”

  “Well, they’re losers,” Vela snipped. “Seriously, your brownies are even better than the ones at Chocolate Bash. And I love those brownies more than my own breath.”

  “Wow.” I used my stunned expression to force back my laughter.

  “Okay, missy,” Sebastian said. “In my world, this is called trying too hard.”

  She pouted. “But you always tell me to try as hard as I can at everything.”

  A darker scowl from her uncle. “What do I also tell you?”

  She thought for a few seconds. “That asking is half of the getting?”

  He pulled her in close and bussed the top of her head. “Do you have something to ask me, Little Star?”

  Though Vela kept her smile, she swept back from her uncle with practiced confidence. “Mr. Shark, I’m enjoying these brownies quite a lot—and in light of the fact that I helped the Blue Jays win today, I feel you should buy me another one.” She notched her head higher. “Perhaps two.”

  “Well done, Miss Shark.” He shook her hand and left behind a folded cash bill when he released his grip. As I recognized the picture on the note—Benjamin Franklin—he was already speaking again. “Go tell the Intrepids that’s to be used for buying out all their chocolate brownie stock.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  But as she got ready to scamper off, I parked my hands on my hips and a new glower on my face.

  “What?” Sebastian spread his own hands with a return challenge.

  “My girls are here to learn usable business skills and entrepreneurship, Mr. Shark. Not ‘smile pretty and wait for a sugar daddy to buy out your inventory.’”

  “What’s a ‘sugar daddy,’ Uncle Bas? It sounds yummy.”

  Sebastian nodded toward the front of the shack. “Just go hop in that line and buy those brownies, Vela.”

  “Is . . . Is it okay with Ms. Gibson?”

  “It will be.”

  The second Vela cleared the shack’s corner, I bit out, “It won’t be.” I meant it even more as the man swept in on my personal space once more. “Dammit, Sebastian. For the record, this part’s not fair, either.”

  His inky brows crunched in on each other. “Explain.”

  “Because I’m supposed to be teaching these girls—”

  “And you have been,” he said with the serenity of a yoga master. “All goddamn day, in this infernal heat. Now, it’s time for them and you to be compensated for the hard work so they can go enjoy being kids. Set them free, Abbigail. Let them get out of here and go to the mall, or the nail salon, or the boba joint, or the coffee shop—which honest to shit makes no sense to me on a day like today, but—what?”

  At first, all I gave as an answer was my perplexed sigh. “I just have no idea how to use this as a teaching moment,” I finally admitted.

  “Pffft. Of course you do.”

  I reared my head back. “I do?”

  “You do.” He reached in and squeezed my hand with the same insolent confidence he’d lavished on Vela. “We’ll schedule an afternoon for you to bring them over to the offices. I can show them around and tell them about how much work there really is—”

  “Whoa.” I stepped around, jerking on his poor arm like we were choreographing a crazy dance routine. “The . . . offices? Are you offering—do you mean—your offices? Shark Enterprises?”

  Up went the man’s signature smirk. The arrogant, radiant resilience that had sunk a thousand competitors—but in this moment was the wind beneath my wings.

  “What you’re doing with these girls is great, Abbigail. A field trip like this would make sense, right?”

  For a long second, I could only gape. At last I stammered, “I . . . I have no idea what to say.”

  “Hmmm.” His smirk didn’t falter while pressing even closer, molding our bodies with the same intent his stare offered to my lips. “I’d say ‘thank you’ would suffice, but that’d be passing up a prime opportunity.”

  My breath
shallowed. “An . . . An opportunity . . . for what?”

  “Adding it to your remuneration. For the steaks and wine.”

  “Oh,” I rasped. “Of . . . of course. St-Steaks and—”

  Who needed to say the word when the crush of his lips already had me joyously buzzed? As his body rocked with mine, communicating how intoxicated he was too? As our sexual inebriation got better with every mesh of our mouths and tangle of our tongues?

  This was crazy. So damn desperate. Maybe even pathetic.

  There was still an open investigation on me with the LA Sheriff’s Department because he had been poisoned. He had the final say on what company would be landing the catering contract for his new tower. Sleeping with him was probably the worst idea on both fronts.

  But God help me, it was all I craved.

  All my mind could conjure and my body lusted for.

  I needed close, carnal knowledge of Sebastian Shark.

  The agonizing admission matched the painful wait I was about to face over the next days.

  I seriously never thought I’d crave steak and wine this much in my life.

  Chapter Eight

  Sebastian

  “What does that mean in English, Brookside?” I looked at my watch while pulling the cork from the wine. The decanter Pia had given me for Christmas would finally get some use, as I planned to let the young Bordeaux sit for the two hours remaining before Abbigail was due to arrive.

  “It means we’re ready to break ground, Shark. Exactly on schedule. I thought you’d be ecstatic.” Annoyance laced his voice, but I held my tongue.

  “I am. I wanted to be sure I understood you correctly. So many roadblocks have been put in our path, I think I was just expecting you to be calling with another one.” If he expected an apology, he’d be waiting a while.

  As in, forever.

  The soils engineer’s report had been in my email inbox that morning, and trying to make heads or tails of most of it was like trying to decipher the human genome map. I had talked to Grant about it for fifteen minutes before we both agreed to wait for Brookside’s call and hear his personal take on the information.

  It wasn’t helping matters that most of my mind was preoccupied with making dinner for the feisty young redhead who was due—I looked at my watch again—in an hour and fifty-two minutes. Time was ticking away, and I still had a hundred things to do in order to have all the components of the meal come together at the same time. I’d tried to keep the menu simple so I wouldn’t make an ass out of myself with overcooked meat and undercooked potatoes. It was a bit unnerving preparing food for a professional caterer, but I wouldn’t let the stress get to me. For all she would know, I had this mastered, like everything else I took on.

  “Shark? You still there?” Brookside asked.

  Shit. Totally forgot I was still on the phone.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I was reading an email that just came in. Listen, I need to take care of this. Where do we go from here? We have the ceremony for the press in a few weeks, but what’s the next step on-site?”

  “Well, the survey team should be there to mark off the auger cast piles. That’s according to the last copy of your GC’s schedule—that I have, at least. I’m sure you have a copy of that too?”

  It was more of a dig than a confirmation. Almost a you should be asking your job supervisor these things, not me, you idiot type of remark.

  “That’s scheduled for Monday and Tuesday,” he continued. “If all goes well and they did their homework, you could be digging by the end of the week. All depends on your sub’s schedule.”

  “Thanks for all you’ve done, Jonathan. I’ll reach out to Ricardo to see if he has everything lined up. I’m sure he does, but you’re right. It wouldn’t hurt to check in with him.” I tapped out a note on the nearby iPad I was using to look up dinner recipes.

  “And if he’s worth what you’re paying him, he won’t mind you babysitting him a little bit. I’ve seen that man’s fee schedule. You’ve got one of the highest-paid generals in the country on your job site. He should be serenading you every day like Elvis.”

  I chuckled. “Right, okay. Just send your bill to the project’s accounting department. I’m sure Terryn gave you that information when you were at the office?” I asked by way of ending the conversation.

  “Yep, we’re good to go. Good luck, Shark. I look forward to seeing your building in the LA skyline.”

  “You and me both.” I stabbed the End button and tossed my phone onto the kitchen counter.

  First order of business was peeling and dicing the potatoes so I could get them cooked. That way all I had to do after Abbi arrived was mash them and add the roasted garlic.

  I had coated the bulb of garlic with olive oil and wrapped it securely in foil. It was roasting in the oven on a nice, low temperature, and it filled the kitchen with the heavenly smell of earthy, pungent garlic. My mouth watered just thinking of how delicious the meal would be. And, if things went like I planned, how delectable Abbigail would be afterward.

  I was anxious to get her on my turf and in the complete privacy of my home. She had sent back all the necessary documents. Most of them were signed, but a few items were lined out and others were highlighted. Even that made me chuckle and throb in my boxers.

  She had the strangest way of getting to me, and working her out of my system was becoming an urgent need. The biggest project of my life was finally taking shape, and I really didn’t have time to be skirt chasing. I needed to be one hundred percent focused on my building.

  The appetizers were easy to make but delicious. Grape tomato, baby arugula, prosciutto, and fresh shrimp Craig picked up at the farmers’ market that morning. The perfect combo of flavors nestled on a mini skewer. The shrimp were marinated in a zesty citrus blend beforehand so the flavors would pop in your mouth when you bit into the snack. It was the impeccable starter for the beef-heavy meal.

  I had an hour before show time. Off to the shower to freshen up while the water came to a boil for the potatoes and the roasted garlic cooled enough to spoon from the skin. I’d fire the steaks on the grill just before we ate, and the asparagus would be roasted on the grill too. Everything was completely under control. I’d had Craig set the table out on the patio before he left earlier this afternoon, so I was right on schedule.

  Forty minutes later, I paced back and forth in the foyer. How could I be so nervous? And why did I live in such a big house? It was impossible to be near the kitchen to keep an eye on the food and close to the front door after the guards at the gate let me know Abbigail was on the property. Me and my big ideas to send the staff home early so she wouldn’t feel awkward with other people milling around. These were the exact reasons I had people paid to work in my home, for Christ’s sake.

  When the doorbell chimed, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’d gotten so wound up in my browbeating, I’d all but forgotten why I was wearing a path in the large flower pattern of the entryway. I took a calming breath and pulled open the soaring twenty-foot-high leaded glass door. The dark walnut wood and inlaid glass made the thing weigh a ton, something I had never really appreciated before. It might have been the first time I actually opened the door myself.

  “Hello. You found the place, I see.”

  “Jesus. Christ. Sebastian.” Abbi walked through the doorway and continued right past me, turning in a full circle in the foyer. Her mouth hung open as she took in her surroundings.

  Seeing the house through her eyes was a whole new experience. It was a large home. Everything about it was over-the-top. The sweeping staircases, one off to each side of the entryway, that seemed to float up to the second floor with no support system beneath, were the first thing to capture a visitor’s attention. An ornate wrought-iron banister lined each flight, topped by gleaming walnut that echoed the front doors. The stairs’ risers and treads were polished rust-colored marble, the same stone found in the pattern of the flower on the foyer floor. Malachite and Carrara came together t
o make the other parts of the floor’s design.

  She finally met my eyes, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “God, I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “I’m looking around like I’ve never been inside a house before. But seriously. This is incredible. How long have you lived here?” Her gaze darted from one place to the next, trying to decide where to settle.

  I thought for a moment, trying to remember how old Vela was when I moved in. I could remember being terrified of the pool out back, and with the home being over fourteen thousand square feet, how could we keep track of her all the time and be sure she wouldn’t wander out to the pool?

  “Five years. Give or take.” I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She looked radiant with her hair hanging freely around her shoulders and down to the middle of her back.

  “It’s enormous. Do your sister and niece live here too?”

  I smiled. “No, but not for lack of trying to convince her. Trust me. Vela is all for the idea. She loves the pool. Can’t keep her out of it when she’s over. But surprise”—I rolled my eyes dramatically—“my sister wants her own life.”

  Abbi laughed.

  “Let’s go out back, if you don’t mind? I have the food going in the outdoor kitchen, and I can’t keep my eye on it standing here in the foyer.”

  “Lead the way. Where can I put this?” She held up a Tupperware type of container, which I assumed had the dessert inside.

  “Does it need to be refrigerated?” I called over my shoulder as we strolled straight through the living space to the sliding glass doors that made up the far wall. I had all four wide open to catch the evening breeze. We stepped out into the backyard.

  “Oh, wow. This just gets better and better. Sebastian, this is unreal.”

  A rush of pride filled my chest as I watched her take in the pool, guesthouse, gym, outdoor kitchen, spa, and patio.

  “This is probably my favorite part of the property. I spend as much time as possible out here. Especially since I spend so much of my day cooped up in the office. When I’m not there, I’m usually out here.”