Shark's Edge

by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue

  I walked over to where she stood, rooted to a spot in the middle of the patio. “Let me take that.” I held my hands out for the dessert. “Can I get you a drink? Wine? Something else?”

  “There were promises of wine and steaks, were there not?” Her green eyes always glowed a certain way when she was mischievous. I could picture her as a child in those moments.

  “Indeed there were,” I said, letting her mood infect me.

  “Well, then? I’ll have the wine.”

  “Good choice. It’s decanted and chilled to the perfect temperature.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I walked over to the wine cooler and pulled out the decanter.

  Abbi followed me and took a seat at the terra-cotta bar of the outdoor kitchen. She accepted the glass of Bordeaux I handed her but waited to sip until I had my own glass poured.

  “Just that I’d venture to guess you do everything perfectly.” Her eyes darkened to a different shade of jade, and she shifted restlessly in her seat. Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling the spike of sexual tension.

  “Well, I endeavor to. But I don’t always get it right.” I held my glass aloft, offering mine toward hers in a toast. “To new endeavors.”

  “I like that.” She smiled softly, and a warmth swept through my body—and I hadn’t even let the wine touch my lips yet.

  “I like you,” I said quietly, my glass obstructing my mouth.

  “You’re very smooth, you know that? And this wine is outstanding. Mmmm.” She took another eager sip.

  “Wait till you taste it with the steak. Even better together. What temperature do you like yours cooked?”

  “Medium, please.”

  “Medium rare, then. Good choice.” I gave her a quick wink.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  I smiled while taking a drink from my glass. I could sense her getting ramped up.

  “Why bother asking me a question if you aren’t going to listen to the answer?” Her little temper was so easy to fire up.

  “Just because I asked you for directions, Abbigail, doesn’t mean I’m going to change the route I planned on taking.” I leaned across the bar and toyed with the ends of one of her curls. “I like your hair like this. You should wear it this way more often. It suits you.”

  “Just not always practical around food, you know? People don’t appreciate long strands of red hair in their meal. And way to change the subject.”

  “Whatever it takes. And it’s the truth. You look stunning this evening.”

  I went to the refrigerator and pulled out the appetizer. I grabbed a small bowl for the skewers from under the counter and placed the plate and trash bowl in front of Abbi.

  “I hope you like shellfish. You said you were up for anything.”

  She already had one of the skewers in her fingers and popped the whole thing in her mouth and chewed, eyes going wide as the flavors exploded on her tongue. When she finished chewing, she took the small cocktail napkin I handed her.

  “Jesus Christ. Where did you learn how to cook? I can’t believe you do this well too.” She shook her head in dismay. “I’m so screwed.”

  “That’s the plan, yes. Several times, if I have my way.” I leveled my stare to hers, and she immediately looked away. Where was the brass balls girl from the park on Sunday? I wanted to call her out on it, but I lifted my wineglass to my lips instead, never taking my eyes off her.

  She swallowed a few times more than necessary to clear her throat of the bite she’d eaten before finally speaking. “I meant because of your enormous ego.”

  She was pitching them right over the plate, and it was all I could do to hold back from swinging. There were at least five comments on the tip of my tongue that involved the word enormous, but she was already a deep shade of pink from the last remark I’d made.

  So, instead, I made an obvious adjustment to my thickening cock. I watched her eyes follow my hand the entire time and then turned to put the steaks on the grill.

  “Can I help with anything?” she asked from right beside me. I was so lost in my lusty thoughts, I hadn’t noticed her approach the grill.

  “Will you refill our wineglasses and bring them to the table? Also, there’s a pitcher of ice water in the refrigerator behind the island.” I motioned with the tongs in my hand. “Would you mind filling the glasses on the table?”

  “I’m on it!” she said enthusiastically. Abbi looked happy to have something to do besides sit and watch me mill about.

  When I had the steaks seared, I moved to mash the potatoes and put the asparagus on the grill. They would roast quickly, so I had to keep my eye on them. Last, I folded the roasted garlic into the whipped potatoes by hand. A quick turn on the meat and asparagus, and everything was ready to be plated.

  “All right, my lady, take a seat. Looks like everything is just about ready.” I hustled all the food off the grill and onto the serving dishes I had set out earlier. When I brought the meal to the table, Abbigail looked amazed. I took the seat beside her rather than across from her. I reached across to grab the place setting, silverware, and wine, and set up shop where I sat. She watched me with interest but didn’t say a word.

  “It would appear I have the need to touch you when you’re near me. I can’t do that from all the way over there,” I said unapologetically.

  “Oh” was all she said, but a smile started at a corner of her mouth and then spread to a full grin.

  “Can I serve you?” I asked, taking her plate. I would do it regardless, but I was attempting to prove I possessed manners. I just didn’t always choose to display them.

  I put reasonable portions of food on her plate and placed it back in front of her. If she wanted more, she would be welcomed to it. There was more than enough for seconds. I loaded my own plate and waited for her to cut into her steak. Guessing she’d object to the temperature of her meat, she surprised me when she put her fork right into her mouth and immediately moaned.

  I had to give Craig huge props on his selection at the market. He’d really picked two fantastic cuts, and it was simple to make them shine with just salt and pepper and the right amount of heat.

  Abbigail pointed at her beef with her fork, mouth still too full to speak. “Mmmm”—point, point—“mmmm.”

  “Good, right? Try the wine right after. You won’t believe how different it tastes,” I said before taking a bite.

  She swallowed after chewing the last bit and dutifully picked up her glass and had a big sip, eyes bulging out in appreciation.

  “How can that be? That’s incredible. Oh my God. Freaking heaven. Right there on my plate and in my glass.”

  “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “You did. You did,” she said and then tucked right back in for more. “I don’t think I will ever get enough of this.”

  After her next bite and swallow of wine, I had to stop her. I had to taste the wine on her lips. I couldn’t stand the torture any longer. I put my hand on her wrist to stop her from lifting the glass back to her lips.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, almost alarmed.

  I took the glass from her hands and sat forward to the edge of my chair. “I need to taste your lips.”

  Her green eyes widened, looking like jade in the dwindling light of the evening. I watched her features change until our lips met. Much softer than the day we kissed in the park. I licked along her top lip first, tasting the salt and beef stock from the steak. Groaning, I swept in deeper, tasting the heady tannin of the wine mingling with the copper tang from the rare portion of the meat.

  I pulled back to look at her, her eyes still closed. She looked like a doll, with her milky skin nearly glowing in the new moon of the evening.

  “You are so beautiful, Abbigail.” My voice was husky with need.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she seemed surprised by my compliment.

  “Thank you. And thank you for this amazing meal. I’m completely blown away.”
<
br />   “The pleasure was mine. And will be mine.” I grinned. “But first, we eat, so this doesn’t get cold.”

  We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the food and sounds of nature from the backyard.

  “Have you always lived in SoCal?” I asked her while cutting a piece of steak.

  “No, I grew up on the East Coast. Rhode Island, specifically. And before you ask, no, I don’t miss it. I miss my family that still live back there, but”—she looked around the backyard—“nothing compares to this paradise. Granted, I don’t live like this—not even close—but my place is nice by my standards. And I’m doing it on my own, and that’s the most important thing.”

  “Why is that the most important thing?”

  “What do you mean, why? Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not really.” I put my hand atop hers. “I’m not trying to make you feel defensive, Abbigail. I’m just trying to get to know you.”

  “You’re right. Sorry. I think I’ve always felt like I’ve had to prove something to someone. No matter what stage of my life I was in.”

  “Explain.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me over the rim of her glass while she sipped. I wasn’t sure why, exactly. Was she deciding how much to open up to me? Did talking about her childhood make her uncomfortable?

  Shit, I knew that one all too well.

  “Again, not trying to make you uncomfortable. We can change subjects if—”

  Abbi shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Not at all. I was letting my cynical side run away with me. I’ve been trying to be better about that, but honestly, being around Rio all the time doesn’t really help in that department.”

  “I’ve noticed she’s a bit of a bitter pill. Kind of glad to hear it isn’t just for my benefit.”

  She laughed. “You definitely ramp her up, not going to lie. But no, it’s not just you. She has some history. But most people do, right?”

  “Definitely. It makes us who we are,” I said, nodding. “No one should ever feel bad about their history. It’s what defines us. At least that’s how I see it.”

  “I like that approach. It’s fair. And honest.” She looked at me thoughtfully.

  “What is this look?” I asked, trying to interpret it but coming up short. I had a lot of experience with reading people’s body language in business situations, but with personal exchanges, not so much. I’d always limited myself to certain types of personal interactions, and feelings and conversations weren’t part of the mix.

  “There’s a lot more to you than I think I expected. I feel”—she paused, considering her word choice—“honored? Yes, I feel honored to share this time with you.” She nodded in agreement with her statement, seeming pleased with the delivery.

  “Well, so far, I’m enjoying spending time with you too, Ms. Gibson. Tell me more about your family.” I made a mental note to circle back at some point in the conversation to why she felt like she had to prove herself to people. For now, I would stick to lighter topics. “If Rio is your sister-in-law, you must have a brother? Older or younger?”

  The twinkle in her eye could’ve lit the entire backyard. “I’m the youngest of five. My parents married young and wasted no time starting a family. Irish Catholic. Need I say more?”

  “Was it good or bad having that many siblings?” Having just one sister, I often wondered what a large family would’ve been like.

  “I love it. For the most part, I mean. I have four very protective brothers. I’ve seen the way you watch Vela. Imagine that feeling times four. Bram, Flynn, Sean, and Zander are all probably what would be called alpha males, I guess?” Her smile stayed in place even after she finished talking.

  “Which one was brave enough to lasso Rio?” I grinned, thinking of partnering with that strong woman.

  “That would be Sean. They moved to California first, and I followed the week after I graduated from high school. Came out to visit them spring break of my senior year and fell in love with the palm trees and sunshine. My heart came back to life after being dead for so long after . . . ” Her face fell into complete sadness.

  I couldn’t resist taking her hand. She needed to be comforted. Whatever she was remembering caused great pain and grief. I brought the back of her fingers to my lips, placing a gentle kiss there. “I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re saying that for.” She met my gaze, looking like she was near tears.

  “Doesn’t matter. I can see the sorrow on your face. I can almost feel it from where I’m sitting. It was not my intention to drag up a bad memory.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. It’s always right there.” She touched her chest, right over her heart and looked away. “Right under the surface, you know? Well, of course you don’t know. What am I saying?” She took a steadying breath and then continued. “Our mother passed away when I was in high school. Massive heart attack on our kitchen floor. It will be burned in my memory forever.”

  “I do know.” My words were steady even though I spoke about the most significant pain I’d ever known.

  “Hmm?” She shook her head slightly, trying to make sense of my remark.

  “I know what you mean about the pain being right here.” I thumped on my own sternum. “All the damn time. Pia and I lost our mother when I was just seven.”

  She snatched her hand back from mine to cover her mouth in horror. “Oh my goodness, you were just a baby. And that means Pia was just what?”

  “Three.”

  “So your father—”

  “Became a sad-sack alcoholic.” I had to cut her off before she made him into some sort of hero he had never been. “I get the fact that he was brokenhearted. Not only did he lose the woman he loved but their newborn son as well. But he had two living children who needed him.” Brewing in my gut was the familiar anger that was always present when I thought about my father.

  “He was neglectful on his best days, and then Cassiopeia was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes the same year. So instead of my father getting his shit together and being the parent he should’ve been, I had to learn how to monitor her sugar and inject her insulin. Because she would’ve died if she had to depend on him.”

  By then, we had both finished our meals and were just sitting at the table, talking. I suggested we move to the more comfortable furniture near the fire pit. There was a sofa and love seat around the lava rock–filled ring, along with two high-backed chairs that swiveled on attached bases. All the furniture was arranged atop a coordinating earth-toned outdoor rug that tied the look together. Pia outdid herself with every project she took on around my house.

  We sat side by side on the love seat after I lit the fire pit with the gas assistance and a few dry logs that were already arranged inside.

  “Where is your father now? Do you have a relationship with him?” Somehow, she still held hope in her voice.

  “Six feet under.”

  Blank eyes stared back at me.

  “He drank himself to death by the time I was sixteen. I raised Pia myself, begged the neighbors not to turn us in to the authorities so we wouldn’t be separated in foster care.”

  “How did you manage that? You were just a boy. How did you earn money? Provide food and pay rent and all of that?”

  I shrugged. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I’d been taking care of us for most of our lives already. My dad was worthless, even while he was alive. I learned to hustle on the streets of East LA when I was really young. That’s when I met Grant. He was a hustler too.”

  A grin played on my lips as I remembered what a cocky asshole he had been. We’d thought we could take on the world. “I worked legit jobs too. It wasn’t only . . . ummm . . . questionable endeavors.”

  I slid my arm behind her along the top of the sofa cushions so I could toy with her hair while we talked. I’d never felt such a strong need to touch a woman like I did with Abbigail.

  “That’s unreal. You’re an amazing man, Seba
stian. Really, just . . . wow.”

  I looked away. “I did what I had to do. Some of it? Not so proud. Other parts? Damn proud. No matter what, though, like I said earlier, it made me who I am today.”

  The mood surrounding us had gotten way too heavy and needed to change. I’d already lived through my shit life once, and I did everything in my power to keep it in the past. Once again, Abbigail Gibson had an uncanny ability to make me do things out of character.

  I refilled our wineglasses, emptying the bottle from dinner.

  “Enough talk of the past. Let’s talk about the present. The right now.”

  “Oookkaaayy.” She drew out the word, looking like a skittish kitten.

  “Are you always this nervous around men? Or is it just me?” I chuckled, running my index finger under the neckline of her open collar. She had an odd style for a young woman. Different from other girls her age.

  Although, when I thought about it, I typically kept the company of dancers and escorts. Women who intentionally dressed to be provocative. In comparison, Abbigail dressed like women twice her age and possibly one who worked in an abbey or correctional institution.

  “I’m not nervous,” she said, swallowing so forcibly I could see her throat work from top to bottom. And it was so damn sexy. Calling to me to kiss her there. Suck her. Bite her.

  I took her wineglass from her trembling hands, set it on the wide tiled ledge of the fire pit, and placed mine beside it. When I turned to face her, I slid off the low cushion of the love seat and onto my knees on the padded outdoor rug.

  “Open your legs,” I directed quietly.

  “What?” She gulped.

  “Spread your knees apart so I can get closer to you.” I tapped the insides of her knees with my fingertips.

  She complied while her breath sawed in and out, making her chest rise and fall steadily.

  “Are you comfortable there? On your knees?” Her skeptical look vanished with my ensuing comment.

  “It’s not my body I’m concerned with, Abbigail,” I answered with a wink, reaching forward to unbutton the top button of her shirt.

  One by one the buttons came loose, and more of her creamy flesh was revealed. Light brown freckles spattered across delicate skin, even over the swells of her breasts that peeked out from the lacy white cups of her bra.