Shark's Edge

by Angel Payne, Victoria Blue

  By the luck of the lingerie gods, her bra had a front clasp, and I zeroed in on it with skilled fingers. I watched her eyes, looking for any objection.

  “We have complete privacy out here. And no one lives in that house on the left.” I bent my head forward and kissed her, just above the bra, teasing along the lace with the tip of my tongue before spreading the halves away to expose her breasts to my view.

  I inhaled sharply.

  Perfection.

  “Jesus, Abbigail. You’re so damn gorgeous. Look at you. Just look at you.” I stared at her breasts like they were the first pair I’d ever seen. As if I were a twelve-year-old boy copping my first feel. I thumbed the baby-pink nipples and watched the way they sprang to attention from the stimulation—my cock responding in kind.

  “Need these in my mouth.” I kissed her lips first, though. Roughly. My need had spiked from touching her. Seeing her. She was unraveling my control, and I went from casual explorer to lusty conqueror in a few short beats.

  My tongue spread her lips, gaining entrance without asking permission and sweeping deeper with each pass. Little mewls vibrated up from Abbigail’s throat and into mine, spurring me on. She liked it. She liked me. I could feel her need.

  I wanted to devour her chin, jaw, ear, and then her neck. I would consume her by the time I was through. Something had possessed me after seeing her tits. I’d become a beast. Even worse than usual.

  Women always amazed me. They had pretty parts and soft places to nestle and touch. But Abbigail? Oh, shit. Abbigail was a species all her own. Definitely not like the others. No. Not even close.

  Her skin tasted like elements of the Bordeaux we shared. Black cherry . . . plums, maybe? Some sort of flower danced in my nose when I pulled away. I already knew the smell would tease me for hours after she left my bed.

  “Sebastian,” she moaned as I sucked the underside of her breast into my mouth. Women always loved that spot caressed and nipped. I swore it was more sensitive than the nipple for some. I reached up with my hands to knead the mounds roughly, and she arched beneath me, lifting her back off the cushions, her face pointing to the nighttime sky.

  “More? Is that good?” I asked, looking up over the sexy arch of her throat. The urge to sink my teeth into her was so strong, I had to fight it off with everything I had. I pinched her nipple between the side of my thumb and index finger when she didn’t respond.

  “Shit! Yes. God, yes! It’s good. So good.” She narrowed her eyes at me but didn’t pull away.

  “Don’t be sassy, girl. Just an answer. That’s all I wanted.” I nibbled the place I’d sucked, and she closed her eyes. Abbi threaded her fingers in my hair at my nape, scraping her nails through to my scalp.

  “Mmmm. I like that.” I closed my eyes too. Felt so good. I knelt up tall again to capture her mouth, grinding my cock into the side of the love seat’s cushion.

  “Fuck. Fuck, yes.” I rutted harder while we kissed, simulating thrusting into her heat.

  I worked the button of her jeans with my fingers. I needed to feel her dampness on my fingers and lips. I needed to taste her.

  And then a cell phone rang. Her damn cell phone rang from where it sat on the island by the grill.

  “No. No way,” I gritted against her lips.

  She chuckled in response and then let out a heavy sigh.

  “No. Seriously?” I grated.

  “Let me just get rid of whoever it is. My father is getting up there in age—”

  I backed away immediately. I’d never forgive myself if I were the reason she didn’t respond to an emergency.

  She answered the call while walking back toward where we’d been going at it. “Abstract Catering. This is Abbigail.”

  Who the hell would be calling her business number at this hour?

  “Oh, yes! Hello, Mr. Blake.”

  Blake? As in Viktor Blake?

  But how many Blakes must live in Los Angeles? I was acting ridiculous and testy because I had a goddamn hard-on I could break wood boards with like at a martial arts demonstration.

  Thoughts banged in my skull, and I wanted to rip the phone from her hand and chuck it into the fire pit.

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. How can I help you?” Abbi said to the caller.

  No, he should totally worry about it.

  “Hmmm, yes, that is quite a pickle. You’re right. No, we can totally help you out. How many are you expecting? Fifty? No problem. What time do you need service set up by? Eleven. All right, no worries. Will the usual assortment work? And what about drinks? Yes, mm-hmm. Okay, yes. No, no worries at all. Oh, you’re welcome, Mr. Blake.” Then she giggled.

  Fucking giggled.

  “Fine, I’ll call you Viktor. Okay, see you tomorrow, then. And thank you for the opportunity. Bye.”

  Red.

  A bloodred haze settled over my backyard, and I physically blinked my eyes two or three times to clear the strange film that toyed with my vision. I wanted to tear something or someone apart with my bare hands.

  Not that it was Abbigail’s fault. She didn’t have a clue that I hated that man. Viktor Blake. Bastard. How dare he call her while she was at my house? I was seconds from having my mouth on her pussy.

  Goddamn asshole.

  Talk about a mood killer.

  “I’m so sorry about that. Now, where were we?” She reached her hands forward to stroke my chest. I grabbed them, stopping any chance of us picking up where we left off.

  “Maybe it’s time to call it a night. If you need a ride because of the wine, I’d be happy to have my driver take you. One of my security team can follow in your car.”

  She winced.

  My tone sounded curt even to my ears. It couldn’t be helped. That phone call was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water down my pants.

  Again, not that she knew any of the history between Viktor Blake and me. Nor was I about to share it with her. She’d already heard enough of my history for one night.

  For one lifetime.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I said without emotion.

  “I think I can manage. Since I’m being dismissed so coldly, why don’t we just go for broke?”

  She was pissed. Honestly, she had every right to be. But, in typical Shark fashion, I wouldn’t do anything to change it.

  “I’m not dismissing you. I had a lovely evening.”

  She tilted her head to the side, calling me on my bullshit.

  “Abbigail,” I said in a frustrated huff.

  “Sebastian,” she said in the same delivery.

  “Clearly, you have a busy day tomorrow. And now it’s busier than you expected. I’m trying to be considerate.”

  “Look at you, then. Mr. Considerate. Right.”

  We walked toward the front door.

  “Let’s not end a wonderful evening on a sour note.”

  Am I pleading?

  It sounded an awful lot like pleading.

  Sebastian Shark did not plead. With anyone.

  “Good night, Sebastian,” she said, resting her hand on the door handle.

  “Until next time, Little Red.” I leaned forward to kiss her, and she thrust her cheek out as the only available option.

  Get your head out of your ass, man. Or out of your cock, wherever it may be lodged. This girl is playing you. Another man just called her.

  I kissed her softly on the cheek and chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked over her shoulder as she stepped out the front door, still looking for an argument.

  “I am,” I answered without emotion. “I think I’m the joke at the moment. Good night, Ms. Gibson. Drive safely.” And then I closed the door to my very big and very lonely house.

  Chapter Nine

  Abbi

  “Indigestion, irritation, celebration, or recuperation?”

  Rio’s soft but knowing query had me looking up from the fresh sourdough slices I was drizzling with secret sauce. The kitchen’s air was still laced with the bread�
��s tangy scent, though my sister-in-law’s nose crinkled as if one of the loaves was burned.

  “Umm . . . excuse me?” I knew where she was going with the query but wasn’t sure about exposing my emotional flank to her incisors. “You tackling the Times crossword again? Didn’t I order you to stick to sudoku?”

  Rio’s gaze darkened from the warmth of whiskey to the umber of melted chocolate. And of course I had to conjure an image of the dessert I made yesterday—leading my brain back to the man responsible for redefining the triple chocolate cake for the rest of my life.

  No. Not for the rest of my life, dammit.

  Sebastian Shark didn’t get to redefine anything for me again. Not after the fiasco of last night.

  Fiasco.

  The word fit perfectly into the mental parking space I had reserved for him. I could come up with a handful of other words for Sebastian personally. Jerk, jackass, dick—all justified quite thoroughly after the way he threw me out of his home not even nine hours before.

  Correction. His church-sized palace.

  His sprawling, lonely castle.

  And why was that still such a surprise? Especially now?

  “Abbi.”

  “Whaaa?”

  Holy crap. I’d been deep into the recall this time—but wasn’t amazed or sorry about it. I had just returned to the moments after Viktor Blake’s call. At least I hadn’t been basking in every sizzling, tingling memory of what had happened before that . . .

  “Okay.” Rio chuckled. “That really did just fly in one ear and out the other, didn’t it?”

  “Just lots on my mind,” I mumbled. “We’ve got all the last-minute details for Blake’s order to double-check, and— Crap.” I smacked my forehead with one hand and snapped my fingers with the other. “I just remembered. He asked for the cold buckwheat noodle salad instead of the rainbow macaroni. That means we’ll have to boil the noodles and then—”

  “You mean boil them . . . like this?” With the grace of a game show hostess, she swooped an upturned palm over the pair of pots on the stove’s back burners. Then with her other hand, she dumped a pile of chopped tomatoes into a bowl of diced feta, asparagus, and scallions.

  “I bow in worship.” I dipped my head low. “You are officially crowned the Queen of Multitasking.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You can kiss my ring later.” She grabbed a slotted spoon and stirred everything in the bowl. “Especially because it frees you up now to finally giving me some answers, woman. Oh wait.” She flicked the spoon up as if brandishing a sword. “I just figured it out!”

  “Should I be scared?” I teased, hoping like hell she hadn’t really.

  She notched her chin higher, holding me hostage with her perceptive gaze. “Oh, yeah.” She added a solid nod. “And now I know I’m right too.”

  I avoided squirming under her scrutiny. Barely. “You willing to put money on that?”

  “Are you?”

  She wasn’t wavering. And my clamoring stomach knew it. Still, I kept up the outward appearance of confidence with my brazen invitation. “Go for it, Sherlock. Let’s hear your theory.”

  “Sebastian. Shark.”

  Her deduction didn’t exactly blindside me. I was just less prepared than I’d expected to be—which made me mad. But if I could keep the resulting sting contained behind my eyes . . .

  “That’s a name, not a theory.” Why did it sound like I was conducting my side of this conversation through clenched teeth?

  “You saw him. Not in his office or as part of the lunch route. You saw him last night, didn’t you?”

  I plunged my stare back down, focusing on the stack of avocadoes that needed to be sliced, crisped, and placed on the bread along with Rio’s salsa. “H-How . . . did you know?”

  “Because if you’d been out with anyone else, you wouldn’t be hiding it from me.” Her shoulders dropped as she voiced her theory. The sadness in her tone boomeranged off the walls in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

  I worked harder at finding a place to fix my stare. “So this is guilt by omission, then?” And now why the hell did I sound so defensive?

  “You’re not guilty of anything, Abs. Except maybe believing that wolf could change into a decent housedog.”

  I felt my face twist in aggravation. “What makes you think I want a dog?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Okay. Whatever you thought you’d be getting from the man, then. The changes you thought you’d be seeing in him, just bec—”

  “What makes you think I expect him to change? Or want him to?”

  “I’ve been around the block a few times, Abbi. It’s a common pipe dream we all share. We, as women, I mean. We meet a guy, maybe he’s a little rough around the edges, he’s good but maybe not great, you know? But we think, ‘I can change him.’ Or the better one or worse one”—she huffed a derisive laugh—“depending how far gone you are, ‘For me, he’ll change.’”

  “You’re way off base on this, Rio. It’s not like that. Not at all like that.” But before I could continue, she went on as if I hadn’t uttered a word.

  “And I know what I witnessed at the park on Sunday. An hour of you and Sebastian Shark trying to hit vital organs with your glares until he dragged you behind the concessions stand. Then when you both returned wearing Revlon’s Fatal Apple across your lips . . . ”

  I inspected the ground again. “Well, hell.”

  “Looked more like you’d been to heaven and back by all the stars that had collected in your eyes.” She bumped up a coy shrug. “But whatever you say. If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s cool. I want you to know though, Abs”—she waited until I met her brandy-colored gaze—“I’m here when you decide you are, okay?”

  “Why?” I leveled, still battling the guilt of not sharing. “Why, if you noticed all of that, did you not say a word?”

  Rio shrugged. “I think I was hoping that if I shoved the guy’s behavioral blip aside, you would too. I also know you, little sister. Discussions involving affairs of the heart happen on your terms. And not a moment before.”

  At my nod, she added with a small lift of her mouth, “Actually, I think that’s a Gibson genetic predisposition.”

  “So then what? You thought—or hoped, rather—that I’d come to my senses and forget about Sebastian and go out with Viktor Blake instead?”

  “Let the record show that I wasn’t the one to bring up the hot Russian this time. But now that we’re here—”

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on, Abs. You know it’s not a complete conversation with me if the Russian hunk angle isn’t exploited.”

  “Well, I’ve had enough exploitation lately, all right?”

  The trash can wobbled after I viciously tossed in some avocado pits, and Rio let a heavy pause go by. Then another.

  “All right,” she finally uttered. “You know Sherlock Gibson isn’t going to erase that one from the notepad.”

  Crap, crap, crap.

  New heat crawled up my neck and spread across my cheeks. I dug my fingernails into my palms to extinguish the emotion. “Okay, listen. I’m not a victim here, Rio. Shark may have been holding a figurative gun to my head, but all the bullets were in my hand.” I opened my fingers from a fist to reveal my empty palm, as if there were bullet casings lying in my flat hand between us. “I agreed to his ultimatum with barely a fight. I did it willingly.”

  “His . . . ultimatum?” A confused look replaced her half smirk. “Okay, slow up. What the hell are you talking about, ‘ultimatum’?”

  I returned both hands to the avocado task. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

  “Can you indulge me? Pretend I don’t know what it sounds like. Because I don’t like the way my brain wants to fill in those blanks.”

  “Fine.” I started chopping avocadoes like a ninja shredding balsa wood. “When Shark and I were . . . talking . . . out behind the snack hut, he told me he’d consider asking the police to close up the food-poisoning allegations—after I had dinner with h
im.”

  “After you had—” She squeezed her eyes shut while mouthing a countdown in order to cool down. I tracked the silent four, three, two . . .

  “Shit, Abbi,” she finally muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I wanted to go. There. I said it. I wanted to go, Rio.” I watched her shift her gaze heavenward before looking to me to continue. “I know that’s not what you want to hear. But it’s the truth. I’m attracted to him. Very attracted to him, as a matter of fact.” I felt heat creep up my chest and neck again, just at the admission.

  “So what happened? He made you literally put the proof in your pudding? And likely expecting some juicy ‘side dishes’ too.” After she air quoted the innuendo, she propped her hands to her hips and waited. “And Mr. Uptown actually drove to Torrance for this?”

  “Oh, dear hell.” While I loved my bohemian corner of the world, the idea of Sebastian stepping foot in my condo was as ludicrous as it was disturbing.

  Really disturbing.

  Yes, even after everything we’d shared last night.

  Because when all was said and done, even after all the romantic razzle-dazzle, none of it was supposed to be more than a casual fuck. A way to get what we both wanted. I’d have a check mark on the bucket list, closure on the food-poisoning claim, and an orgasm I hadn’t rubbed out for myself. He’d have a nice notch on the bedpost, the best chocolate cake of his life, and an orgasm he didn’t have to rub out for himself. Everybody was supposed to take home a W.

  But a funny thing happened on the way to the winner’s circle.

  “Dear hell indeed.” Rio’s high gasp sliced into my thoughts. “Does . . . that mean . . . ohhh, shit, Abs! Did you go to his place? His mansion?” She laid heavy emphasis on the last word.

  She finished it by pushing the bowl of salsa toward me with enough force that the stainless-steel bowl slid across the worktop and almost sailed right off the edge. I caught it with a scowl.

  “Easy, killer.” That would’ve set us back at least thirty minutes we couldn’t spare.