Page 21 of Shark’s Edge

“Messy?” she asked, her voice pitching high with the insult.

Messy, I mouthed, no sound accompanying my lips’ movement.

“And lastly,” I said, adding my long middle finger to the grouping of extremities between us, losing all coherent train of thought. Dirty, dirty fantasies replaced reasonable remarks. In my mind, I stroked the inside of Abbi’s pussy with the very finger that stood tallest between us. With that digital soldier, I’d reach in and find the secret spot that made her writhe and moan beneath my touch. The unique bull’s-eye that would encourage her to call my name in a raspy moan as she rode my hand to her completion.

A low groan escaped from deep in my throat and vibrated across my lips as I dropped my chin to my chest with arousal overload.

“What?” she whispered, seeming to have followed my thoughts down the naughty, naughty rabbit hole.

“What, what?” I squinted at her with unfocused eyes.

“What were you thinking? Your eyes . . . You just looked a million miles away.” She reached up to touch my face with splayed fingers but quickly let her hand fall away as if thinking better of it.

“Oh, some things are better left unsaid, Little Red.” A grin played on my lips, still imagining her tight pussy milking and coating my fingers.

“Better for who?” Rigidity returned to her spine. Frustration? Embarrassment?

“For you.” I sucked in a deep breath through my nose, definitely picking up the scent of woman on the air. “In this instance, definitely better for you.”

“That’s mighty high-handed of you.” All traces of arousal were gone from her voice.

“What is?” I turned away and headed over to where my lunch was spread out, needing to get physical distance from her before I did something I’d regret.

Like kiss her.

And not being able to stop kissing her until she was naked beneath me, chanting my name.

“Deciding what’s best for me,” she snapped. “You don’t even know me.”

“My point exactly.” I unrolled the white napkin from around the silverware on the tray.

She was quiet, and then moved to stand near the grouping of sofas where I sat. “You can be very obtuse. But I suppose that’s intentional. I don’t take you for a man who does anything willy-nilly.”

“I could say the same for you.” I looked pointedly at the white napkin. “For a woman who claims to be serious about a very large future contract, I find it interesting that you wouldn’t follow the customer’s specifications, just to prove some immature point. Again, though, perfectly illustrating the first of my earlier arguments.”

Silence blanketed the penthouse. However, the rise and fall of her chest broadcasted her growing agitation.

Come on, Little Red Riding Hood. Cry. Do it.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered under her breath while a rosy flush spread up her neck. “Well, if you don’t need anything else here—”

“Déjà vu, anyone?” I smirked, knowing she’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.

“I’ll pass. Thanks, though.” She pivoted on her heel and headed to the door, proverbial tail tucked between her legs.

I shot to my feet, rushing up behind her to slam my hand to the door above her head, effectively preventing her from opening it.

Without turning to face me, she seethed, “Excuse me. I’m leaving now.”

“Is this how you handle yourself in a tough situation, Ms. Gibson?” I clucked my tongue in disappointment while she still faced the door. “When the going gets tough, you bolt?” I increased the cadence of my words but kept the tone antagonistic. “If you land the exclusive catering contract for the Edge, is this the level of professionalism I can expect from you?” I provoked her further. “If we had a black-tie event in-house—oh, I don’t know . . . let’s say international dignitaries for a seven-course meal—will my caterer leave in a huff because her feelings were hurt due to someone not liking the goddamn salad dressing?”

Slowly, she turned to face me, schooling her features so I couldn’t predict what was about to come.

“Mr. Shark, I don’t ‘bolt’ when things become difficult. Quite frankly, nothing could be further from the truth. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, and I can admit my behavior takes unusual turns when I’m in this particular office. And as much as I hate to overinflate your ego more than it already is, that seems to have everything to do with you specifically. Not my job nor my ability to handle it. Rest assured, I am the best person to handle the exclusive contract for your new building.”

“Why the tears again, then?” I demanded but then inexplicably shifted to a softer mien. “What’s this about?”

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, inspecting her shoes before continuing, “when I get angry, I well up. I’ve been this way my entire life. It’s very frustrating, trust me. It makes me look fragile to outsiders, which only makes me more mad and then more tears and so on.”