Page 35 of Shark’s Edge

Holy wow. I’d never said all that before. The words, yes. But all in one sentence? With one specific motivation? For one beautiful, dominating man? Never.

But I was nailing it.

I was a freaking femme fatale—and I was pretty sure I’d just drawn blood.

For all of two seconds.

Before Sebastian Shark twisted his head with the focus of a lion about to dig into his prey.

He growled into my neck, sending liquid lust through every membrane of my being. And then anchored my head with a commanding hand so he could bite into the meat of my earlobe.

Hard.

“Uuhhh!” I repeated the soft but high yelp as he slid to the tender spot below my ear, nipping brutally again. He used the flat of his tongue to soothe the abrasion, though I told myself not to be lulled back to any sense of safety.

It was wise counsel.

I was stunned all over again as he leaned back and impaled me with the blue steel of his gaze. Dear God. This man and his hypnotic eyes.

He only magnified the torment—the magic—when contrasting their sapphire splendor with an onyx-dark scowl. “All right, Ms. Gibson,” he said, his tone a sudden clip of all-business purpose. “It’s time we got clear about some things.”

I sensed him wanting to hold up his fingers, just like he’d done the first time he had me trapped and horny like this. But this time, I refused to lose my focus to furious tears. I was a temptress, after all. “I’m listening.”

A long-suffering look clouded his handsome face, matched by his heavy sigh. “I don’t do sensual. I do sex. And I don’t slide with satiny intent. I pound with one clear goal. And I sure as hell don’t screw, either.” By the time he finished the litany, he almost looked amused, and I went from sexual seductress to silly schoolgirl in the flash of five sentences.

I shifted my weight—as far as was possible, anyway, with my body still locked by his—and forced myself back into the temptress’s head space, trying to salvage the moment along with my dignity. “Fine. You don’t screw.” I nudged up my chin, proud of how the words flowed as if I’d said them a hundred times. “You fuck.”

He compressed his lips tighter. “No.”

Oddly—and thrillingly—the air hitched in my throat. “No?”

“I take.” He moved back by a step, seeming to sense I needed the space.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Not forcibly, but not tenderly.” He squared his shoulders. “I take what’s consensually offered to me. My partners enjoy themselves and are fairly compensated for the experience. In the end, everyone goes away happy.”

Thank God, even more, for that extra space. I was positive I sucked down every bit of air between us as I dropped my hands and then dug my fingertips into my thighs. “But there’s an end.” I abhorred every note of dejection that weaseled its way into my voice. I shouldn’t give a flying crap about his “ends,” happy, consensual, or otherwise. Nothing about today had changed a thing between us. It sure hadn’t changed anything about him, no matter how hard he rocked the hot, doting uncle bit.

Come tomorrow morning, Sebastian Shark would still be Sebastian Shark. High above the city in his cushy tower, snarling at those below. Even his bromance sparring sessions with Grant Twombley would remain. And of course, complaining about my salad dressing—or the color of his napkin.

Or maybe none of it—if he still intended to push legal action about my food messing with his sensitive stomach.

A concept that should have knocked my pulse back to normal but didn’t. It was simply impossible to imagine this looming panther as a weak kitten on a hospital bed. My mind’s eye just wasn’t capable of seeing it.

Which meant only one thing.

It was time to get back to my girls.

“So . . . ” I went ahead and spoke up, since our silence had stretched to the point of uncomfortable. “Now that we have that cleared up, thanks for stopping by today. Don’t call us; we’ll call you.”

I almost added a small snicker—until Sebastian made it clear he wasn’t laughing. Not by a glowering long shot. I ended up gulping instead, when he hitched back into place in front of me. Every drop of moisture in my throat evaporated as Shark extended one arm to the wall beside my head. In so many ways, this position was more unnerving than his intrusion for the kiss.

“Hmmm.” He dipped in his head, studying me even deeper. “Tears to deal with the fury . . . but a headlong sprint into sass when someone decides to open up a little.” He closed in tighter, lighting the shadows between our faces with the brilliance of his gaze. “Is this how you keep all the boys away, Abbigail? Or is it just me?”

I was back to reining in a salty laugh. All the boys? Ohhh, silly man. If you only knew.

Except that there was nothing to know.