Page 42 of Shark’s Edge

“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.