Page 47 of Shark’s Edge

“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.