Page 56 of Shark’s Edge

“But not you?” I asked, tentatively running my index finger over the delicate brushwork on the doll, still resting in his outstretched palms.

“No.” He laughed softly. “I was born and raised in Ohio. The Buckeye State.”

I joined him in the chuckle, though mine died out as he slipped the doll into my grasp. “Viktor. I— I can’t accept something so—”

“You can and you will,” he insisted. “It’s special. Like you, Abbigail.” He closed the drawer and then hitched his thigh up on the desk, sitting lower to bring our faces level. “The big green eyes remind me of yours. But they symbolize much more.”

I would’ve dropped the thing back onto the desk but was more agitated than before about getting even closer to him. “I know that they represent family, home, and connection. That’s why you should maybe think of giving them to—”

“I see the dolls as a metaphor for other things.”

As he issued the interruption, he stood again. Then—dammit—edged closer to me, to where he could lift the top off the biggest doll as I held it in my unsteady hands.

“Layers,” he murmured, securing my gaze as he did. Viktor’s eyes were the color of myrtle cacti, complete with the turquoise streaks and the ruthless needles. “Layers,” he repeated, pulling off the next shell. “And how we all hide our most precious selves beneath them.”

“Inside rose-colored dolls?” I prayed he’d catch my sardonic hint and back away from the intensity.

“Or behind rose-colored glasses, maybe.” So subtle hints were not the guy’s forte. “Or under layers of humor. Or even buried in meaningless numbers that stand for meaningless things, splashed across meaningless screens on our desks.”

He waved to the monitor gracing the other corner of his workspace, but even that and his modest smile didn’t convince me he’d issued the statement in self-deprecation.

Somehow, in some way, he was saying he knew.

He knew.

About how powerfully I was drawn to Sebastian Shark. About the man’s attraction to me in return.

But it wasn’t just that he knew the truth.

He was hell-bent on thwarting it. Changing it.

“Thank you, Viktor. It’s a lovely gift.” I’d take the damn dolls. Not because I wanted to. But at this point, that was the best option for getting out of there the fastest. “It was unnecessary but sweet.”

“Abbigail.” He quietly commanded it while wrapping his grip around the back of my elbow.

Flinching involuntarily, I tried to cover my response with a forced smile. “I really have to be going now.”

“Why? You’re here early. Far ahead of schedule.”

“On purpose,” I clarified, subtly moving out of his hold.

“Because of pressure from Shark?” His prickly blues narrowed to accusing slits. “Has he threatened you?”

Miraculously, I held back a laugh. This from the guy who’d shrugged off a weeping woman fifteen minutes earlier.

I narrowed my eyes at the comment but quickly offered, “One of my brothers is in town, visiting from back east. We have plans.” A large part of me wished I’d told him my schedule wasn’t his business. Instead, I jerked up my chin and said, “Mr. Shark has nothing to do with it.”

Damn good thing we weren’t playing Three Truths and a Lie.

“That’s good.” Viktor studied my face. “Because, for the record . . . I’d like the chance to know what’s under your layers, Abbigail.” He stepped back but continued watching me in earnest. “And to let you see a few of mine, too.”

I was saved by my watch’s buzz. It was just a last-minute order change from Rio, but he didn’t have to know that. “Umm, I really need to go.”

“Will you . . . at least think about it?” His steely blue eyes studied me.

I was out the door before he finished the question.

And wishing I could be like the last woman who’d left and opted for the stairs.