Page 62 of Shark’s Edge

“Yes. Because I believe I owe you an apology.”

“Just one?” She folded her arms across her chest. Classic closed-off body language on display. “Or is it a blanket sort of thing? A cover-all for myriad transgressions?”

“I hadn’t thought that far, I guess. How many transgressions are we talking here?” One side of my mouth kicked up in amusement. She was sexy as hell when she was trying to stay mad.

“Is this amusing? Or are you genuinely offering contrition right now?” She tilted her head to the side in a challenge as I came around the front of my desk and approached where she stood.

“I can’t help smiling when you’re near me, Ms. Gibson.” I stepped closer to her. “Much in the same way I can’t help touching you when you’re near me.” I reached for the hands she wrung together in front of her apron like I’d seen her do several times before.

“No.” She dropped her hands to her sides so I couldn’t take them in mine. “You don’t get to do that right now. You really sent some crazy signals the other night at your palace. I can’t repeat a spin cycle like that again. If that’s your normal routine, I’m going to say no thank you. To all of it.” She took a step back so I couldn’t touch her.

“Nothing about this”—I motioned between the two of us—“has been my normal anything, so I’m flying blind here, Abbigail. Maybe admitting that to you will earn me some slack in the forgiveness zone?” I raised my eyebrows with the question.

I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. She just watched me, maybe trying to reorganize the attack strategy I’d upended. I could only guess since she wasn’t giving me a clue.

“Say something,” I finally bit out harsher than I intended, and she recoiled slightly at the tone.

“Listen, I appreciate the apology. I do. It’s much more than I expected, actually. Thank you for that. But I would also appreciate some sort of explanation. One minute, your mouth was doing fantastic things to my body; the next minute, your front door was nearly spanking my ass. That was whiplash-worthy behavior if I’d ever seen it, Sebastian.” She looked at me expectantly. The ball was back in my court.

I dropped my chin to my chest, kicking my own mental ass for making her feel the way I had. It was shitty the way I acted, and now . . . hell. How would I explain what drove my ridiculous behavior without getting into the history behind it? Because I sure as hell wasn’t about to do that.

“Let’s sit down for a minute.” I motioned toward the sofa grouping where she usually set up my lunch. “Can you spare the time?”

“Yes, that’s why I came early today. I wanted to talk this out with you, and it hasn’t escaped my notice you’ve been avoiding me for seven days. Nine if you include the weekend. But who’s counting?”

I chuckled at that, hoping she’d join in as we both sat down. No such luck. We lowered to separate couches but faced each other.

“Contrary to whatever you’ve let yourself believe, I have a hectic schedule, none of which had anything to do with seeing or not seeing you.” That was a lie. I had most certainly adjusted my schedule to avoid her. But I had to do what I had to do. Starry-eyed girls who hoped to find their Prince Charming didn’t fit into my life. If she were going to stay a part of my world—still just a strictly hypothetical concept—she’d have to adjust her mind-set and fast.

“Okay.” She swallowed hard, and the familiar surge of need pulsed in my dick.

Jesus, girl. What is it about you?

I watched her, fascinated. Entranced by the physical pull of her nearness. Until she broke the spell, short as it was, by continuing the inquisition.

“Why did a business phone call make you so upset? You. Of all people. I have to assume you do business at all hours of the day to have grown your business to this magnitude.” She looked around the office as a visual reference to go along with her remark. “I mean, I’m not wrong, am I? It was the phone call?”

“It wasn’t the call as much as it was the caller.”

“Viktor Blake?” She looked confused at my tone.

“I hate that man.”

“Yep. Picking up that vibe.” She nodded swiftly. “Loud and clear.”

“I hate that he called you. I hate that he called you at my home.” My voice grew darker with the memory, so I tried to ease up. I really did, I swear. “I understand you are a business owner, and I understand he may very well be a client of yours.”

“That’s exactly right, Sebastian. He’s a client. And that’s all he is at the moment.”

My face—and gut, for that matter—twisted at the last part of that comment, but I soldiered through it, not giving up my position in the conversation. I had an actual point to make, goddammit. We could circle back to the “at the moment” wording in a minute.

“I hate that he called you when I was three seconds from pushing my tongue inside your cunt.”

“Seeh . . . baas . . . tiiaann.” My name came out of her mouth in three lusty syllables. All with rushes of needy breath in between. Her hand fluttered up to the base of her throat as she said them.

My cock was a steel rod. It was begging for a way out of my suit pants, pulsing against the inside of my zipper. I had to adjust myself to find a more comfortable position to sit without causing some sort of blood-supply emergency.

“There. You wanted an explanation. There’s your explanation. Happy? I’m a jealous son of a bitch on top of controlling, tyrannical, egotistical, dictatorial, and let’s see, what else? I’m sure there’s something else.”