Page 48 of Shark’s Pride

As loudly as my cock screamed at me to park her back on the vanity and fill her pleas of fifteen minutes ago, I restrained myself hard enough to order instead, “Sit down here, and I’ll brush out your hair. It’s easier to do while it’s wet. And yes, I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.”

“Let me guess,” she said as she sat. “Vela once convinced you to let her go right to bed after a bath?”

I chuckled. “See? You are such a smart girl.”

“But once was all it took, right?”

I grunted. “Last time I listen to a five-year-old.”

“See?” She giggled. “You are such a smart guy.”

I winked at her while taking out the “miracle brush” that Pia made me keep here. The thing worked wonders on tangled wet hair. Without another word, I got to work on Abbi’s long mane. Once more, our timing worked out well with the rotating playlists on my phone. One of my favorite songs began playing over the speakers. Then another. As I got lost in the task of taming Abbi’s fiery mane, I absentmindedly sang along with the soul-heavy soundtrack—

Until I was caught short by a reflection in the mirror.

That of Abbigail’s full gape.

“Red?” I nearly dropped the brush. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” she insisted. “It feels amazing.”

“Okay…”

As I drew out the word, she paused to clearly measure her next words. “You…can sing.”

I frowned. “Uhhh…”

“I mean…beautifully.” She was quiet, giving me another unnerving stare down. “I mean, holy crap,” she blurted. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Shark?”

Fortunately, I was hit with a fast answer. The sooner I distracted her from this track, the better. “Crochet.”

As she snorted out a laugh, she quickly covered her face and its new flush. “So ladylike,” she mumbled from behind her fingers—which had me nailing her with a strengthened scowl.

“Abbigail,” I ordered, gently tugging at her wrists. “Don’t hide any parts of yourself from me. I want to see it all, woman.”

She stunned me a little—all right, maybe more than that—with the force of her newly raised stare. Dear God. Her irises were evergreens, so ethereal and entrancing. But because of that intense hue, I could also tell she was working up the courage for her response to me. It was going to be honest. Yes, to the point of cutting. I’d seen this look; I knew this look. It always came before a stinger.

“Hmmm.”

Especially when she added that kind of a hmmm.

“You know, it’s interesting.” She looked down at where her hands toyed with the edge of the towel but then back up to pierce me with a pointed gaze. “You want to see every part of me… Yet the moment I complimented your singing, you changed the subject quicker than a hooker changes panties.”

“That’s different.” I brushed all her hair back with an efficiency to match my tone before separating it in three equal sections.

“How so?”

Her charge was just as no-nonsense. Clearly she wasn’t going to let this go—so why not give her what she wanted? I would just lay it out there, and then she’d feel like shit. At least then we could move on to pretending it never happened.

Story of my life.

“My mother used to sing. All the time. To Pia and me. Around the house, in the car…” I drifted for a brief moment, focusing on schooling my features so she didn’t have to witness my pain. “It’s not easy to think about, so I don’t like talking about it. But there you go. Now I have.”

I finished the single braid—the one hairstyle I could accomplish—and grabbed Abbi’s hair tie from the vanity. After securing the end, I stepped back to give her room to stand. As soon as she did, she returned her hand to the middle of my chest. Her stare was even more luminous now. And harder for me to confront.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I pried her hand free but kissed her knuckles to declare a truce—though I wasn’t quite sure what from. “It’s fine.” I just knew I needed the pressure across my lungs to stop now. “Really, it was a long time ago.”