Page 55 of Shark’s Pride

He strode back toward me with his trademark confidence, twirling the pencil between his fingers like a practiced juggler with a baton. Fitting, since the girl behind him started resembling a deflated balloon. Not that I was going to make him aware of my little spy job. The second he turned back, I busied myself with the last peony on my caddy.

“Get what you needed?” I asked, trying to sound carefree.

“Yes. Apparently, you have to use a special pencil or the lines will show after it’s been in the kiln,” he said with authority.

“Good to know.”

“And what, may I ask, are you grinning about now, Ms. Gibson?”

“I’m curious what you’re going to do on that black canvas you’ve created.” I angled my chin toward his piece while dipping my brush in the darkest magenta on my palette.

In lieu of an answer, Sebastian simply started sketching with the magic pencil. But he rendered the drawing so lightly, it wasn’t until he began going over the lines with the white paint that I could make out what he was doing.

“A skull?” I blurted. “Really? I didn’t peg you for a memento mori kind of guy.”

“A what?” he asked, concentrating on the lines of his design.

“Memento mori. Directly translated from the Latin, it means, ‘remember you must die.’ Historians believe that in the fifteenth century, people wore skulls, on jewelry and clothing, to remind themselves of their own mortality.”

His snort-smirk was a damn gorgeous volley. “Honestly, I just thought Vela would find it amusing on a dinner plate because she gives me a lot of shit about my cooking.” And at once, his lips lifted a little higher, back into the unique because-of-Vela smile, and I couldn’t help a light laugh of my own.

“I bet she’ll love it, then.” I set my brush down with a flourish and announced, “There. Done. It’s hard to tell what the colors will really look like until it’s fired, but I saved the first blob and am proud of the rest.” I held the caddy up and back, rotating the thing just to be sure I hadn’t missed any key spots. “I think this might be my best work yet.”

“Yet?” Bas remained focused on his piece, going over his design with a second coat of white. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his skull would likely look more like a zombie because of the lighter color on the dark background, especially because he followed up by murmuring, “So…you come here a lot?”

“Hmmm. I wouldn’t say ‘a lot.’ A few times a year, I guess.”

“Other date nights, then?”

I yelped out a laugh before it could be helped, and several patrons whipped their gawks in our direction.

“You’re seriously asking that, knowing the ‘extent’ of my ‘experience’ before we met?”

Bas ducked his head until his face filled the space in front of mine. His gaze was the shade of steel; his cheekbones formed bold slashes against his taut skin. “I live in a lot of boxes, Red, but under no rocks. Maybe you’ve been here before with guys who were happy with taking you here and leaving the fire in the kiln.” He dipped his gaze, studying my nose, my lips, and finally farther, searing the exposed skin of my cleavage with his indecent intent. “I, on the other hand, plan to light up every fucking inch of your body this evening.”

My first instinct was to step back, mostly because I yearned to straddle him here and now. But his audacity inspired mine. I stepped between his legs instead and watched the roguish grin take over his lips as he discarded his project and framed my waist with his knowing grip.

“Magnificent plan, Mr. Shark.”

“I’m glad you’re on board, Ms. Gibson.”

Clearly knowing what a needy storm he’d whipped through my sex, he swept his gaze across our projects on the table. “They really do look good,” he complimented. “Very impressive.” His smirk became a pout as we shifted apart, pulled back to reality by a discreet harrumph from a nearby mother. “So…uhhh…how long does it take them to bake these?”

I laughed at his choice of words, grateful for the redirection back to some casual fun. “I’ll swing back by in a week, maybe five days, and pick them up.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send Craig to do it. He runs out of things to do.”

“I find that hard to believe, especially with your house occupancy currently bumped by two.”

While Sebastian put the finishing touches on his skull design, I walked our used palettes and brushes to the sink that the staff used for cleaning up. As I stepped to the basin designated for customer cleanups, he joined me. Just like that, as we washed our hands together, we were back to thinking about doing other things beneath running water. Things involving a lot less clothes and curious bystanders…

It was wonderful.

He squirted some liquid soap into my hands and then his own. He began making a soapy lather between our palms. His fingers worked the suds between each one of mine, paying close attention to my fingernails.

Wonderful.

I couldn’t tear my eyes off his face while he worked, breathing in the mix of the tropical soap and his rich cedar smell.