Page 26 of Shark’s Rise

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Romeo and Juliet could both suck a bag of dicks as far as I was concerned. Sweet sorrow? More like absolute hell. Full-on gut-wrenching misery was even more accurate.

Bas and I finally had sucked up our egos and made up for our terrible fight. I apologized for my “impertinence”—his label—and he did the same about his “breast-obsessed distractibility”—my label—which led to some of the best sex of my existence in the giant master suite bed. Afterward, there was a different energy about him, as if the last of his rage had spilled out along with his orgasm. In its place was a quiet watchfulness that I couldn’t figure out but wasn’t sure if I wanted to. I kind of liked it.

We spent the rest of the afternoon lazing in each other’s arms, trading off between an oversize float in the pool, a large lounge chair on the deck—and just about every other surface in the master bedroom. We made love on every surface that was available and even some we improvised.

Memories I battled to keep close in my heart, instead of the crushing ache threatening it as soon as Joel started up the town car that night. A pain that swelled and grew as I watched the vehicle—and in it, the man I was hopelessly in love with—disappear down the driveway. I didn’t stop watching until the red taillights were nothing but tear-blurred stars in the far, far distance.

Thirty minutes later, it was still a toss-up which ached more: my head from crying so much, my stomach from dry heaving over the toilet bowl, or my heart from shattering yet again. Every shard felt irreparable this time—and I honestly didn’t know how much more abuse the organ could sustain before refusing to beat any more.

Curling into a smaller ball didn’t help. I tried my left side and then the right, tossing from one end of the bed to the other. I couldn’t get comfortable. All I smelled was Sebastian’s scent. It wasn’t just his cologne wafting up from the sheets. It was all of him. The smell of the heady perspiration that slicked his skin while he fucked me. The expensive hair products he artfully fingered through his dark waves to demand their submission.

“Damn it.” I drew out the last vowel, making it a groan into the pillow. As I closed my eyes, I swore I could even smell his smile, his laughter, his passion. It sounded insane, but I could so easily picture him. Could so easily be engulfed by all the memories of him. The mischief in his eyes as he loomed over me. The devious slant of his lips as cunning thoughts pursued his mind. And oh yes, all the beautiful ways he made those fantasies come true, arousing and tempting me with his lips, fingers and tongue…until I begged. Begged for all of it. Every wicked, depraved way he could drive my need so high and hot and urgent…

But I couldn’t beg him anymore. Because he wasn’t here anymore. My whispered pleas met nothing but heavy, empty air. It was all so unfair.

So. Freaking. Unfair.

I’d entreated him to stay. Pleaded for just one more night. Asked in my sweetest, most desperate voice for him to stay with me for one more night and have Joel drive him back early in the morning—but nothing worked. The man had a resolve stronger than the hull of a modern-day battleship, and now he actually had a direction in which to steer that big barge. I knew that even before I tried changing his mind, but I also knew I had to try. I had to do everything I could to keep him with me instead of lying here lonely and afraid and unsure.

Exactly like I was feeling now.

A laugh burst from me as I considered that. Afraid. Afraid of what, exactly? I didn’t fear for my own safety. Elijah had me locked away in this fortress as though I were a damn prisoner. No, my fear was for Bas himself.

At least I thought that was what it was. The guys kept me so carefully closed off and in the dark, believing I was too fragile to handle any information they had uncovered on the case, I had to fill in the blanks on my own from the tidbits I overheard or that were accidentally shared in front of me.

I only knew all this “investigating” had gone on for months now, and the most viable culprit they had right now was Viktor Blake. The concept still seemed like grasping at straws to me, but I had resigned myself to leaving the investigation to Bas, Elijah, and their team. Those men knew way more than me about what made Viktor tick. I simply had to trust Bas. And surprisingly, that was something that came very easily.

Oh, yes. Surprisingly. Since my mom’s death, trust was something I had a hard time dispensing—until that morning I stood in the Inglewood kitchen with Rio, watching the morning news about a suicide jumper in Long Beach. Soon after, Sebastian Shark strode into my world and changed everything. The man made trusting him as natural as breathing—almost from the first moment we met and absolutely from the first moment we touched. He had a way about him that just said, I’ve got you.

But this whole situation felt like he was asking for more than trust. Something even beyond blind faith. And I was tired, deep into my bones, of trying to generate it all the time. It was easier to just be resigned to the circumstances. To give up the fight. If I couldn’t even keep my eyes open, what was the point in caring about anything beyond this compound? Hell, I barely even cared about combing my hair anymore. At least once a day, Elijah found me in my window seat, softly snoring with a book on my chest. Bas had brought me most of the paperback TBR stack that normally sat on my home nightstand when he visited.

God, how I missed that nightstand. And the luxurious bed it was next to. And the house in Calabasas. Our house. My normal life.

But would anything be normal again?

The men still refused to restore my cell phone’s calling capabilities, insisting someone could easily trace my incoming calls. But Sebastian had told me if I wanted to make a phone call, Elijah would allow me to do so without a hassle.

First thing the next morning, I decided it was time to put that acquiescence to the test.

I set off to find my warden in the grand expanse of the estate. Elijah was usually in the office, by the pool, or fussing around the kitchen. The kitchen staff was patient with his relentless meddling and persistent “helping,” but to me, he just seemed underfoot.

But just the walk to the kitchen took its toll on my system. By the time I came into the wide-open space, my eyes danced with bright white spots and my mouth watered with the tell-tale burn of nausea.

“Abbi—”

I stopped Elijah, and his concerned rush, with an upturned hand. I couldn’t deal with his third degree and the queasiness at the same time. A panicked wave of heat flashed over my skin, knowing I wouldn’t make the distance from the kitchen to the nearest bathroom.

“Ohhh shit,” I moaned. “Shit…” I covered my mouth and looked frantically from side to side for something to vomit into. In the nick of time, one of the staff women was there with a trash bin.

A few minutes later, the episode was done. A short one this time—thank God—since I had an audience witnessing it all, though Elijah left the room about halfway through. Thank God for small favors, I guessed. The man and his watchful eyes unnerved me more than anything else, especially because he reported everything directly back to Sebastian. My man had more things to worry about than my ongoing sour stomach. I had to learn how to handle this stress better.

Goals for another day.

Right now, it just felt nice to accept a damp dish towel from the woman who’d helped me through the episode. After smiling in gratitude, I blotted my parched lips and flushed cheeks before pressing the cloth to my forehead.

“Thank you,” I murmured.