Last Resort: S.I.N. Series Read online

  She was his soft spot.

  As I am now.

  “I’d tell you dropping out is unacceptable, Callahan, but I know it doesn’t matter to you. You simply don’t care about my opinions or that you’ve given new meaning to the Sharpe legacy at Wharton. And not in a good way.” He sighs heavily as he leans back in his chair and levels a stare at me. “I sat and questioned how I was going to handle this, handle you. I wondered what kind of lesson I’d be teaching you by allowing this sort of thing to happen. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I stare at my father. He’s tough as nails expecting the most out of his boys. His name and his legacy mean everything to him, so to have one of us fail was never an option.

  But Ledger is right. When he struggled with the everyday expectations of duty as a Sharpe and college course load, my dad had no mercy or sympathy for him. He held him to the fire with words about being a disappointment and threats about losing his place in the Sharpe dynasty.

  Ford and I worried about him. His mental health. His state of mind. But that toughness is what spurred him to shake out of his funk and currently be sitting at the top of our class. Failure isn’t an option.

  Is it because Ledger is a cookie cutter of our father that Dad accepted no less?

  And does the same hold true to me? Because I’m our mother that I get more leeway than a child should get?

  What about Ford? Is he a mixture of both so our father is hard in some ways and not in others, so he’s left in that middle child, no-man’s land where he wonders where he falls?

  He loves us all. No doubt there. But he loves us in a way so very different that at times it’s unfair.

  The issue? Just like now, I’m too fucking grateful not to be held to a bar of their height that I just shut my mouth and smile.

  “Well?” he asks.

  I rub my hands on my thighs and think of the shit I’ve done, the stunts I’ve pulled. “There’s nothing to say that I haven’t already said. I’m not going to apologize for being who I am, Dad. I’m not going to kiss your ass and beg you to forgive me for disappointing you. I am who I am. A Sharpe who doesn’t live up to your standards. I live up to mine, and right or wrong, that’s me.”

  He twists his lips and swivels back and forth in his chair. “And your plans moving forward?”

  “I don’t know.” I have no problem whatsoever with hard work, but sitting in an office with a tie cinched around my neck every day isn’t exactly what does it for me.

  “You will not rest on your laurels.”

  “No one said I was going to.”

  A smile ghosts his lips. “You’re your mother, remember? I do know you.”

  He rises from his seat and moves to his favorite corner of his office, shoves his hands in his pockets, and stares at the people down below. It’s his thinking corner. The place where he makes decisions.

  I know better than to speak, than to push him to decide when I want out of this recirculated air and concrete confinement.

  “Then you start your tenure with Sharpe International Network today.”

  Oh Jesus.

  Dropping out of school meant I was going to get fresh air and freedom. It meant I was going to be able to sit back and decide who I was without being surrounded by people who only looked at me as a Sharpe. Who only want to know me because of my last name.

  I close my eyes and quietly groan.

  This would be my brothers’ dream. To jump onto the pedestal and start their climb up the corporate ladder. The ladder that is superficial since they’d be walking in day one on the top rung. This is their everything.

  And they’ll see it as more favoritism. More Callahan is the pet.

  To me, I was just handed a death sentence.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sutton

  “I feel like I just got you back and now I’ve lost you again,” Lizzy says through the phone.

  “But you’ve lost me for good reasons this time.” I lean back on the lounger and soak up the afternoon sun.

  “True. True. But I still miss you nonetheless.”

  “It feels good to be missed.”

  “Speaking of missing you . . .” she says with some hesitation. “I got a call last night from Clint.”

  “Clint?”

  “Mm-hmm. You missed a dinner with his boss or something and since you weren’t answering your phone, he called me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I scrunch my nose and think of the numerous all-caps messages I received from him last night. The threats and belittlements and then the apologies and the acting like the first texts were never sent. What amazes me is how I responded though. It’s more than clear that Clint is emotionally abusive. I’m sad I stayed as long as I did. But leaving was the absolute best move I could have made. Time and distance have allowed me to see this. To acknowledge this. “I didn’t want to answer him. He never should have called you.”

  “I’ll take the calls and the opportunity to let him know what a dick he is any day of the week. You keep on not picking up the phone and having fun there.”

  “Thanks. I truly didn’t mean—”

  “End of story, Sutt. Don’t apologize. Now . . . on to that man of yours. Tell me all the details.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “You’re living with him. That means there is a whole lot to tell.”

  “There may have been some flirting and some heavy petting—”

  “Keep going . . .”

  “But I needed to draw the line somewhere. He’s who he is and I’m who I am.”

  “Meaning you have the most to lose.”

  “Exactly.” I think of my status update meeting with Roz earlier and her palpable excitement over this project. “So I gave him an ultimatum that sounded great but now that the moment has passed, it feels like such an immature thing to do.”

  “You were, are, protecting yourself. What was the question?”

  “What’s in it for me?” I feel stupid even saying it now.

  “Exceptional and long-lasting dick, obviously.”

  “Lizzy.” I sigh her name out.

  “Well? It’s true.” She laughs. “What else can he say? Money? A raise?”

  “I told him those weren’t the answers.”

  “You do like him though, right? Because those are the only answers he can give.” She snorts. “It was ridiculous, but I kind of love it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’ll make the man get creative. And if a guy like that, who can have anyone, actually tries to answer you, then you at least know he’s really interested.”

  “I guess.” I start to say something and then stop.

  “Spill it, Sutt.”

  “Do you know how hard it is to work with someone, see their aloofness and authority, knowing what he sounds like when he orders you to spread your legs?” I swear I blush a thousand shades of red.

  “Girl, please tell me you sit in meetings and fantasize about him bending you over that desk and having his way with you.”

  Wasn’t I doing just that this afternoon? Having a whole, full-blown fantasy while we were reviewing staff numbers and salary efficiency?

  “Perhaps,” I finally answer.

  Her laugh is the only sound I need to hear. She knows she’s right.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Callahan

  There’s something about day drinking that makes everything better.

  And there’s definitely something about having a beer or two while on the clock that feels like a quiet fuck you to my brothers for the ultimatum they gave me before I left. The one that keeps eating at me when I have two seconds to think straight outside of this massive influx of information I’m trying to process.

  Talk about drinking water through a firehose.

  Besides, it’s been two weeks of nose to the grindstone, and it’s high time I made friends with the head bartender at the resort. I’ve always found bartenders have a finger on the pulse of the guests and the management they work for.

  Keone didn’t disappoint with his inside information on the other resorts that are slowly wheedling our staff away. At the complaints he hears the guests grumble. And at what he sees from where he stands as an observer and a listener.

  Besides, I found it much easier unwinding by chatting with a three-hundred-pound Samoan gentle giant than fighting the good fight against Sutton. Because I’m tired, I have a headache, I’m horny, and I’m more than sexually frustrated.

  What’s in it for me is a whole lot of nothing, if I’m honest.

  “She wants you, you know.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask Keone.

  “The lady at the end of the bar. She’s eyeing you like she wants you for dessert,” he says, his accent subtle as he keeps his head down while running a towel over the counter beside me when it’s not even dirty.

  I know who he’s referring to. I’ve caught her looking a few times since I’ve been here. She’s pretty in a mom way. No doubt she has two kids back in the room who are constantly fighting, is tired from taking care of everyone, and just wants thirty minutes of fun.

  Definitely not my scene, but I still feel for her needing a break.

  “Yeah. I saw her,” I murmur before taking another sip of beer.

  “Wouldn’t be a good wingman if I didn’t tell you.” His laugh thunders around the patio, and I dare anyone not to smile at the sound of it.

  He takes care of a few more customers as I watch the ebb and flow of foot traffic. Most people are heading to the beach. Some are heading to the pool. Others look like they definitely forgot to put sunscreen on and need to stay out of this strong Caribbean sun.

  My mind drifts to Sutton and her bullshit one-night stand ploy in the office earlier this week.

  Was that
supposed to make me jealous? Make me fight harder and want her more?

  I want her all right. That’s never been in question.

  Was it supposed to make me figure out the answer to her fruitless fucking question that the more I think about has no real answer to?

  Fuck.

  “What’s got you so serious, man?” Keone asks on the next pass around.

  “Tell me something. When a woman asks what’s in it for me, what the fuck is she actually saying?”

  Another roar of his laugh. “You got women problems? Jesus, that doesn’t bode well for me with you looking like you do and me looking like I do.” He rubs his round belly and flexes.

  “Not women problems. Just . . .”

  What the fuck are you doing, Cal? Asking advice from the bartender about a woman you just met because you need to find an answer to an impossible question so you can get laid?

  Let’s add rambling thoughts like an idiot to the list while I’m at it.

  “Just . . .” Keone leans an elbow on the bar and asks.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “That’s bullshit, but I respect a man keeping his business, his business.” He takes a sip of water and wipes the beads of sweat off his head with a handkerchief he pulls from his back pocket. “But I tell you this, Boss Man, women like three things. To laugh, to feel wanted, and little gestures.”

  “Little gestures?”

  “Yes, man. It lets them know you care and—”

  “It’s not like that,” I say. “It’s—she’s—”

  “Ahhh,” he says, drawing the sound out. “I hear you. I feel you, brother. She’s not putting her clothes in your drawers anytime soon.” He fist-bumps me. “Nothing wrong with that now, is there?”

  I chuckle and down the rest of my beer instead of responding.

  “You in the game playing phase. You chase or she chase?” he asks and slides another beer in front of me without asking.

  “That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Callahan

  When I leave the bar an hour later with instructions to put the lady at the end of the bar’s drinks on my tab, I feel slightly more relaxed.

  The sun is still out for a few hours yet since it sets later here than I’m used to, and the facts and figures that have loaded down my mind are swimming somewhere beneath the haze of beer running through my blood.

  I stop in front of the villa and stare at the door. Our first night here, I was quite sure I was winning at life when I made sure the two of us were rooming together, and now it just feels like I’m standing with my dick in my hand and fucking losing.

  To have her within reach and want her desperately but to not be able to have her because of some bullshit, unanswerable question.

  Fuck that.

  I’m Callahan Sharpe. Any woman would kill to be with me. It’s time she knows that.

  I march to the door and yank it open with a purpose, dead set on getting what I want. On getting her.

  “Sutton.” It’s a command. Plain and simple.

  “Callahan? Is something wrong?” Sutton walks out of her bedroom, fastening an earring through her ear. “Are you okay?”

  She stops mid stride when she sees me, and I’m sure the concerned look on her face is because my jaw is probably dragging on the floor.

  Standing in the middle of the villa is Sutton in a bright red bikini that highlights and emphasizes every glorious goddamn inch of her. Legs and abs and tits and . . . Christ.

  Staring at her, I feel like a man drowning for water, and she is the water.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Did you need something?”

  “No—I don’t think—”

  “Ooops,” she says as her earring falls to the ground. I hiss out a breath when she bends over to pick it up and gives me a full showing of the teeny, tiny bottoms that go between her perfectly round ass.

  “Are you going somewhere?” I take a step forward, not hiding the fact that I’m enjoying the view.

  “Yes. Out. To the beach.”

  “In that?”

  Sutton looks at her body and then at her ass before looking up at me with a blank stare on her face. “It is a bathing suit. You wear it to the beach. So yeah, in this.”

  “You can’t wear that.” Smooth. Real smooth, Sharpe.

  “Excuse me?” She laughs the words out.

  “It’s too small and it shows way too much.” I walk to the fridge and grab another beer. I sound like a dick but don’t care as I fumble for a reason other than no one else deserves to see this, to see her like this, than me. “It’s not an appropriate choice of attire when staff can see you.”

  “Good thing I’m going offsite to a beach on a non-Sharpe property then.” She smiles sarcastically. “You sure you need another one of those? You seem a little keyed up.”

  “I need one.” Fucking hell do I need one if she’s going out in that.

  “Okay.” She draws the word out and takes a few steps toward me.

  Wrong move on her part.

  I smell the scent of her sunscreen now. Can see the dusting of freckles over her chest. Can see how easy it would be to pull the strings on those bottoms and have her undressed in a heartbeat.

  “Is there something that’s bugging you, Callahan?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” She chuckles, angling her head to the side and staring at me. “What did I do?”

  “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” I say and take a step toward her. For some reason I expect her with her silly game to back away, but she doesn’t. She stands her ground.

  “Good.”

  “Not good.” I take another step. “Women don’t say no to me. Did you know that?” I cup the side of her face. Her breath hitches. She wants me. She so fucking wants me, and the sight of it is like a goddamn high. “They want me. They chase me.” I lean in so my lips hover over hers. “I never chase, Collins.”

  “And I’ve never had a one-night stand before.” She inhales a shaky breath. “So there. We’re even.”

  My chuckle is low and even and desperate sounding. “We’re far from even. I want you.” I lean in and go to press a kiss to her lips but she moves her head to the side. I take what I can get and lace a row of open-mouthed kisses down the line of her jaw. Jesus Christ. Her taste. Her soft moan. The sudden goosebumps chasing over her skin. The feel of her body yielding to mine.

  She definitely wants me.

  The beer has nothing on what Sutton Pierce does to me.

  “And you’re still my boss,” she murmurs on a sigh.

  “Collins. Please.” I lick a line over her shoulder. She tastes like salt and sex. My hands fist into balls because I’m desperate to touch and take, and I know if I start, I won’t be able to stop myself until I have every fucking inch of her.

  “I can’t. We can’t. I’m not making you chase,” she murmurs. “I promise. I’m simply making you appreciate the prize.”

  “Fuck me, Sutton. Right here. Right now. Take me.”

  Her laugh is low and throaty as she scratches her nails down the front of my shirt, my dick jumping to attention at the sensation. “Seems someone is taking their own advice about begging.”

  The knock on the door is loud, but it takes a second to seep into my subconscious and react. But by the time I do, Sutton has already jumped back a few feet and is smirking at me. “Saved by the bell.”

  I step forward, put my hand against the small of her back, and yank her against me. “I promise you nothing’s going to save you from me.” My chuckle is smothered when I don’t give her time to react or back away and brand my lips to hers. The kiss is angry and hungry and fueled with a desperation I’ve never felt before for someone.

  It’s because I can’t have her. I know it. She knows it. Or maybe it’s because I know I can have it, but I’m too fucking fixated on her that I can’t figure out the answer.

  “Sutton? You there?” There is more knocking on the front door.

  “Callahan.” She presses her hands against my chest, but I steal one more kiss. “I have to get the door.”

  She goes to walk away, but her hand is in mine and I hold her still. “You kissed me. You can deny that you want this, but your touch says differently.”

  “I haven’t denied anything.” Her eyes flicker to my cock pressing against the seam of my pants. “The kiss. It was a minor transgression.” She smirks. “My company is waiting for me.”