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

  “Have you seen the new chick?”

  I glance up to see two of the staff members walk in from the back. They have stacks of towels in their hands that they must be resupplying.

  “Which one?” the blond-haired guy says.

  “Dark hair. Nice rack. Legs for days,” the dark-haired one says.

  “You need to be a little more specific than that.” Blond one laughs.

  “She’s management, I think. Here for a couple of months to fix shit and fire people,” Dark Hair says, causing me to pause mid bicep curl. Sutton.

  She’s fucking everywhere.

  “We could def use some shit fixed around here, and I’d be more than happy to see a few of the annoying peeps go too.” Blond guy laughs.

  “She could fire me all she wants so long as she gives me a few parting gifts on the way out the door.”

  “I bet she’s wild in the sack,” Blond says. “Those reserved, prissy ones always are.”

  Dark Hair playfully shoves Blond and says, “I’ll let you know when I’m finished with her.”

  I drop the weight with a thud on the mat, both employees glance in my direction, but keep talking about things they want to do to Sutton.

  My blood boils.

  I pull my hood off my head and walk toward them. Dark Hair sees me first and the next crass comment on his tongue dies when my eyes meet his, and I give him the best fuck you smile I can muster through my fury.

  “Can I help you?” he asks as Blond turns around and sucks in a startled breath.

  So he was the one who paid attention at the company-wide meeting we had the other day.

  “Gentlemen.” I meet both of their eyes and don’t miss the nudge Blond gives Dark Hair.

  “Mr. Sharpe. Hi. We—we were just—”

  “Saying things you shouldn’t be saying in front of your boss, let alone guests here who are trying to enjoy their vacation. It’s unprofessional, don’t you think?” I cross my arms over my chest to prevent me from reaching out and wringing both of their necks.

  “We weren’t—You misheard—”

  “No. I didn’t. I’m well aware of what I heard.”

  “I’m sorry, but you know how it is when guys talk,” Dark Hair says, trying to act like because we’re both men, I’ll be fine with him bragging about wanting to fuck Sutton.

  Not on his life.

  “When guys talk, hmm?” I ask and angle my head to the side to freeze him into wishing he hadn’t just said those words. “Is that what this was? Two guys talking about how they’d like to fuck their superior?” I lift a brow. “Sounds to me like two guys about to get fired.”

  “Fuck,” Dark Hair groans like the immature prick I’m certain he is.

  “Seriously?” Blond asks.

  I look from one to the other and back, remembering how many times Ford and Ledge and I would talk like this—still do at times—but for some reason this time it hits me differently.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s already associated with someone much higher on the pay scale than you. Furthermore, conversations about how exactly you want to tap her—or any other woman for that matter—especially on company time, will result in dismissal. Have I made myself clear?”

  I stride out the doors without looking back because I’m proud of myself for showing restraint I don’t believe those two little fuckers deserve.

  Talking like that about Sutton. Fucking hell.

  It’s like after the other night, I feel this strange sense of protection over her now. I’m not sure why or how or what the hell is wrong with me, but I do.

  And I fucking hate it.

  I don’t even know who I am right now.

  You’re just occupying your time, Callahan.

  You were being a decent human standing up for another human because maybe, after all the shit that’s gone on, you feel the need to.

  You’re bending, Cal, not begging.

  I don’t like any of this. Not one bit.

  Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s already associated with someone much higher on the pay scale than you.

  Good God.

  I wander down a path to the beach and then back toward the villas and then back toward the office, suddenly uncertain about everything when I’m not an uncertain guy. Ever.

  My every instinct says to pack my shit up and go. To walk the fuck away and go back to being a nomad like I was for the six months after my father’s passing. There was freedom to it. Simplicity.

  And now everything just feels complicated.

  “Fuck,” I bark out to no one in particular.

  I can’t go.

  I have to stay and finish what I set out to do to honor my dad. Who am I if I can’t at least do that for the man who gave me everything?

  Fucking emotions.

  The ones I feel that are unresolved over my father’s death and the ones that being around Sutton have drummed up.

  I should go to the office and work. Run over the latest cost estimates that came in this afternoon to see if any of this nonstop dinner-meeting-bullshit is even worth it.

  Restless, I head in that direction, but when I get there and see all the lights off, the thought of the solitude I normally love doesn’t sound so appealing.

  You’re all screwed up, Sharpe. Since when do you not love your solitude?

  I know the answer, but don’t want to admit it to myself.

  Ever since I’ve shared the space with Sutton. The quiet humming in her bedroom to whatever music is on her earbuds. The soft clatter of dishes in the sink late at night. The muted sound of the television as she laughs at something on the rare occasion she watches it.

  This is fucking stupid. How are you used to something you don’t actively participate in, Cal? Huh?

  Keone.

  He’s the answer. I’ll visit him, indulge in his quick wit. He’ll keep serving me drink after drink until all this fucking noise in my head abates, and I can think straight again.

  With a sigh, I turn a corner on the path toward the bar and run into Sutton. We both make garbled yelps. But it’s only when she steps back that I notice the skirt that’s too short and a shirt that’s too tight and, fuck, I love everything about it.

  So much for steering clear of her.

  “And you’re going where?” I ask.

  “To item number eight on my top-ten list.” Her smile is quick and disarming.

  “What is number eight?”

  The smile crawls over her lips. “Singles night at Isla del Mar.”

  Like that? Over my dead body.

  “I’m pretty sure I told you that you weren’t going.”

  “And I’m pretty sure I told you that no one tells me what to do.” She shrugs unapologetically while I hear the trainers’ comments from the gym earlier today. “Besides, you’ve been avoiding me for some reason or another. Gia says hi,” she mimics Solomon in a way that completely throws me off guard. “What do you care if I go dance and have fun?”

  “You’re jealous?”

  “I am not. You’re just being a jerk.”

  “You’re not going, Sutton.”

  She takes a step forward, her eyes darting around while the darkness plays shadows over her face. Her voice is low when she speaks. “The whole dominant thing? That only works with me in the bedroom.” She pokes me in the chest and I chuckle, her determination and temper totally sexy. “And since it’s clear we’re not there nor will we be anytime soon, then it seems you can’t exactly tell me what I can and cannot do.”

  There’s that moxie of hers I love. Christ, it gets me hard.

  “I’m your boss.”

  “Correction. I’m your consultant. We work for each other, with each other, and—”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The whole boss, employee, we can’t sleep together theory. You just said it yourself. That we work with each other, not you for me. So if that doesn’t hold water, then perhaps the what do I get out of this doesn’t hold any either.” I cross my arms over my chest and smile slowly. “Seems to me you just like playing hard to get.”

  “And it seems to me you haven’t figured out the answer to the question.”

  I want to kiss her. I want to pull her to me by the back of the neck and taste those lips of hers. But the guests and staff milling about in my periphery tell me I can’t.

  Her eyes hold mine and the look in them says she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “You’re not going. How’s that for an answer?”

  “Why not? Because you know what you think when you walk into a club? The things you want to do to the woman you set your sights on and the end result you’re aiming for?” She lifts her eyebrows and chuckles. “I’m off the clock, Sharpe. And when I’m off the clock, you don’t get to say what I can or can’t do.”

  Motherfucker.

  She’s going anyway. She’s going and every man in that place is going to want what I can’t have.

  Can I hope she kept at least one pair of granny panties and she’s chosen to wear them tonight? Can I at least have that?

  But one more look at her tiny, tight skirt and I know there is no way in hell she has them on.

  Christ. At this moment, I’m just praying she came to her senses and has something on underneath.

  “You’re wondering, aren’t you?” she asks with a smirk, her gaze following mine, which clearly isn’t hiding my thoughts.

  “I gave them back to you.”

  “You did. I’ll grant you that, but I also told you I wasn’t going to wear them simply to drive you crazy.”

  “Sutton,” I growl, my jaw clenched in frustration.

  “Do I, or don’t I? That’s the big question.”

  “This isn
’t funny.” I reach out to touch her and she takes a step back, one eyebrow quirked and her eyes darting around to see if anyone is paying attention.

  “This thing you’re feeling? It’s called sexual frustration, Callahan. It manifests itself in sudden outbursts or claims over a person when you have no right making them.” She steps into me and whispers, “It’s also hot as fucking hell. See you later.”

  She holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers in a wave as she starts to walk away.

  “A date.”

  Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

  “What?” She looks over her shoulder.

  “A date. That’s the answer, right? You want the wine and dine before the sixty-nine part?”

  “That never hurts—making the woman feel like more than just your fuck toy is always a good thing, but sorry, it’s not the answer. You might need to take care of that inside.” She motions to my semi pressing against the seam of my pants. “Don’t wait up.”

  And then she turns on her heel and walks into the darkness.

  Oh yeah, she’s definitely playing with fire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sutton

  Clubs have never been my scene.

  Sure, I went with Lizzy that fated night because I just needed to feel alive—and boy did he make me feel alive. And now, if I’m honest with myself, I’m here because the last thing I’m going to do is let Callahan tell me what I can and can’t do. Not after he’s been ignoring me—which hello? Why is he? Because we actually talked? Because our kissing felt way more intimate than anything we’ve done before?

  And especially not after him pulling the Neanderthal role earlier.

  That, and I have a feeling he’ll show up here too.

  A man as possessive and demanding as he is won’t be thrilled that I’m here alone. Especially not when he was what happened to me the last time I was in the same position.

  I bet he’s pacing back and forth at the villa.

  Or standing in the shadows watching me right now.

  My money’s on the latter.

  Guess I better dance my ass off to let him know I’m not waiting around for him to come to his senses.

  Truth be told, I’d rather be back at the villa relaxing. It’s been a long week of overthinking and frankly, I’m exhausted.

  However, it really is pertinent to see what the competition is doing so I can make ours even better.

  And I have in fact, done just that. Mental notes have been made and my phone already has a dozen pictures or so of unique touches I’d like to have a designer look at and then take a few steps further for the Ocean’s Edge’s club.

  Our venue is significantly nicer as a whole, so the transition and upgrades shouldn’t be too complicated or costly.

  I take a sip of my second drink and awkwardly look around. It’s weird to be in a club by yourself and not have a group of girlfriends to hang with or have fun with. To even have the confidence to pull it off.

  And honestly, I don’t have the confidence right now. It’s one thing to have it when I’m one on one with Callahan—there’s something about him that makes me feel empowered. Confident. I hate even admitting that to myself because I’m coming off a situation where I let a man have power over my emotions. Never again.

  And yet, the power Callahan gives me is completely different in the best of ways.

  “You might as well have a good time instead of standing here like a wallflower sipping that drink of yours, Sutton.”

  “Brady! You were able to make it!” Relief floods through me to have a friend here.

  “I couldn’t let you brave these shark-infested waters alone. I mean, unless you want to, of course.”

  “No. Thank you. God, I was just feeling like such a loser standing here by myself.”

  “Not anymore.” He taps his drink against mine and offers a devilish grin. “I brought reinforcements with me.” He turns and motions to some familiar faces. “I figured who better to invite along than the staff who might be working this revamped club?”

  “That’s great. Awesome,” I shout above the music. Why didn’t I think of that?

  Because I was too busy thinking about Callahan and wondering what the hell is going on with him.

  “I figured it might help for the staff to see you here, hands-on and trying, instead of thinking of you as the corporate witch who feels threatening.”

  “Threatening? I’m here to help them.”

  “You know that. I know that. But change is scary to a lot of people and so far, with the new ownership, not much has happened. So you being here and them being here might make you appear a bit more human to them.”

  I grab Brady’s forearm and squeeze. “Thank you. Truly. That means a lot.”

  “Of course. Now, let’s have another drink and dance.”

  And dance we do. Until we’re hot and sweaty and stumbling off the dance floor because we need air and space from all the people that are packed together.

  “I’ll get drinks,” Brady says. “You go to the bathroom, and I’ll meet you back here.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  A smile is plastered to my face as I make my way through the crowd. This place is insane. Full of more pretty people than should be legal to have all in one place. But there is no VIP area, no special place to strive to get into.

  This is definitely on the list of things to fight for—to negotiate over—for Ocean’s Edge.

  An added bonus is this was just what the doctor ordered after the week I had. To let loose with Brady and other staff and forget about everything for a while.

  I’m almost to the restroom when someone grabs my arm and pulls me into an open hallway. My yelp is overshadowed by the low bass throbbing through the speakers as I land solidly against a male chest.

  “Callahan.” I giggle and try to steady myself, the alcohol swimming in my veins.

  “Drunk?” he asks, his lips so close to my mouth, I stare at it. Want it. Am desperate for it.

  “Happy. What are you doing here?”

  “Reminding you of everything you still want but are denying yourself.”

  And with that being his only warning, he slants his lips over mine. Brands mine. Brands me. The kiss is laden with hunger and desperation that has my knees nearly buckling. His tongue clashes with mine and makes my head dizzy. I fist his shirt as he cups my breast and squeezes.

  My moan is swallowed by the kiss and the music as my body begs for the feel of his against me. On me. In me.

  His hand is in my ponytail like that first night, when he fists it and drags his mouth from mine to come up for air.

  “And I’m reminding myself why the fucking confusion is worth it,” he mutters as our gazes lock.

  “Callahan.” I don’t know if I’m warning him off or begging him to stay in that one single utterance of his name.

  But one thing is clear—the doubt I felt over the past few days is gone. He still wants me.

  “Let me get you out of here,” he says.

  “That would be a mistake.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first one I’ve made.” He offers an arrogant smile that causes that flip-flop in my stomach again.

  “No. I mean . . . Brady is here and—”

  He looks out to the crowd beyond and then gives a quick shake of his head before saying, “Ours will be even better.” He presses one last kiss to my lips and says, “Go back to your friends then,” before striding away quickly.

  “Callahan.” His name is a strangled cry this time. “Please. Stay.” But my words are drowned out by the music, and with his absence, I’m suddenly left feeling lonely. Empty.

  That has to be the alcohol talking.

  Do I chase after him? Do I run after him and—

  “Sutton. There you are,” Brady says as he grabs my arm and puts a drink in my hand. “I thought I lost you.”

  “No. Sorry. I was . . .”

  “Who was that?” He looks in the direction Callahan just took off in. “A hot hookup for later, I hope.”

  “Who was who?” I ask and gulp down the drink. “Oh. That guy.” I wave in the same direction Brady is looking. “He bumped into me and I spilled his drink. That’s all. Nothing more.”

  Lies.

  All lies. I wanted to keep kissing him. I want to go back to the villa and do more.

  But I can’t. I won’t.

  I’m definitely going to need more drinks to help with that.