Page 8 of Fury

"Babe. It's a Howler. An island specialty and Finn's creation. Whatever is in it is all part of his secret recipe. Even I don't know everything that's in it. Of course, the main thing is the beer braised pork over potatoes with an egg on top. Great way to start or end your day. Maybe instead of trying to deconstruct it, you should just try it." He grabbed a forkful of the pork and thrust it into his open mouth.

Penelope's body quivered. No, seriously. It freaking quivered, making her squirm to get it under control. Her hand tightened on the fork and she grabbed the bottled water he'd also placed in front of her for something else to keep her occupied.

"If you have a problem with it, I can get Finn to make you something else. I guess I should have asked if you had food allergies or something. That's the politically correct thing, right? Do you need something gluten free or organic? Although I can assure you that most of what is in it is grown right here on Devils Point. I know a lot of you city dwellers have picky palates, but you can trust me on this."

Penelope fought the urge to roll her eyes. He might not be wrong about her fellow Seattleites, but he was wrong about her.

She shook her head. “I’m not a picky eater, just curious,” she said, making a mental note about locally sourced produce and what that might mean about the residents’ preference for sustainability and privacy. "This is fine." To show him she had no problem, she quickly speared a potato and put it in her mouth. To her delight, just that tiny taste was so good, she moaned. Her gaze flew up and met his.

Crap.

Had she done that out loud?

Double crap.

The grin that spread across his face at her discomfort took her breath away. As if he wasn't already attractive enough, that smile reached out and tickled her ovaries. Was there something in the air on this island that made it impossible for her to focus or had they sent this beautiful, scarred god to distract her?

Either way, she needed to pull herself together and pronto.

"The name is Agent Bishop."

"Huh?" he looked confused.

"You called me babe. My name is Agent Bishop. Not babe. I'm not a babe. I mean—" She sighed. Apparently around him she was meant to trip over every word out of her mouth.

He leaned back in his chair and kept his grin firmly in place. "You most definitely are a babe. But if you want me to call you Agent Bishop, I can do that too. Maybe."

Thankfully, his cocky tone finally brought her back down to earth. And since she wasn't about to dignify that babe BS with a response, she dug into her food. They ate silently and she devoured every bite. The combination of potatoes, pork, egg and what tasted like fresh baby spinach and a perfect combination of various spices she couldn’t quite peg, turned out more sophisticated than she'd originally thought. She had a feeling that the chef in residence was more than a self-taught local boy. His skills indicated training at a culinary school.

Although why someone would train like that to only end up here in this tiny makeshift diner made absolutely no sense. He had to have roots in the community that drew him back...

She made a mental note to look into Finn's background. Find out when and where he lived before settling here. And where he studied. She inwardly smiled. The devil was always in the details.

"You still with me?"

His question yanked her again from her wandering observations. "Yes, of course." She placed her fork on the empty plate and sat back. "You were right about that dish. It's really good. Is it called a howler because of the egg on top or something?"

He picked up their plates and stood. "Something like that." He carried them to the counter where they were whisked away by the chef.

Penelope kept her eyes on her would be guide as he strode back the few feet to their table. It gave her a fleeting moment to get another look at the rest of him. Besides the sexy lumberjack flannel, he wore jeans that hugged his legs to perfection and brown leather boots on his feet. Nothing out of the ordinary should have jumped out at her and yet, everything about him did. The scars, the mesmerizing eyes, the fingers that had touched her skin...

She straightened in her seat and ignored the warmth flowing through her body. Since she could make no sense out of her reaction, she simply chose to ignore it and get down to business. When Sawyer retook his seat she began.

"You no doubt know why I'm here. So why don't you tell me why you're here. Why do I need a chaperone to go about my investigation?"

"Is that what you think I am? Your babysitter?"

She nodded her head. "That's exactly what I think, what I don't know is why? So please, enlighten me."

"You're a no-nonsense kind of woman. I think I like that. You're also a little stuffy when it comes to your surroundings, even if you are mentally taking note of everything you see. I'm curious about that. Why don't we start with you, Agent Bishop? Don't you think we need to establish some trust between us before we start working together?"

Her mouth dropped open for a moment until she forced it closed. She had no idea what she'd expected from this beautiful man, but it wasn't that perfectly logical thought process that practically saw right through her.

She grabbed the napkin in front of her and twisted the ends. "I guess that's a reasonable request, all things considered." Not that she wanted this man in her head anymore than he already was. Time to turn the tables. "So what would you like to know? My age? My dress size? Whether I wanted to be an FBI agent when I was a little girl? Was that what you had in mind?" She squirmed in her seat, leaning forward. "Twenty-seven, fourteen, and yes. Does that work for you?"

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