Page 21 of Forensics of a Fable

“As long as Isobel is amenable to my interruption.” Eamon looked pointedly at her, and she nodded without thinking, her body responding to his nearness of its own longing.

“Excellent.” Her father signaled the waiter for another chair, and the second he turned his back, Eamon bent down. He pressed a chaste kiss on Bel’s cheek before freezing, his pale skin flushing with visible gooseflesh. His nose pushed into her hair, and he inhaled, shuddering in disgust before straightening to a stand. Bel stared at him in shock, but he didn’t meet her gaze as he accepted the chair from the hostess. He had said it himself. He craved her scent. It drove him to distraction, the sweetestfragrance in the world. So why had Eamon Stone just shuddered in revulsion at her?

The men orderedsteaks while Bel opted for the chicken dish, and as Eamon and her father settled into an enthusiastic and friendly conversation, her heart raced with panic. She’d initially found it strange how Eamon smelled her, an act he often did unconsciously, but now that he’d recoiled at her scent, she missed the bliss that brightened his features when he caught the fragrance of her skin. Reese had ordered a bottle of wine for the table, but she couldn’t swallow the alcohol in her glass. She wanted to ask Eamon what was wrong, but her dad would never understand the nature of their relationship, so she kept her mouth shut.

When the food finally arrived, her father glanced down to cut his steak, and Eamon stole the opportunity to slip hishand under the table to find her thigh. His massive palm slid over her jeans and tightened gently but possessively until she looked at him. He held her gaze for a long moment, studying her expression, and then he squeezed again, reassurance in the pressure. She tilted her head to ask what was wrong, but with an infinitesimal shake of his head, he mouthed,“Not here.”

Eamon turned back to Reese and took a sip of the expensive whiskey that reminded her so much of his voice, hand still firmly gripping her thigh. He leaned back in his seat like a god among men, like he owned everyone in the room except for her. He spoke to her father as if his fingers weren’t under the table, holding her with a hidden intimacy Bel had never experienced from a man before, and a different concern slipped into her brain. What if he wasn’t recoiling at her scent? What if something else was on her? Someone else? She stiffened, and he squeezed her leg again in comfort. Had she come in contact with someone or something today that made him upset? Had it been the killer?

She ran through her day as they ate, Eamon finally removing his hand so he could cut his steak, and Bel missed its pressure for the entire meal. The men weren’t at a loss for conversation, Stones’ eyes slipping to check on her occasionally, and she used her silence to think. The only people she had touched were her father, Gold, and David Kaffe. She’d been at the M.E.’s office, and while there hadn’t been an autopsy, decay always lingered in its air. Eamon’s senses were heightened, so maybe the death on her skin had caused an involuntary reaction. She knew he enjoyed fresh and living blood, and it struck her that he was eating. Granted, his steak was rare, but he also ate the bread on the table and all the potatoes and vegetables with his dinner.

“How’s your meal?” Eamon asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“It’s good. I’ve never been here before,” she answered. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t add“following me?”to her question, but the smirk in his eyes told her he understood her meaning.

“My business meeting ran late, and I didn’t want to cook, so I stopped in. I’m glad I did.” His smile confirmed that, while his statement was true, he had absolutely followed her here.

“I’m glad you did,” her father said, oblivious to their silent exchange.

“Me too,” Bel said before she could stop herself, and the curve of Eamon’s lips told her he would forever treasure those two simple words.

“Excuse me, miss?” Reese stopped their waitress. “Can we get the check?”

“Mr. Stone already took care of your bill,” the girl said, looking at Eamon longer than necessary, and a flush of irrational jealousy burned Bel’s skin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” her dad protested.

“I insist.” Eamon held out a silencing hand. “You let me intrude on your meal. It was the least I could do, and it was my pleasure.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Reese smiled, studying Bel as if he suddenly saw the thread stitching her and Eamon together. “I need to use the restroom before we leave.” He stood and left, and she wasn’t sure if he actually needed the facilities or if he was giving them the chance to interact unsupervised.

“What did you smell?” Bel whirled on Eamon, thankful for the privacy and not for the reason her father assumed.

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. You shuddered. Since when do you shudder around me? Was it the morgue?”

“I do scent that on you, yes.”

“Stop being secretive.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s faint, but I thought I smelled someone on you.”

“The killer?”

“No.”

“Eamon…”

“No, I don’t believe so.” He shifted in his seat so that his knee slid between hers, locking them together. To outsiders, they looked like lovers, and not a detective arguing with a beast. “I don’t know who the killer is. It was another scent. Something I can’t place, and it startled me, that’s all.”

“Am I in danger?” Bel froze, and Eamon’s hands moved to rest possessively on her knees. He gripped her tight, leaning forward until he owned her space, and she unconsciously grabbed his fingers.

“You know the answer to that.” He said with a terrifying coldness. “As long as I draw breath, you’re both in danger and the most guarded woman in the world. I will rip anyone who so much as touches you to shreds.”

“Then why that reaction?” Bel released his hand and seized her wine to keep from grabbing him in a way that would decidedly embarrass her father when he emerged from the restroom.

“It’s secondhand.” Eamon leaned closer, watching her lips as she drank, and the hunger in his eyes caused her sip to slow so he could savor the sight of her mouth moving against the glass. “You didn’t have direct contact with the scent. Rather, someone else did, and somehow it got onto you. It’s impossible to tell how. Did someone touch a cup and then give it to you? Was it on a piece of evidence? A report? I can’t say, but you didn’t come into direct contact with it, which has me relieved.”

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