Page 48 of Kidnapping of a Myth

Bel shoved the box back at him because she didn’t need to read the label to recognize the designer. The instant she saw the golden fabric, she knew what dress this was, and she also had a good idea what it cost.

“Why not?” He stared at her with confusion, his arms crossing over his broad chest to prevent her from returning the gift.

“Because it’s too expensive.” She placed it on his lap when he wouldn’t take it. “Eamon, this isn’t just any dress. Violet loves fashion, and our friendship has taught me a lot about designers. I know what dress this is, and I can’t accept it. Letting you pay for the hotel is one thing. Wendy wants us at her wedding, and you technically dragged me into her life, so I’m fine with you paying for the room, but this? It’s too much.”

“But I bought it for you.” He shoved it back at her.

“And I appreciate it, but I’m not with you for your wealth.” Bel shifted on the mattress so she could grasp both of his large hands in hers. “I’m here with you at this wedding because I’m done pretending that we’re just friends. I’m done lying to myself about my feelings. You make me feel whole and brave, and you look at me like I’m the only woman in this world. You’re a being that can survive an IED blast, yet you make me feel like I’m the strong one. You’ve seen me at my worst and held me when the nightmares about Abel were so bad that I couldn’t breathe. You don’t need to buy my affection because you already have it.”

“Isobel.” Eamon brushed a thumb over her cheeks. “You have this all wrong. I’m not trying to buy your love, and I know you aren’t with me for the money. And before you assume it’s because I’m worried you won’t fit in at this wedding, you could attend the ceremony in your pajamas and still be the most beautiful woman in the world.” He paused as if contemplating how much he should confess, and, clearly deciding to divulge his secrets, he pulled her closer.

“I’ve been alive for generations, and time is a lonely mistress. Throughout my years, I’ve found companionship, but understand this, Isobel Emerson. No one has ever compared to you. You are it for me. The woman I was always meant to find. You have altered me to my core. You own me, and I would carve out my own heart if only you asked. In my eyes, you are perfect, and I need you. In my life. In my arms. In my heart. I don’t think you’ll ever understand what you’ve done to me, because I’ve lived for decades in unfathomable loneliness. I have everything a man can desire, but it’s worthless without you.” He lifted her hand and pressed it against his thundering chest. “I belong to you. Every beat of my heart. Every breath in my lungs. Every second of my future. They’re yours, and after surviving lifetimes without you, I want to spoil you, to worship you, to treat you better than anyone has ever treated you. I love you with every fiber of my being, so this isn’t about bribing you or changing you. My wealth means nothing if I have no one to spend it on, and I finally have someone to give my all to. So let me spoil you. Let me give you every part of myself. I promise to keep the extravagant gifts to a minimum, but grant me this small happiness. Don’t steal this from me because I’ve been dreaming of these moments. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

Eamon fell quiet, his expression one of naked emotion, and Bel pulled her hands from his grasp to wipe her face, thankful she hadn’t done her makeup yet. She couldn’t control the tears as his words flayed her heart open. Raw and overwhelming emotions flooded her chest, and memories of her mother flashed through her mind. Her parents’ relationship had been the love of fairytales. It was pure and vibrant and unbreakable, and even as a child, Bel feared she would never be worthy of such devotion. She feared that love that intense could only lead to heartbreak, so she’d walled herself off. She left romance to her sisters and threw herself headlong into death. For thirty-four years, she’dconvinced herself no one would ever love her like her father adored her mother. She persuaded herself to believe her work was more important than her heart, but a single confession from a man with death-black eyes obliterated her defenses. She felt naked before him, as if she held her bloody and beating heart in her palms for him to see, to take, to hurt, or to love, and she desperately wanted him to love it.

With careful movements, she reached across his thighs and grabbed the box, pulling it back into her lap so she could stare at the golden fabric. “Well, I hope you bought shoes too,” she said, gazing up at his impossibly dark eyes, and his face lit up at her words. “Because the heels I packed definitely won’t go with this.”

“Oh, Detective.” Eamon stood up, his entire being altered by her acceptance. “Of course, there are shoes.”

Bel smoothedthe fabric over her legs and took a fortifying breath before stepping out of the bathroom. Eamon wore an impeccable tuxedo, and she almost forgot to breathe at the sight of him. They’d been taking their relationship slow, and he’d been careful not to push her after the trauma of both her own kidnapping and the Darling case, but as Bel drank in his unmatched beauty, she had the sudden urge to skip the wedding and make use of that inviting bed.

“You are a masterpiece,” Eamon said as she walked toward him, and she paused to spin for his benefit. The dress was a golden color, the shape sexier than anything she’d ever allowed herself to even try on. The straps were thin, barely strong enough to hold the garment on her body, and the back was completely open. The front dipped tastefully, but the delicate fabric clung to her like it was designed specifically for herform. It left little to the imagination, her bare legs gloriously on display, and the designer heels he’d bought completed the delicious ensemble. She’d left her hair down and loose, but she’d almost been too embarrassed to leave the bathroom when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The dress showed more skin than she was used to, yet it was still modest in its design. She wasn’t sure how the designer accomplished it, but she was simultaneously too exposed and appropriately covered up. The slender straps highlighted her scars, though, the small pink lines running down her throat and over her breast, and changing into the outfit had been a lesson in confidence. She hadn’t worn anything this revealing since the attack, and the exposure had urged her to hide in the bathroom, but the hunger in Eamon’s eyes made her wonder why she’d been so nervous. The desire painted across his face burned her alive.

“Come here,” he demanded, and her feet obeyed before her brain understood the command. She stepped into his orbit, and he grabbed her hips, shifting her until she stood before the full-length mirror. “Look at you,” he growled, his voice too dangerous for how revealing her outfit was. “The gods themselves must have created you, for there’s no other explanation for your perfection.” He trailed a hand up her body, sending shivers racing down her spine, and he pulled her curls off her neck so he could see the scars. His scrutiny was so intense that she had the overwhelming urge to grab a sweater and cover her marks, but then Eamon lowered his mouth to her throat. He kissed her reverently, lingering against her soft skin as his arms slipped around her waist, and Bel’s breath escaped in a small gasp as he yanked her roughly against his chest.

“You are art,” he said against her throat, his lips tracing her scars until she was breathless. Her flesh burned with an unholy fire as his mouth worshipped her, and suddenly, it was as if herscars no longer existed. She wasn’t a woman with marked skin. She was what he believed her to be. A masterpiece.

“We should go,” Eamon growled, fisting the stomach of her dress, and Bel watched his struggle with a longing she predicted would only grow more dangerous as the evening progressed. He was sin in that suit. Sin she longed to surrender to. She craved his skin against hers. Craved his mouth on her overheated flesh, his hands on her trembling body, and the way his fist gripped the golden fabric had her picturing how the bedding on that inviting king mattress would look captured in his fists.

“Come, Detective.” Eamon lunged away from her and caught her hand, dragging her for the door so fast she barely had time to capture her clutch. “This dress was a bad idea.”

“I told you I couldn’t accept this,” she teased, pulling ahead of him as they walked down the hall. She swung her hips with exaggerated movements, and Eamon groaned so loudly that she was convinced half of the hotel heard him. She wanted to feel guilty for torturing him, but she was drunk on his reaction, loving how exquisite he made her feel. It probably wasn’t wise to taunt the beast. He would undoubtedly make her pay for it later, but that realization only flushed her skin with unreasonable longing, so she threw a seductive glance over her shoulder and smirked at his deadly glare. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”

There was nota dry eye in the church save for Eamon’s. He did not cry. No tears graced his chiseled features as Wendy and Henry pledged their undying love, but it was not because their union didn’t affect him. The ceremony was magical, Wendy was a vision, and their vows were heartfelt, yet something far more beautiful captured his attention. Every guest, Bel included, dabbed their eyes as the officiant declared the bride and groom man and wife, but his death-black eyes didn’t watch the kiss everyone had been waiting for. Eamon watched the woman next to him, the beauty in gold. She was exquisite, her scent overwhelming, and possessiveness tightened its fist around his heart. He couldn’t watch the wedding with her hand in his. He longed to tighten his grip on her hips, to sink his teeth into herthroat and taste the perfection that was Detective Isobel Emerson. He’d promised himself never to drink from her again. Unlike the fairytales, his bites didn’t heal without scars, but ever since she’d begged him to drink after the IED blast, all he could fantasize about was her. Her blood on his tongue, her fingers laced through his, her skin against his chest as his lips claimed her mouth. He couldn’t watch the wedding because he didn’t see Wendy and Henry before the altar. Eamon saw Bel in a white dress, a diamond ring on her finger. He saw Cerberus with a pillow strapped to his back instead of a ring bearer, and he saw himself standing before his bride, swearing eternity to her. He’d had women before, but he’d never married. That union was sacred, and he knew the moment he wed, that would be the end for him. He would never love again after her. His soulmate. The only woman he’d ever truly love, and Eamon had never considered marriage before Bel. He never craved the companionship of a spouse, but watching Bel dab her eyes as the couple said‘I do’changed everything. She would need time, and he’d give her forever if needed, but in that moment, Eamon Stone knew Isobel Emerson would be his wife.

“I’ve ruined my makeup,” Bel whispered as Wendy and Henry celebrated back down the aisle, and as the crowd erupted in joy, ignoring all but the bride and groom, Eamon seized the opportunity. He captured Bel’s jaw and twisted her face to his. He leaned his incredible height down and kissed her, long and slow and delicious, and she melted against him. The scent of her skin was like the finest wine, his head lightheaded and drunk on her fragrance, and he bathed in the tortured bliss that was his cravings. He’d never smelled anything so lovely. Never tasted anyone so pure, and her lips on his were like death and heaven, agony and euphoria.

Eamon finally pulled back, savoring the way her chest heaved with breathlessness, and as the crowd filed out of the sanctuary,he captured her hand. He didn’t speak, but neither did she, and he suspected thetoo-smart-for-her-own-gooddetective understood the overwhelming emotions pulsing through him. She smiled, her lips sweet and happy, and he guided her out of the pew. He needed to escape this church and the vision of Isobel Emerson as Isobel Stone. The imagery was so real, so close to what his heart craved, that if he didn’t leave, he might say something she wasn’t ready to hear. Like how he knew she would one day become his wife, or like what he’d tasted in her blood that terrifying night in New York City when they first met.

“Eamon, how are you?”A male voice interrupted, and both Bel and Eamon turned at the familiar tone. “I didn’t realize you knew the Darlings.”

“Frank, so good to see you.” Eamon stood from their table, extending a hand to the newcomer, and Bel studied the man with a vague recollection. She knew him, but how?

“You too. You look great. Life has clearly been good to you,” Frank said as he twisted to Bel. “Are you going to introduce me to your lovely date—Detective Emerson?” He gawked at her, his eyes dipping to her scars, and it was his recognition the moment he saw her throat that jogged her memory.

“Oh, my goodness.” Bel jumped up and accepted his hand. “Dr. Victors, how are you?”

“I’m doing well. You look fantastic.” Frank scanned her from head to toe with exaggerated appreciation before glancing again at her neck. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.” She stepped forward and tilted her throat toward the doctor. Normally a request to study her scars would send her running for the hills, but Frank Victors was the world-renowned plastic surgeon who’d worked on her skin after her attack in New York. It was because of his incredible skill that the marks extending from her neck to her belly were faint pink lines and not thick disfigurations. Dr. Victors was a specialist so far out of her price range that she had been confused when he’d shown up at the hospital claiming he wanted her case pro bono, but Eamon had eventually spilled the beans and confessed he’d paid for Frank Victors’ expertise.

“You healed nicely,” Frank said, brushing her neck with a gentle finger. “I’m so glad I ran into you. I’ll admit, your injuries were a challenge, but look at you. You are stunning.”

“Thank you.” Bel smiled as the doctor stepped back, watching as his eyes flicked between them as if trying to figure out their relationship.

“So how do you two know the Darlings?” Frank asked as Eamon wrapped an arm around her waist, making it infinitely clear how close their relationship was.

“Isobel was the detective responsible for saving John and Michael,” Eamon said before she made up an excuse, and Frank’s eyes widened.

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