VULTURE (a Stepbrother Romance) by Emilia Beaumont Page A

across the heavy wooden dining table. He sat with the top two buttons of his work shirt undone, revealing a toned neck. He’d removed his light grey tie and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket, which was now draped over the back of his chair.
    “Starving,” Harvey replied. Barely visible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled as his mouth turned upward into a smile. I couldn’t help but notice that he was looking at me more than usual. Studying me like an abstract painting he couldn’t quite understand. I caught him glancing up from his plate more often than not, causing me to squirm in my seat.
    I couldn’t remember the last time we’d eaten a meal together alone. Come to think of it, I don’t think we ever had. There’d always been another person acting as a buffer—a family member, either one of our parents or Anita. It was new territory, and try as I might, I needed to remind myself constantly that it wasn’t a date. I supposed it would be good practice for the future, but god, Eric was barely cold in the ground. There was no way I could think of dating at such an early juncture. What would people think? And never mind that, who would even have me? When you hear the word widow, it conjures a withered woman in endless mourning, forever alone and surrounded by cats.
    I raised my head, and our eyes met again across the silent table, our clattering cutlery the only sound in the room. Well, except the rapid thud of my heart, which I hoped he could not hear. His strong jaw moved as he chewed, a line of drop-dead sexy stubble darkened his thick neck. I held back a sigh. Even I knew that if I were ever ready to trust another man again, there would be no way I could get a guy like Harvey—full of confidence, with muscles that bulged and sultry eyes that always gave you their full concentration.
    “This tastes so good. I didn’t know you could cook,” he said.
    A hint of a blush blossomed onto the surface of my cheeks. “Thank you,” I muttered. Eric had never complimented me on my cooking, even though I’d studied countless recipes and attempted to perfect each meal, hoping one day he’d be pleased enough or satisfied enough to say something. I played with my food and grew restless.
    “What’s bothering you, Sara?” Harvey asked a second later.
    I sent him a sheepish smile. God, he was perceptive. I wasn’t sure if I liked having him in my head. It was an odd feeling, as if he were reading me, and doing a fine job of it.
    “I was just thinking about Eric… the accident and the life insurance.”
    He frowned and laid his cutlery down on the side of his plate, giving me his full attention. “What about it?”
    “I can’t believe he killed himself. Not after that morning, it doesn’t make sense.”
    “What do you mean? What happened in the morning?”
    “Oh,” I replied, “I just mean, well, we had a bit of a fight.” I averted my gaze, then quickly added, “but it was nothing.”
    “If it was nothing, then you can tell me what happened. What was the fight about?”
    He reached over, took my hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
    I nodded. I could easily tell him, just let it all out and wait to see the shock appear on his face, but then the shock would turn into pity. He’d see me as damaged goods, a weak excuse for a woman. “It’s not important,” I said firmly and attempted to alter the course of the conversation. “I just wish there was something more I could do. The insurance company won’t discuss it anymore; they’ve decided he killed himself and that’s that.”
    “Let me help?” he uttered.
    “How?”
    “I might be able to get them to re-evaluate their decision.”
    I swallowed a gulp of water and nearly choked on it. Harvey patted my back gently as I coughed, his large hands easing their way up my spine. “Really? You can do that? But how?”
    He chuckled at my questions and shook his head. “Don’t you know I’m a big deal in this town?”
    I shrugged