Page 33 of A Thief to Die For

Agatha startles, jostling her glass.

‘Decide what?’ I ask.

He snaps his fingers at the shelves on the far wall. ‘Silas, bring me that hourglass filled with sand.’ Then he turns back to me. ‘My daughters will compete for who will take you to the lake. I love competitions. That’s actually how I won the coal mine and all of Notting.’ His blurry eyes lift, becoming unfocused. ‘All it took was Coatl, a few highly trained men and half-a-dozen card games.’

‘A competition is a lovely idea, Father,’ Agatha says, brightly. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Let’s play an old-world game,’ he says. ‘Truth or stare. One round with each of my daughters where they will compete in truth-telling or staring. Your choice.’ He throws Marian a tight look. ‘And my daughters will try their best to win.’

I’m pretty sure he meant truth or … dare. Although his rules make me question that.

I weigh the risks, knowing full well this could be a trap to gain information. But he did say they compete, not me, which is intriguing. Turning him down also won’t build comradery or trust, which is our best hope of getting a fair coal deal. ‘All right. I choose stare.’

‘Excellent,’ the Commander says. ‘Marian will go first. Lean forward. Stare into each other’s eyes.’ His voice drops low and deliberate. ‘You can blink, but don’t look away. Whichever daughter lasts the longest, will escort you to the lake.’

That’s it?

Marian nibbles her lip as the Commander begins the game with a flip of the timer. It lands with a heavy thump on the table, and nothing could have prepared me for when her defiant eyes lift to me.

Our gazes meet in a head-on collision.

My already racing pulse begins to pound. It’s like last night all over again, when we both pulled a weapon and were stuck in a standoff. Except, instead of trying to win the draw, I’m daring him to go first. Go on – quit.

Of course, he doesn’t. Those overly perceptive eyes are locked on me, so studious. Damnation, this is so uncomfortable. The urge to look away is up there with breathing.

Time passes at a glacial pace, so I opt to disassociate. My brain has already locked in too much information. The masculine angle of his cheekbones. The fresh shave on his tanned skin. I especially don’t want to feel how he’s slowly peeling me apart, layer by layer. But before I can imagine myself somewhere – anywhere – else, his gaze moves, sliding from my left eye to focus on my right. It leaves a trail of heat as it drags across my skin.

I exhale.

His head tilts, then he quirks an eyebrow.

Stop it. How is it possible he’s enjoying this?

They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and I’m beginning to worry that might be true. He seems too satisfied with what he’s uncovering, with no intent to end it.

My cheek twitches with the urge to check the timer. What are we at? Two minutes? Three? Maybe quitting and risking a punishment is worth it.

Ryland releases a heavy breath.

Bored? I refocus and cock my head at him. Maybe you should quit.

A hint of a smile appears on his face. Then his excavation of me continues.

This is all part of Atlas’s hare-brained plan to get Ryland to fall in love with me. It’s not going to work. I sit up straighter. Fill my lungs. Hang on; you’re almost done.

But then Ryland’s gaze moves again, meandering like a raindrop down the branches of a tree. It lingers. Settles in places, like my lashes, the freckles on my nose.

I bite my lip. This is too intimate.

I’m not making this uncomfortable enough for him.

I lean in, done being dissected. Okay, my turn. Show me your secrets. I’m not sure what his eyes are telling me, so I debate the shade of blue.

His pupils dilate.

Oh? What’s that about? I edge closer and his dark lashes blink faster. My lips tug to the side. Do I make you nervous, Ryland? He has a small scar on the corner of his brow. A flaw, though not really. More like a carving on the handle of a beautiful knife. I search for more past injuries, meticulously exploring the bends and slopes of –

His tongue slides over his bottom lip.