Page 11 of A Touch of Poison
He cleared his throat and turned, already halfway out the door as he said, “I need to get back to work. I have meetings and—”
“How long will you be gone?”
He frowned over his shoulder at me, shaking his head like he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I don’t know. However long it takes.” The creases between his eyebrows deepened, edging towards annoyed rather than confused. “I don’t normally have to answer to—”
“I don’t want you to answer to me, Bastian. But”—I gave the clock a pointed look—“I’m on a deadline. If you’re not going to be back until after sunset…” I spread my hands, attention catching on the shocking darkness of my fingertips.
“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “Deadline. Dead being the operative. Of course.” He stalked closer, not cracking so much as a smirk at his own joke. The man who’d taken every opportunity to tease me or make me laugh would’ve grinned, even if it was sardonically.
That was when I realised.
This stone face wasn’t a mask—this was the real Bastian.
Aloof. All business. There was no one else around and he wore his shirt sleeves rolled up, yet he was still distant. The cool formality hadn’t been an act in front of the people of his city and the guards.
The person I’d met in Albion had been the act. He’d used it to gain my trust in the hopes I’d open up to him about being a spy.
The knowledge gripped my heart.
In the library, the first time we’d kissed, I’d noticed how he’d held back—how he’d kept control. It had felt dangerous at the time, and I’d been right. Our relationship was a danger because it had edged into reality for me but hadn’t for him. He’d only wanted me as a means to his own ends.
Hands folded, I held still as he approached. I had to ignore the burning of my eyes. There wasn’t space for that—not when we were stuck living in such close quarters. Not when I was the foolish one for believing in a lie.
He stopped, toes at the hem of my dress. I stared ahead, noting how the light grey of his shirt was the same colour as his eyes, taking in the pearlescent gleam of its buttons and the steady rise and fall of his broad chest. He stood there a long time, as though trying to decide how to do this.
At last, I swallowed down the salt coating the back of my throat and gathered myself enough to hold out my hand. A handshake. If he was going to be all business, then so would I.
But at that same moment his chest rose and fell deeply and he reached out—not for my hand, but for my cheek.
Even before he touched me, I sucked in a breath and lifted my head. As our gazes collided, his thumb brushed over my cheekbone.
It was so light I might’ve questioned whether he’d made contact with my skin or just the fine hairs there. Might’ve, if not for the fact it reverberated through me in a more intense version of the hum I’d felt on the bridge.
It vibrated along every nerve like I stood at the centre of an orchestra as its music rose in deafening crescendo. Every part of me trembled like I might tear apart on the next tick of the clock.
My lips parted, but I didn’t have breath to make a sound.
It affected Bastian, too, because the hairs on his forearms rose and the skin around his eyes tightened. A shudder ran through his entire body and his pupils contracted in—was that pain? But even if I’d been able to speak, I didn’t have time to ask because an instant later his pupils blew wide and the momentary tension vanished.
The stony faced stranger vanished at the same moment, leaving the man I knew.
Thiswas Bastian, gaze flicking between my eyes and my mouth, leaning closer, fingertips hooking under my jaw. This was Bastian, wanting and hungry, seeing me—truly seeing, a softness in the crease between his brows that said he cared.
I shouldn’t want him to care and yet it sent my heart soaring. Maybe it hadn’t all been a lie. Maybe I hadn’t been entirely wrong. Maybe he—
But then there was a gulf where he had stood only an instantago. The magic, gone. My cheek, cold.
And Bastian, striding out the door.
5
Bastian
I’d never walked so quickly from my own rooms. It was easier to blame my thundering heart on the swift walk than on… whatever that had been. Or almost been.
I didn’t want to kiss Katherine Ferrers.
And whoever said otherwise was a damn liar.
