Page 5 of The Duplicity of Thieves

Amusement flickers in the stranger’s eyes. “Like Derek?”

Deerak looks between us angrily suspicious. “Do you two know each other?”

“Listen Derek,” the man begins.

“Deerak,” he seethes.

“Right,” the stranger nods. “Over there is a woman with much less attitude than this one. I’ll stay here with her, and you can go make conversation with someone who is more on your…wavelength. Your friend still gets laid, and you don’t force this poor woman to deal with your insufferable bullshit.”

By the end of the speech the stranger is terrifying and sneering. It’s so fucking hot that I can’t help the buzzing between my thighs. For once in my life, I’m speechless. The twerp runs away immediately, and we’re left alone.

My heart is thumping out of my chest with excitement. There’s an aura of danger about this man, and I want it. I pretend it’s from lack of freedom, but impulsiveness is carved into my bones. I already wish he would lay me out right here and fuck me.

“I could have handled it myself,” I say with a snarky tone. It doesn’t seem to phase him.

He turns to me, his face scrunched up as if he just ate something sour. “Who the fuck names their kid Deerak?”

“People named Thad and Sheerah.”

The stranger chokes mid sip and lets a boyish grin slip. It’s strangely addicting seeing such a basic attribute on a gorgeous face.

He takes me in, trailing his eyes down and back up slowly. The rest of the room fades away, until it’s just us. Maybe I’m drunk. Maybe it’s the malevolent way it seemed like he might shred Deerak to pieces, but I’m drawn to him. We don’t speak, but the bartender comes over and the man orders two of something. The drinks are slammed down next to us, spilling over the sides onto the bar. Whiskey neat.

“Thanks for the drink.” I give him an innocent smile. “I should get going.”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks over the lip of his glass.

“My friend, she…” I trail off when I see the empty table and chairs where Clo had been tongue-deep in the Viking wannabe. Clearly, she is already off having a good time.

“They left ten minutes ago,” he says gently.

“Of course she did. You could have said something.” I turn back to the bar and order another.

His eyes are trained on me. “I didn’t want you to go.”

“Don’t you have friends to get back to?” I glance over, and their booth is empty, too.

“They left the moment they thought I would snap that disrespectful idiot’s neck.”

There is an immense amount of tension between us. My breaths are heavier, and my need for him grows. I want to forget about Killian’s growing disapproval, the possibility that my future could be confined to the Remnant territory forever, and my lack of success at drowning. Most importantly, I want to forget about forgetting, and this is the perfect opportunity.

“How convenient,” I enunciate.

His smirk is calm and confident. “They know I’m preoccupied.”

Everything about him suffocates me with lust. We gravitate closer to each other; he smells like amber and leather with hints of sweat. I salivate just thinking about it. For a brief moment, I consider asking for his name, but the second he reaches down and his fingers gently graze my cheek, something in me is pacified. He takes my chin and tilts it up so I am looking straight at him while he peers down at me over his perfect nose.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” I retort.

He gives me an amused smirk that is to die for. “I would say hopeful.”

“Hopeful for what?”

He grins, but there is something sinister in it. “For your attention.” Our mouths slowly gravitate together until I can taste his breath. It’s like bourbon and honey.

“Everythin’ alrigh’, lass?” Stafford’s Gaelic accented voice interrupts us.

He has chestnut brown hair down to his shoulders. It’s tied back into a small bun, and his thick brown beard hasn’t been shaved in a few days. Behind his reading glasses, bright emerald eyes take measure of the stranger, but his features stay relaxed.

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