Page 98 of A Thief Among Fae

Desmond’s hazel eyes glint as he takes my place. His bearing changes, the relaxed confidence transforming into focus. Every shift of his feet is intentional. He throws. The dart hits three inches too low.

The thieves heckle him, Maeve slamming her now-empty mug on the table so hard it rocks. “You talk a big game for such a lousy throw,” Brandur says with a smug baring of his teeth.

Desmond doesn’t dignify it with a reply. He squares himself up and throws again. The dart misses by a hair. He falls still, calculating, then throws again. It hits.

I gulp. Something tells me it wasn’t luck.

He sweeps his hand to me, stepping back.

My first throw hits. The second and third miss. What did Desmond mean by me having the advantage?

This time, he only pauses before his first throw. Hit. The others quickly follow with what can only be a fae’s lethal grace. Hit. Hit.

The room falls silent, then erupts into cheers.

“Off with her shoes!” Maeve shouts.

Fine. Not a big deal. It’s just one shoe. I untie the laces of my right boot, slip it off my foot, and float it away.

Brandur shakes his head. “Unacceptable! Shoes and stockings are pairs.”

Nikolai laughs. “The left one has to go, too. House rules.”

“That’s the only way you’ll be nude by the end of this,” Finnian says with a wink. “You have to give us our due fun.”

Gritting my teeth, I untether my left shoe, but this time I fling it at Finnian’s head. He dodges with a mischievous laugh.

“Your shoes are next,” I promise Desmond.

He collects his darts and looks at me with unbothered ease. “You still haven’t figured it out.” Then he moves right behind me, the nearness of him making my breath catch. “Until then, only one of us will be undressing.” His heated gaze starts at my stockings and roams up my body, a clear taunt that sets my skin on fire.

“Stop messing with me,” I hiss. As if his proximity wasn’t startling enough, he’s obviously making up my secret advantage to distract me. Unfortunately, it’s working.

His amused smile makes me huff. Then he backs away, giving me room to throw.

This time, two of my darts hit. I have four points out of twenty, and Desmond is starting his turn with the same number.

He makes two hits.

On my next turn, I make one.

The thieves stamp their feet and hiss. “At least you didn’t miss them all,” Nikolai calls out. “Better luck next turn.”

Luck is something I wish I had more of right now.

I watch Desmond as he readies himself. With quiet, assured confidence, all three of his throws hit. I have to close my eyes to process it. Why didn’t I insist on facing Maeve? She’s as drunk as a sailor.

Socks or corset? Cold feet or an exposed linen chemise?

I choose the corset, my magic loosening the corded laces. I unthread them through the first grommets, but falter when I notice Desmond’s stare. He swallows, approaches me with unhurried steps, and takes a cord in each hand. The warmth of his fingers sends shockwaves through my torso as he unlaces it the rest of the way.

Then he dips me, his strong hand against the small of my back. Nervous heat pools in my stomach. It’s as if we’re putting on a show for others, but Desmond’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. Not even for a second.

The thieves howl as he removes my corset, revealing the strapless chemise beneath it. My pulse skips when he tosses the corset aside. His gaze roams my body. I feel a thrum of yearning through the bond that makes my next breath stutter.

“I wouldn’t want you to exhaust your Gift,” he murmurs, then slowly steps away.

Gods, I hope he couldn’t feel how much I enjoyed that. Then my thoughts snag on his words. My Gift. I should’ve thought of it myself.