Scott shrugged. “Looks like it’s an eye for an eye.”
“Is that an invitation to remove one from your face?”
“No, it is not, it’s an invitation to play a game of hide and seek with your eyeball.”
Thomas looked Scott up and down. “Is it on your person?”
Scott shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled them out to show Thomas they were empty.
“I didn’t ask if it was in your jeans; I asked whether it was on your person.”
“No, Thomas, I have not shoved your fake eye up my arse for safe-keeping.”
“Good.” Thomas glanced around the kitchen. “Is it in this room?”
Scott pulled a face. “I’ll start giving clues after an hour.”
“An hour!”
“Yep. Now get searching.”
Scott thought there was a strong possibility Thomas would murder him. He wasn’t subtle. He kept sliding his hand across his neck in a slit-throat gesture and throttling pieces of furniture. Scott remained at a safe distance from him at all times.
Thomas had searched the whole of the top floor, the one beneath, and one of the auction rooms before they hit the one-hour mark.
“Ice cold,” Scott said.
“What do you mean, ice cold?”
“That’s how far away you are.”
Thomas trudged into the entrance hall, then turned to glare at Scott.
Scott rubbed his chin. “Still ice cold.”
“It’s outside, isn’t it?” Thomas mumbled.
“Maybe… Why don’t you start looking, and I’ll join you out there in a sec.”
Thomas stalked off, threatening to drown Scott in one of the ponds under his breath. Scott ran back up stairs, sprinted across the corridor, took the spiral staircase two at a time, and flew through the propped-open door. He grabbed two ice lollies from the moulds in the freezer, making a mental note to pour more squash into them after dinner, then hurried back downstairs.
His sore arse didn’t thank him for the excursion, and neither did his thighs or lungs.
“It’s too hot for this shit,” Thomas snapped.
“My thoughts, exactly,” Scott replied, handing over an ice lolly.
Thomas frowned as he took it, then watched as Scott sat down on the lawn in front of the mansion. Scott didn’t wait for him; he began sucking it. He’d poured in apple juice the day before, not concentrate but freshly squeezed, and the taste tingled on his tongue.
Thomas brandished his own lolly like a weapon. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shove this up your arsehole?”
“You wouldn’t be able to eat it.”
“I’d still eat it.”
Scott cocked his head. “You’d find it gross.”
“I one hundred per cent do not find that gross. It’s actually kind of hot.”
