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I arched both brows. “Are you that sure that he would?”
“Are you that sure he would not?”
“Damn straight I am.” I held firm to my stance, despite feeling like a mouse to his roaring dragon. Shit. The Cimarron men were formidable when the firing pins were pulled from their temper.
After a long minute of the stare-down, his lips finally twisted. A soft snort pushed from his nostrils. “He really remembered all my missions?”
I canted my head, giving him a sardonic side-eye. “Does about three hours’ worth of stories sound about right?” Added enough of a smile that he knew I wasn’t complaining—but hopefully couldn’t infer anything else. Like the fact that I’d savored every minute of those three hours, since nothing beat Shiraz Noir Cimarron in naked storytelling mode.
“Hmmph.” Whether that meant he believed me or not was anyone’s guess—though a silvery twinkle entered his gaze. “Fine. I shall consider your request.” Whipped up a finger, countering the fist I pumped skyward. “I said consider.”
“Acceptable.” I swung over, bumping his elbow with my shoulder. “Ferris Bueller, you’re my hero.”
“Fair is what?”
“Never mind.” I laughed then mumbled, “But as soon as you and your little bro have saved a few kittens and knocked back a few gallons of nectar, he needs to get this place on Netflix premium.”
“Huh?”
“Not important,” I reassured. “Really, Your Highness.”
He held up both hands in good-natured surrender. “Oh, I do believe you.” When I shot back a quizzical glance at his emphasizing chuckle, he explained, “Something tells me I will know it when a matter is important to you.”
A blush warmed my cheeks but I replied, “Something tells me you’re probably right.”
And he was—
With one glaring exception.
The man could never know how achingly important his brother had become to me. Nobody could. Not even Shiraz himself.
I just had to keep up the ruse for a few more days.
