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Searching.
For what?
And in the end, did the answer matter?
Because all I could anticipate “answering” for Shiraz Cimarron was the logistical hassle of this wedding.
With an efficient tap, I woke up my smart pad. “Well, then. Shall we—” Get to it? No. Not there again. “Shall we begin?”
“I am all yours.”
Not in half the ways I could dream, buddy.
I only had myself to be pissed at for that one—so it was up to me to rectify. I cleared my throat. Stated serenely, “Ezra told me you viewed the preliminary proposal video we sent, along with the virtual color boards, the load-in and breakdown schedules, and our client list. I’m happy to address any questions you might have about any of it.”
Extended pause—long enough to fray my nerves. If Cimarron had questions, they weren’t likely going to be the standard. Stay sharp. Focus. You’ve got this. You know this, inside and out.
“The video was well-done and thorough.” He hitched an elbow over the back of the couch, accenting the breadth of his shoulders. “I understand that since then, Expectation has been honored with an industry honor, as well.”
“Yes. The Crystal Award.” I smiled and meant it. “For creativity and excellence in planning a specific event.”
“Mr. Lowe told me that event was your brainchild.”
I shook my head. “We work as a team, Your Highness. No idea belongs fully to either of us.”
He leaned forward. “But many of the ideas in this proposal are yours too.”
Funny squirm. And jolting comprehension. Why had Ez disclosed that to Cimarron? Never mind that it was the truth; Ezra rarely cared about that when presenting our joint ideas to clients…
Unless taking a different path would secure the business.
You schmooze with these royals better than I do…
He hadn’t been blowing sunshine up my ass. He actually believed I could do this.
But did Shiraz Cimarron?
I had to look up, to learn for myself. To force our gazes into alignment then pry without hesitation, “Why are you even interested in that?”
No pause this time. Only his answer, with the same resolve, like silk-covered steel. “Because I am interested in you.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I was so getting that T-shirt.
My senses backed the decision. My lungs hung onto another shaky breath, hoarding air until my pulse ached at the bottom of my throat. I needed to look away. I could have stared at him another hour. Maybe I did.
“Why?” I finally got out.
He glanced across the room, considering that. Thank God. A moment of recovery time. Being the focus of his attention was like standing in a shaft of sunlight piercing that same thick forest. It was intense and wonderful—and blinding.
At last he explained, “Because all the ideas in the proposal do not add up to the woman who just walked in here.”
I shifted a little. Back into the sun. “Oh? And what kind of a woman were you anticipating?”
His breath left him in a careful measure. His features darkened by a new degree, though certainly not in anger—but not undressing me with his eyes, either. This was different. In many ways, scarier. His regard stripped off more than my clothes. He was going deeper. Into my head, my thoughts…my sex.
Shit, shit, shit.
