“No,” I snipe at the question.
“Why not?” His brows knit together as though it’s confusing to him. “She’s not Dakota—no one is. But she’s not hideous. It wouldn’t be a hardship for you.”
“It seemed unnecessary.” I grit the words through my teeth. I don’t like the idea of Grant assessing her like that, even though I know damn well he doesn’t have eyes for anyone besides his fiancée, Dakota.
“Have you been this grumpy with her? She might like you better if you kept your mouth busy with other things.” He smirks.
“Noted,” I reply tersely.
I’m trying not to imagine the picture he’s painting. It might make her like me more. Worse, it seems it'd be likely to make me want her more than I already do if I hear her saying anything inpraise of my real name instead of Father Levi’s. Best not to tempt fate.
“The more attached she is to you, the better. And now with the husband? The more compromised, the better.” He's matter-of-fact.
My brother puts business first in everything, and normally, I’d be the first to agree. But in this case, it feels callous and cruel to use her. She's been a pawn for two men already.
“Do you hear yourself? How would you feel if someone talked about Dakota like that?” I push back.
He levels me with a dark look before he speaks again. He doesn’t have to answer that question. He’d murder any person who even so much as thought something vaguely of the sort. His fiancée is the center of his universe and has been for longer than he’d like to admit.
“This was Dakota and Charlotte’s idea, remember?” he presses.
“Yeah, well…” I shift in my seat.
“Well, what?”
“I’m not cut out for the undercover agent shit. You want me to hack a system for information or kill someone, I’m your guy. I’m a blunt instrument. I’m not a fucking Romeo.” The unease of the idea creeps up my throat.
“That out of touch in the romance department?” Grant laughs, and it takes some of the tension out of my shoulders. “Why don’t you ask Dakota or Charlotte for help then? You’re the only one Zephyrine knows well enough that she might spill something. You said you were making progress. It seemed like you knew her well enough after all that surveillance you were doing. I assumed—” He stops short, and his eyes shift. “You’re not in love with her or something, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just because you’ve lost your edge doesn’t mean I have.” I’m not in love with her. She’s a con artistand a liar, but the more I learn about her past, the more I see reason in the choices she’s made. The more she makes sense to me. The more I feel for everything she’s gone through, and I don’t want to be another painful memory for her. “Of course I want answers from her. We all do, but I don’t plan to manipulate her to get them. There’s no reason to. She’ll cooperate if she understands it’s the right thing to do. I just need time to show her.”
“Rowan said you were cagey on the flight. He thought there was something going on under the surface there.” Grant’s watching me closely. Rowan certainly doesn't play favorites. I'll remember it on the next job.
“I was cagey on the flight because we had to abruptly shift course and drag her back to Colorado. After I pulled her out of a lake in the middle of the night. After she tried to poison me, and then I had to subdue her. Then search her room and carry her out of the convent. Drive all the way to Munich like a bat out of hell and then explain to his fucking highness Rowan that everything was fucked to shit. I was exhausted, and nothing was going to plan. I was restrained given the circumstances.” I summarize the twenty-four hours that led us here, and even my head spins recalling it.
“Poison you?” He drops his interest in anything else, and concern mars his face.
I left that part out of our earlier discussion when I was on the flight. No sense in letting her know she’d gotten a very rare upper hand on me.
“She drugged me. Tied me up. Crawled on top of me. She’s a wicked little thing when she’s committed to it. Bit me too. It was not a fun evening, and one I’d rather fucking forget, all right?” I’m irritable all over again just thinking about it.
My brother’s face transforms from worry to amusement.
“You sure? Sounds like your kind of fun.” He leans forward on the table, grinning and swirling the last drop of melting ice at the bottom of his glass.
“Don’t fucking start,” I warn him with a sideways glance for all the good it does.
“Were you not giving her what she wanted, and she decided to try to take it?” He clears his throat to stop a laugh.
“She realized I wasn’t a priest and was worried I was one of her husband's or father’s men. She was trying to torture it out of me.”
“How did she do that?” He frowns.
I let out a frustrated grumble and then raise my shirt to expose the bandage underneath.
“Burned me with one of those things they sprinkle holy water with. Heated it up in the incense burner. It’d be clever if I wasn’t on the receiving end of it.”
A laugh tumbles out of my brother’s chest as he tries to suppress it, pressing his fist to his lips. He clears his throat again, but the look on his face betrays his amusement with all of it.
