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The doorbell’s shrill chime cleaved between them.

Fucking hell.

17

Kat’s pulse stampeded—herbody caught between fight and flight, wild and wired. “What?—”

Leo’s breath sawed in and out, his brow furrowed. “I ordered food.” His voice was low and rough—scraping over her nerves as he gripped her arms with an aching intensity. When he stepped back, cold rushed in where his warmth had been.

“Stay right here.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

As he strode from the room, she pressed trembling fingertips to her lips, almost bruised from the pressure of his mouth. The ghost of his taste lingered—sharp, smoky, and forbidden.

She couldn’t seem to pull in a full breath—as if her lungs didn’t trust the air. Conversation murmured at the door followed by the rustle of bags.

She straightened her shoulders and ran her fingers through her too-short hair, trying to gather herself back into something resembling a woman who didn’t just lose her mind to a kiss.

What the actual hell am I doing?She’d risked careers for less—and now she was kissing the one man she couldn’t afford to want.

She found a dustpan and brush under the sink and swept up her hair.

Every strand was a tether to the woman she’d been—the one who lived by protocol and rules. Before Leo. Before his kiss splintered her defenses and made her crave things she’d never dared imagine.

She sucked in a shuddering breath and positioned herself on the far side of the kitchen island, a strategic distance that seemed necessary. Safer, somehow.

He returned, balancing paper bags. “Thai,” he said, carefully neutral. A muscle blipped in his jaw. “Hope that works.”

So calm and composed, except for the way his knuckles whitened around the takeout containers.

“Perfect.” Her voice came out too high. She cleared her throat. “I should probably—” She gestured at nothing in particular.

One kiss and she was coming apart like a novice under pressure—except it wasn’t fear making her hands shake.Get a grip, Kat.

Leo set the bags down. “About what just happened…”

He blew out a breath.

The silence stretched taut.

Kat forced herself to meet his gaze. “This is a bad idea, right? Us.”

“The worst.” But his eyes stayed locked on hers, dark and hungry. “Professionally speaking.”

“Adrenaline. Stress response.” She was grasping for logic.

“Basic biology.” He yanked open a drawer, the cutlery inside rattling. “Moments like that make you forget what’s smart.”

Kat arched a brow. “Is that what it was?”

Leo looked at her too long. Then looked away. “Adrenaline. Biology. The brain makes bad calls when it thinks you’re in trouble.”

“Textbook,” Kat agreed, ignoring the increasingly rebellious voice inside her that mutteredliar. “We have more pressing issues than... whatever that was.”

One kiss, and she’d forgotten every line she’d drawn between the job and the man.

Leo handed her a plate, careful that their fingers didn’t touch. “Proving your innocence comes first.”