Page 82 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"That's—" Her voice cracks. She clears her throat, tries again. "Irrelevant to our professional—"

"You said my name like a prayer." I let that hang between us, watch her pulse jump at her throat. "Right before you drew blood with your nails."

The mask cracks. Heat flares in those hazel eyes—memory, want, fear. Behind us, the coffee maker gurgles, finished brewing.

"What occurred between us changes nothing regarding our operational arrangement." She sets her mug down with careful control, the sound sharp in the kitchen's acoustics. "I trust we can maintain appropriate discretion moving forward."

The polite dismissal should sting. But something warm and dark unfurls in my chest. She's working so hard to convince us both that she doesn't care, but her pupils are dilated and I can see the faint sheen of sweat at her temple.

"Appropriate discretion." I straighten, letting her see the scratches visible through my shirt. "While you're walking like I fucked you through the mattress?"

Her sharp intake of breath makes it clear the words hit their target.

"While everyone can see exactly what we did to each other?"

Her breath catches. "The marks will fade."

"Not before tonight's operation." I move closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. "Not before you spend all day remembering exactly how you got them."

"Jax—"

"I need time." The words surprise us both. I step back, giving her space while morning light floods between us. "To figure out what this is."

She blinks, clearly not expecting retreat. Behind her, the Pacific stretches endlessly, but she's focused entirely on me.

"Time?"

"Three days. After the mission. Give me three days to show you this isn't just physical."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll protect you professionally and pretend those sounds you made didn't rewire my entire brain." I grab my coffee, the ceramic warm against my palm. "But we both know you're curious what three days would prove."

The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant crash of waves through the windows. Her fingers trace the rim of her mug, a nervous gesture she'd never normally allow herself.

"Three days," she finally says, so quiet I almost miss it. "After the mission."

"And then?"

"Then we determine if this... intensity has substance beyond physical compatibility."

The door opens and the team files back in. Cole's eyes sweep over her rigid posture, my calculated calm, and the careful distance we're maintaining, his expression shifting to something resigned.

"Status?" His tone suggests he already knows.

"Complicated," I answer.

Asher's laptop chirps as he settles back at the island. He glances at the screen, then at us. "Physiological indicators suggest recent intimate contact." His tone stays clinical. "Extensive."

Remy shifts into medical assessment mode, setting his kit on the counter. "Should I be concerned about anyone's physical condition?"

"We're functional," Mira says stiffly, though she sits carefully on the barstool, weight distributed to minimize discomfort.

"Functional." Cole's tone carries subtle irony as he returns to his tablet. "Outstanding."

"It won't compromise the mission," I state firmly, though the scratch marks pull when I cross my arms.

"The mission." Cole studies us both with that penetrating gaze. "Already compromised. Question becomes damage mitigation."