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The panel sealed them in darkness. Leo’s arms came around Kat before conscious thought—muscle memory from a dozen ops where keeping his partner alive meant keeping them close. But this wasn’t just any partner, and the way her body fit against his had nothing to do with tactical positioning.

The space was cramped with only a sliver of light from a gap at the top of the panel. Each breath drew her deeper into his lungs—rose with a hint of sandalwood and vanilla.

Her body pressed flush against his, her backside molded against him.

Too close.

Not close enough.

Fuck.

Her hair whispered against his jaw, and blood rushed south as his palm pressed against the soft heat of her stomach.

The bare skin of her nape gleamed in the dim sliver of light, taunting him.

The temptation to taste her, to press his lips to that inch of bare skin, set his pulse thumping in his temple, making it hard to think of anything but her.

“Leonid.” Her breath disturbed the air.

His name on her lips—Leonid, not Leo—hit him like a physical touch. Only his mother had ever used his full name with such intimacy.

A tremor ran through her. Barely perceptible, or it would have been, if every nerve ending in his body wasn’t cataloging her response to his touch. He gave her a gentle squeeze of reassurance and was rewarded by a tiny hiccup in her breathing.

Hell .

She was MI6-trained, lethal in her own right—he’d seen her work. But logic meant nothing when it came to Kat. The need to protect her lived in his bones, primitive and undeniable.

She shifted, and the friction sent a flaming arrow of need through him, white-hot and undeniable.

Her head dropped back against his chest, her body offering what her words never would.

He pulled back, giving his cock some space. Could she feel what she was doing to him? How his control unraveled when she got too close?

His fingers flexed against her abdomen, sensing the quickening of her breath.

If he let his hand wander over the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, he could pull her back against him, show her exactly how she affected him.

Or higher, over the delicate shape of her ribs, the swell of her breast barely a whisper away.

This wasn’t the first time today he’d crossed a line.

His hand on her knee in the car—a gesture of comfort that had ignited something in him he was so unprepared for. He’d snatched his hand back then, but here, in the darkness, there was nowhere to retreat, nothing to hide behind.

Hurry the fuck up, Brock.

His restraint was in tatters. He clenched his jaw. Years of discipline, of keeping her at arm’s length, were unraveling with every second in this breathless, involuntary embrace.

And if he crossed this line, he would lose himself in her. There would be no going back—ever.

A mechanical click from the wall panel broke through his haze of desire. Leo reluctantly loosened his hold as the panel slid open, flooding the space with daylight.

He stepped back into the real world, reluctant to relinquish his hold on Kat for a few more seconds. “You okay?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. His gaze dropped to her lips, rosy softness parting.

Not there, Bychkov. Look anywhere but there.

Leo forced his attention to Brock. Nothing had ever felt so damn hard.

“Right, false alarm then.” Brock cradled an enormous gray cat with battle-scarred ears. “Jeff here’s having a laugh with the motion sensors again. Bloody thing’s been playing silly buggers all week.”

Leo rolled his shoulders back to their usual rigid posture, ensuring his control was back in place. He was unused to it. He never let his guard down like this. “Sure. Not like we needed to breathe or anything.”

Brock stroked the cat. “It’s built for one skinny bloke, not two operatives having a cuddle.”

“You don’t say,” Kat muttered, tugging at her oversized shirt—anything to avoid Leo’s gaze. But it was too late. He’d seen the vulnerability in her eyes. How the nearness of him had affected her as much as it had him.

Leo dragged a damp hand through his hair. His body still hummed with awareness, nerve endings alive where Kat had pressed against him. The closet’s darkness lingered in his mind—her scent, her breath against his body.

Brock’s eyes darted between them, and his bushy eyebrows rose. He smirked but, mercifully, kept whatever observation he’d made to himself.

“Brock, I need everything you can dig up on Korolov.” Leo collected his phone from the microwave.

“The Russian has expensive tastes. I’ve heard whispers.” Brock scratched Jeff behind the ears. “Nasty piece of work, that one. Rumor has it he’s been throwing serious cash around Westminster lately.”

“What kind of cash?”

“The kind that buys silence and bends ears in high places. I’ll shake some trees, see what falls out.

” Brock moved toward his cluttered workstation.

“I’ll have a word with my contact at the Home Office.

Little bird there owes me a favor—sorted her old man’s gambling debts before the sharks came calling. ”

He placed the cat on the chair. His expression sobered as he turned to Kat. “This bloke doesn’t play nice. My contact at the Platinum says he’s got private security that makes SEALS look like boy scouts. Here, take this burner.” He pressed a phone from the desk into Kat’s hand.

“How long?” Kat asked. Her voice was steady, but Leo noticed she kept a careful distance between them now.

“Give me twelve hours, maybe eighteen, if my main source has done a runner. These types get twitchy when Russians throw money about.”

Kat surprised them both by stepping forward and hugging Brock. He stiffened momentarily, then awkwardly patted her back, shooting Leo a smug smile over her shoulder.

When Kat released him, there were spots of pink on his weathered cheeks. His eyebrows popped high as he adjusted Johnny Cash’s placement on his chest.

Cheeky fucker. Leo shook his head, a grin on his face. “We’ll check back then.” He motioned for Kat to follow him to the door, not trusting himself to touch her.

A blast of cold air hit him as they stepped outside. Leo inhaled deeply, grateful for the crisp evening breeze that cleared his head and cooled his blood. The road glistened with recent rain, headlights reflecting off the wet sidewalk as cars passed.

Kat hugged her arms against the chill, her profile sharp in the streetlight. “Will you drive me somewhere?”

Leo unlocked the Jaguar. “Where to?”

“My friend Jane’s place,” Kat said, sliding into the passenger seat. The leather creaked beneath her. “She’s an intelligence analyst on my team. She should be home by now.”

Leo started the engine, the car’s purr a comforting background to the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. “You think she’ll help?”

“Jane and I go back years. Before MI6.” Kat stared through the windshield. Was it his imagination, or was she avoiding looking at him? “She might have insight into what Eldridge has against me. What evidence they think they have.”

Leo pulled away from the curb, navigating through the evening traffic. “And you trust her?”

“As much as I trust anyone at Six right now.” She glanced at him, then quickly away. “Which isn’t saying much.”

The unspoken exception—that she trusted him—hung between them. Leo gripped the steering wheel tighter and gritted his teeth. The closeness they’d shared in the cupboard felt simultaneously minutes and lifetimes ago.

Some operative he was. Reduced to a teenager with sweaty palms because a woman had leaned against him.

Get it together, Bychkov.

“What makes you think Jane won’t just turn you in?” His voice sounded brittle to his own ears.

“Because I think she tried to warn me. Before Eldridge turned up.”

“She knew about the raid in advance?”

“Maybe. And she might know what triggered it.”

“If Eldridge suspects Jane tried to warn you, she might be watching her place.”

Kat nodded, tension visible in the set of her jaw. “I know. But it’s our best lead right now.”

“So, where are we headed?”

“Vauxhall,” Kat punched the address into the car’s navigation system. “Just past the railway arches.”

The mention of MI6’s territory made his shoulders tense. They’d be driving dangerously close to the heart of the organization hunting Kat.

“Turn here,” Kat directed, pointing to a side street. “It’s faster.”

Leo followed her instruction, the Jaguar gliding beneath an ancient railway arch. Halfway through, flashing lights erupted ahead of them, a police cruiser rolling into position at the far end of the tunnel, its lights painting the brick walls in alternating blue and red.

“Fuck.” His pulse spiked as he slowed the car. “MI6?”

Kat leaned forward. “Worse. Metropolitan Police.”

The woman he shouldn’t want beside him, the organization that wanted her behind them, and now London’s finest ahead. Perfect.

Leo dropped a hand to the gearshift. “Hold on.”

Her hand covered his—not seeking comfort, but offering partnership. “Trust me,” she murmured.

Electricity sparked where her skin met his, a shock that had nothing to do with the approaching police and everything to do with the woman beside him.

Her voice was soft. “Just wait.”