Page 16

Leo checked his watch.

Nineteen minutes.

Still no sign of her.

The bathroom door remained firmly shut.

His right leg bounced against the hardwood, heel keeping time with his mounting unease.

So much had happened. Had he missed something? Missed a wound, a crack she’d hidden too well?

His knuckles rapped against the door before his brain had fully committed to the action. “Kat. You okay in there?”

“Uh-huh.” Her voice wavered. Uncertain.

A hard lump solidified in his stomach. He pressed his palm flat against the wood. “Kat?”

A long pause followed, then the lock clicked. The door opened a crack, and Kat peered out, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious.

“I’m fine.” But her eyes wouldn’t meet his and her mouth was too still.

She pushed the door wider, and Leo’s breath hitched.

Her auburn hair—hair he’d imagined soft in his fingers during too many sleepless nights—hung in uneven lengths around her face.

Longer strands hung awkwardly at the back, the reach of her arms clearly limited.

What looked like his nail scissors dangled from her right hand.

“Kat, what the fuck?” The words were out before he could temper them.

She stiffened, gripping the scissors tighter, knuckles white. “It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s a start.” She lifted her chin, defiant. “My face is on every screen in London. I’m taking control of what I can.”

Leo stepped back, giving her some space. Despite the haphazard cut, the shorter lengths accentuated her cheekbones, drawing attention to the intensity of her eyes.

Eyes that had haunted his dreams across continents.

“It needs work at the back.” His voice was gentler now he understood.

“Yeah.” She reached behind her head, fingers splayed in frustration. “I can’t see that bit.”

Leo held out his hand. “Give me those.”

She hesitated, then gave him the scissors. Their fingers brushed—the briefest contact—and heat shot up his arm. Muscles low in his back drew tight. Christ. She undid him with a simple touch.

“Kitchen.” He jerked his head toward the open-plan living area. “Better light in there.”

She followed him without argument. Kat Landon, who questioned everything, followed him now in silence.

He pulled one stool out from under the island. “Here. Should do the trick.”

She perched on the edge, spine straight, shoulders locked. He circled around her, taking in the damage. The recessed lights caught the sharp angle of her jaw, the tension in her mouth.

He stepped behind her, lifted a section of hair near her nape. His knuckles grazed her warm skin. She flinched—just a breath of movement—before going utterly still.

The scissors whispered open. Snip.

“Not my first-time playing hairdresser.” He lifted another section, scissors catching the light. “I was twelve when I shaved a racing stripe straight down Eli’s head.”

“Seriously?” Her voice softened, the edge smoothing away.

“He made the swim team. Was being an unbearable little shit about it.”

Snip.

“Mama lost her mind. Furious doesn’t even touch it.” He smiled, the memory landing softer than expected. “Made me wear a damn hat to school for a month. In July.”

A quiet laugh from her. It wound around his ribs, taking hold of him.

He trimmed a clean line near her ear. “Taught me a valuable lesson about consequences.”

“And your dad?”

Leo froze.

He never talked about his father. Not even with his brothers. But Kat’s stillness—like deep water that reflected everything back—stripped away his usual defenses.

“He died when I was a kid.” His voice came out flat. “Car crash.”

“That leaves a mark.” No pity. Just understanding. “Absence shapes you just as much as presence.”

He hadn’t expected that. Her seeing straight through to the truth. It knocked a hardness loose inside him.

“Yeah. Well…” He started cutting again.

“Must’ve been hard. Growing up without him.”

A rough laugh escaped. “My grandmother made sure none of us lacked discipline. She had more balls than ten men, and a temper that could blister concrete.”

Kat turned, her fingers closing around his wrist. The contact blazed through him—raising goosebumps on his forearms. The scissors trembled in his grip.

“Sounds familiar.” She smiled.

It hit him low and hard. God, what he’d give to see that smile every day.

“Zak and Eli kept me in line too,” he said, quieter now. “They were loud enough to drown out most things.”

He worked methodically, the silky strands sliding between his fingers as he evened out the ragged edges, creating something deliberate. This, at least, he could control. This small act of protection, of helping her disappear from those hunting her.

When he was done, he set the scissors down with a soft click. He turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders, the heat of her body intense through thin cotton.

“Well.” She reached back to touch her neck, her cheeks flushed. “Tell me how bad it is.”

The shorter style framed her face like a revelation—sharp cheekbones, those intelligent eyes, that mouth he’d memorized from every grainy video call. More exposed now. Unarmored. So beautiful his chest ached with it.

He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

His hands moved to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, fingers pushing through the silk of her hair. Her skin was furnace-hot beneath his palms.

Her pulse beat fast against his fingertips, matching the rapid tempo of his own.

He moved slowly, searching her eyes for any hesitation, giving her every chance to stop this, but her gaze never wavered.

His lips found hers, a question, not a demand. For one suspended heartbeat, she held still.

Doubt surged, hot and wild.

Then her hands fisted in his hair and she launched into him, crushing her mouth to his, her body molding against him. Years of restraint went up in flames.

The kiss ignited.

She pressed against him. All heat and need, and memory turned real.

Her scent, her taste, her hands gripping his shoulders like he was the only thing tethering her to earth.

He was lost.

And didn’t give a damn.

She moaned into his mouth, the sound almost animal, as she opened to him. She moved against him, hips tilting, that sound vibrating against his lips.

He was instantly, brutally hard.

She broke the kiss, gasping. Her eyes were wild, her breath stuttering to match his own.

Yes. God, yes.

He slid his hand down the curve of her back, anchoring them both to this impossible, electric moment.

Kat Landon. In his arms.

The doorbell’s shrill chime cleaved between them.

Fucking hell.