Page 17 of The Gentleman (Guardsmen Security #6)

Kat’s pulse stampeded—her body 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 muttered liar . “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.”

The words landed hard, and she didn’t argue.

They ate in silence.

The food was excellent.

Kat barely tasted it. Her mind kept playing back that kiss.The pressure, the heat, the hunger?—

She jabbed at a spring roll, missed and launched it across the counter. It skidded before hitting the floor with a smack.

Brilliant.

Leo moved before she could, bending to retrieve it without a word, just silence thick enough to wade through.

While his back was turned, she pressed her palms against her eyes, fighting to erase the rasp of stubble, the taste of him, the solid heat of his body locking with hers.

He dropped the spring roll into the trash, then straightened, but when he turned, he avoided her gaze.

“Your car. Can they track it?” She seized on something neutral. “MI6 has access to the ANPR camera network across London.”

Leo nudged his food with a chopstick. “A shell corporation owns the apartment. Three layers deep.” His voice found its professional rhythm—safer ground. “The car’s clean too. Different entity, no connection to Guardsmen Security.” A pause. “Even Eldridge would need weeks to crack it.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“It’s what I do.” The corner of his mouth lifted marginally. “What we both do.”

“Yes. Of course.” He was right.

That’s who I am. An agent before anything else. Woman after. Right?

Leo stood abruptly and collected their plates. “I should...” He gestured toward the kitchen sink, then busied himself with rinsing dishes even though there had to be a state-of-the-art dishwasher stashed away inside one of his kitchen cabinets.

He stacked the clean containers. Everything about him was deliberate, except for the tremor he thought she couldn’t see. The domestic routine was surreal. Pretending normal, while reality howled at the door.

As if that kiss hadn’t rewired something fundamental between them.

She’d perfected the art of compartmentalization. Mission parameters in one box, personal feelings in another, never allowing them to touch. But Leo obliterated her careful divisions simply by existing in the same space, making her hyperaware of every breath, every movement.

The air felt charged, volatile—like standing too close to something about to ignite. Her training said choose the mission but her heart said something else entirely.

“It’s getting late,” Leo said finally, his back still to her. “You should get some rest.”

“Right.” She stood, uncertain in this unfamiliar space.

Leo turned, drying his hands. “Take my room. The bed’s more comfortable.”

“I can’t take your bed.”

“You can and you will.” That voice again—the one that didn’t ask, didn’t negotiate. He sighed and his voice gentled. “You need proper rest, Kat. Tomorrow won’t be easy.”

She hesitated. “Where will you sleep?”

“Couch.” He pointed to the elegant sofa in the living area. Too short for his frame.

“That’s ridiculous. We’re both adults.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, hanging in the air like a dare.

His eyes met hers, something flickering in their depths that made her breath hitch. For a moment, she thought he might suggest an alternative arrangement.

He looked away. “The couch is fine.”

He turned too quickly—like one more second might crack his control.

The tick of the kitchen clock kept time on the distance between them.

“Leonid...” What was she going to say?

“Kat.” The way he said her name as he looked at her—low, almost pained—made her cross her arms across her stomach. “Keeping you alive. That’s all that matters.” His jaw worked. “Everything else is just... noise.”

She saw the shift—the operative locking back into place.

Maybe that was safer. For both of them.

“Bathroom’s ensuite. Grab any clothes you need.”

“Thank you.” She meant it for more than just the offer of clothing.

He nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Get some sleep, Katarina.”