Page 25 of The Gentleman (Guardsmen Security #6)

Leo stared out the window as the Bentley slid through London’s late-night traffic—its suspension smoothing away the city’s rough edges, but not the tension welded into his chest.

His right hand clamped his knee, fingers locked to keep from reaching for her. His pulse throbbed at his temples. Every breath drew in the scent of her—trace perfume, sweat, the acrid white dust from the fire system.

The mission had gone clean. He had the footage. Kat had the phone. They had what they came for.

But none of that mattered now.

She sat inches away, silent, his jacket draped around her shoulders. He sensed the tension coiling through her—or maybe it was just his own.

The privacy glass hid them from the driver, but it couldn’t insulate the charge between them—static before the strike.

He looked down. White powder covered the back of his hands, ghost-fine. He swiped powder from his wedding ring. A circle of gold that had been fiction only hours ago.

Now it seared his skin like molten metal, a promise he’d never dared make but couldn’t bring himself to break.

Reality narrowed to those final moments in the club. The tight twist of her body as she ran with him. Every second had broken something open in him.

He hadn’t let anyone this close in years.

But being with her, taking the risks together, had scraped him raw.

She wore his ring. They’d played at marriage, but the lie had come too easily. Now it didn’t feel like a lie at all.

And that terrified him more than any bullet ever had.

She didn’t know about the children he’d failed to save. But she’d chosen him anyway—reached for him when her world collapsed.

And now if he let her in—if he touched her the way he wanted to—there would be no coming back from it. No pretending the mask still fit.

The Bentley slowed as it turned into his street, pulling toward the private entrance. He stepped out first, the fresh night air a shock through his shirt in seconds. He scanned the shadows. Nothing out of place.

Kat climbed out behind him. Her dress shed powder in faint clouds.

His focus narrowed to her—her bare shoulders under his jacket, the dust in her hair, the graceful way she moved.

The air between them thrummed. No words. Just the quiet weight of what had changed in the last few hours.

Inside the front lobby, the carpet muffled their steps. The night staff at the desk gave a brief nod, eyes flicking between them and their disheveled clothes. Leo barely registered it.

He touched the small of Kat’s back as they approached the elevator. A whisper of contact—nothing more than guidance. But his fingertips met silk, warm from her skin, and the contact was a jolt. Her muscles shifted beneath his hand.

He wanted her.

And he wasn’t sure he could keep pretending he didn’t.

They stepped into the elevator. He hit the button for the penthouse. The doors closed, sealing them in together. Silence settled again, broken only by the soft hiss of the ventilation and the rustle of her dress.

“Leonid.” Her voice was a scant whisper.

He turned. Finally met her gaze.

Her eyes pinned him. Her skin was marked by the night—dust on her cheekbones, a bruise blooming faintly along her collarbone. His jacket on her shoulders to protect her from the cooling night air swallowed her frame. She looked fierce and breakable all at once.

He wanted to shield her from everything—especially himself.

He didn’t deserve this moment. Didn’t deserve her. But he couldn’t walk away.

The elevator slowed. The number lit for their floor.

The doors opened to his penthouse, spilling golden light across the threshold. Neither moved. Ten seconds. Twenty.

The air between them was alive with possibility and danger—not from their enemies, but from this moment that would change everything.

He was done choosing duty over the one person who’d ever made him feel human.

His hand shot past her to slam the close button. The doors sealed them in again, and with that choice, Leo’s last defense crumbled.

One step forward and she was backed against the wall. Not startled. Waiting.

His hands came up, framing her face, not touching—then touching. Thumbs at her jaw, brushing upward. Her skin was warm. Her breath deepened. He searched her eyes.

No fear. No flinch. Just fierce permission.

Her lips parted just enough to drag his focus downward.

Just her. Just them. Just this.

He let go.

His mouth crashed against hers with ten years of suppressed hunger, years where he’d memorized the shape of her lips and imagined this exact moment.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. She met him with equal fire, no breath between them.

Her arms locked around his neck, fingers buried in his hair, dragging him closer. She met him curve for line, all heat and friction wrapped in silk.

His hands slid down her arms. He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head. She arched into him, her breath catching hot against his jaw.

A puff of white powder stirred between them, rising like smoke from where their bodies met.

He lifted her against the elevator wall, her leg hooking around his hip as she wrapped around him as if they’d been made to fit together exactly this way.

Her pulse thudded under his lips as he dragged his mouth along the line of her throat. He grazed his teeth lightly at the edge of her jaw.

“Leonid—” she gasped, a low, animal sound.

“Ten years.” He spoke against her throat, every word a battle. “Ten years I’ve wanted you. Every. Damn. Day.”

“I know,” she whispered, her fingers locking in his hair. “I’ve wanted you just as long.”

The elevator chimed—a warning and the doors began to slide.

He slammed the button. The panel beeped, the doors re-opened.

He released her wrists, scooped her into his arms.

She clung to him like his touch was the only real thing left in the world—her mouth hot against his neck, her teeth nipping his skin in a way that nearly brought him to his knees.

Ten steps had never felt so endless.

Past the foyer. Down the hall. Into the bathroom.

Words were impossible.

He hit the power button and stepped into the walk-in shower, fully clothed. Hot water exploded from multiple jets, the sudden heat shocking against his skin.

Mist turned the glass opaque, turning the shower into their own private world.

Water drummed against the tile with a sound like distant thunder, drowning out everything but their ragged breathing.

His tuxedo wool turned heavy and clinging, her silk dress a second skin that left nothing to the imagination.

There was nothing but heat, sensation and her.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his kiss ferocious with need. He held her against him, his control splintering.

She panted into his mouth, nails digging into the back of his neck. He set her down gently, but his hands shook with restraint.

He slid his jacket off her shoulders—wet fabric surrendering her skin inch by inch. White dust streaked her arms, washed away in chalky ribbons that left her skin glowing under the spray.

He stripped off his shirt, tossed it to the floor. Goosebumps rose on the skin she’d yet to claim, but everywhere she’d touched burned. Every place her body pressed against his marked him.

He turned her gently by the shoulders, found the zipper of her dress and pulled it down slow.

The silk fell.

She stepped out of the fabric puddle and turned to face him, water streaming down her body in paths his eyes helplessly followed. Droplets glistened on her lips, gathered in the hollow of her throat.

Dark navy lace embraced every curve— drenched and nearly translucent. Her nipples peaked through the fabric, and his arousal spiked so hard it hurt.

Her Glock was still strapped to her thigh—stark and lethal against her soft skin. A reminder of exactly who she was. Independent, dangerous and magnificent.

When she unbuckled it and set it down, it wasn’t surrender—it was a choice. Her choice.

She stepped out of her heels.

That gun, that body. All of it. All of her.

Leo kicked off his shoes with violent impatience. When he reached for her again, his hands shook.

She was here.

Finally his. And he wasn’t letting her go.