Page 42 of Mission Shift

Braxton squeezed my hand and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“Hey, whatever it is, let it go,” he demanded softly. “You’ve got plenty of time to solve the world’s problems.”

I glanced up at him, still lost in my head, still thinking about things I had no business dwelling on. But his warm brown eyes held steady on me in a way that made my chest tighten. I exhaled and nodded, forcing myself to refocus.

He didn’t let go of my hand. “So, when do you think it’ll be safe to contact someone to get us the hell out of here?”

Once more, I turned to the horizon and scanned the distant rooftops that were barely visible through the haze. “We wait until we’re closer to town. More people, more places to hide if we need to. The second we turn on a phone or send a signal, we’ll light up like a beacon. I’d rather not make it easy for them.”

Braxton nodded, his expression becoming serious again. But after a few moments, he sighed and shook his head. “All right. In that case, let’s kill some time.”

I eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

His lips curled into a lazy smirk. “What’s your favorite color?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Your favorite color.”

I huffed a laugh. “That’s…random.”

“Humor me.”

After a moment of hesitation, I shrugged and said, “Pink.”

Braxton snorted, his grin widening. “Pink? You mean to tell me that a badass Russian spy, trained killer, and world-class saboteur likes the most girlie color on the spectrum?”

I arched a brow. “Just because I work in aman’s world,that doesn’t mean I have to forgo my femininity.”

Braxton held up his other hand in mock surrender. “Fair point.”

We walked in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. “Okay, next question. Favorite food?”

I shook my head. “Impossible question.”

“Why?”

“Because I love too many things. But…” I smirked slightly. “I do have quite a sweet tooth.”

Braxton gasped dramatically. “No way. I totally had you pegged as aWagyu and mushroom risotto with rosemary and Asiagotype of girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “Although that sounds delicious, I amnotpretentious.”

Braxton barked out a laugh. “Definitely not. You’re probably the most pragmatic person I’ve ever met.”

In one smooth move, he let go of my hand, slid his palm up my back, gripped the back of my neck, and pulled me in for a hard kiss, stopping us in our tracks. God, this man could kiss. Wet heat surged between my thighs.

When he finally broke away, that infuriating grin of his was waiting for me—the one I hated, the one I couldn’t get enough of. Then, as if to prove a point, he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, took my hand again, and resumed walking like nothing had happened.

It wasn’t the move itself—I’d been kissed many times by other men, most of them with far less honorable intentions. No, it was thewayhe’d done it. Casual, effortless, like it meant nothing andeverythingat the same time.

I frowned at him in confusion, but he just smiled broader.

Before I could analyze it, he threw another question at me. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this fifty questions?”

“Obviously.” He grinned. “Are all Russians this reluctant to share personal details?”

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