Page 40 of The Gentleman

“You hid it well.”

“Did I? I thought my heart was going to beat straight through my body armor.” She turned to look at him. “And your charming teammate—Rook. What a piece of work.”

He smiled despite himself. “James has a unique approach to interpersonal relations.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Her laugh slipped out, warm and unexpected, sliding under his skin like silk. “What happened to him?”

“Runs a robotics firm now. High-end stuff. Military contracts.” Leo poured another splash of vodka. “Still lethal—just wears better suits. Still signs his messages:Trust no one. Especially me.”

“We were supposed to meet after.” Her voice softened. “Waffles and ice cream.”

His heart hit his ribs. “I got pulled for another op. Rook’s call, not mine.”

“Would you have come if it had been yours?”

He looked at her then. “Yes.”

She took the glass again. This time, her fingers lingered on his.

The vodka vanished in one swallow.

“That’s strong,” she said, a little breathless.

“Russian vodka,” he murmured. “Not for the faint-hearted.”

She set the empty glass on the table beside them. “I’ve never been accused of being faint-hearted.”

“No,” Leo agreed, unable to tear his gaze away from her. “You haven’t.”

Silence stretched—thick with everything unspoken.

The wind stirred, and she shivered.

“You should try to sleep,” he said, though every part of him ached to pull her close instead. “Tomorrow will be complicated.”

Kat looked up, city lights glinting in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Her voice wavered on the admission. Cool fingers found his, gripping tight. “Stay with me?”

So much flickered across her face—uncertainty, resolve, vulnerability—all in a single breath. The smart thing would be to say no.

“Just for a while,” she added. Her pulse fluttered where his touch skimmed her inner wrist.

“Sure.” He followed her inside, to the wide sectional sofa in the living room. She curled into the corner, legs tucked beneath her. Leo sat close but maintaining a careful distance.

She moved first, shifting until her thigh brushed his, her shoulder against his arm. The hem of his sweater slipped higher, revealing the soft line of her thigh.

Her warmth bled into him, quiet and inescapable.

He hadn’t let anyone this close in years. Not like this. Not where it mattered.

After a heartbeat’s hesitation, he lifted his arm. She nestled beneath it like she knew the shape of his silence.

He reached for the throw blanket and draped it over them both.

Her head found its place on his chest, one hand resting gently over his heart. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her there, breathing her in. The clean scent of soap and sleep clung to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his shirt.

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