Page 31 of Code Name: Grit

The connection went silent, leaving us alone in the dimly lit apartment. His arm loosened but didn’t fall away completely.

“We should go,” I said quietly, though I stood still.

One hand drifted to my hip. “Yes, we should.”

Neither of us moved for several heartbeats. When I finally turned to face him, our proximity stole my breath. The intensity in his eyes mirrored something I’d spent my life avoiding.

“Lumi…” The way he said my name sent heat cascading through me.

His phone buzzed with a message, once again shattering the moment. I almost ignored it until I saw it was from Dragon.

The surveillance team has footage of Keller at one of the Belcastro warehouses, apparently conducting an inspection.

Was that the same shipment that had been directed away from a route we knew was under DOJ surveillance? Keller certainly wouldn’t be there under the Justice Department’s behalf. Unless he was playing both sides against the middle.

“Tank confirmed they’re shutting down for the night. Let’s pack up.” Reality crashed back as Grit released me and stepped away.

The return tripto our hotel was filled with weighted silence, each flash of light we passed illuminated Grit’s profile beside me—jaw tight, eyes focused on the road ahead.

Once inside the suite, I moved to the window while Grit secured the door. The tension that had been building between us all day crackled in the air.

“You’re reckless,” he finally said, his voice low.

I turned to face him. “And you’re too cautious.”

“I’m responsible.”

“For the mission,” I countered. “Not for me.”

He crossed the room in three strides, stopping right in front of me. “Those aren’t separate things anymore.”

“We have different approaches,” I said, raising my chin. “I spent my life learning to act immediately. Not wait.”

“And I’ve spent mine learning that calculated patience saves lives,” he countered.

I studied his face, seeing the shadows of past regrets in his eyes.

“Sometimes, hesitation can cost us everything.”

His expression tightened. “Experience is a brutal teacher.”

“I know,” I said softly. “How can we find middle ground?”

He laced his fingers with mine and brushed my hair from my face with his free hand. “We have it. We balance each other.”

“You get very annoyed with me.”

His eyes darkened. “It isn’t annoyance.”

My heart thundered in my chest. “What is it, then?”

Instead of answering, he pulled me against him, his mouth finding mine with an urgency that ignited every nerve ending. Gone was the tentative exploration of our previous kisses—this was hunger and need and the release of tension that had been building for days.

I pressed closer, my hands sliding beneath his jacket to feel the heat of him through his shirt. His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the connection. When his hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt to trace the bare skin of my lower back, I gasped against his mouth.

The sound jarred him, and he pulled away. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I managed, my own breath coming in short bursts.

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