Maybe this is why she likes him — the moment she thinks she has him sorted out, put into a neat little box, he says something or does something that throws all that to the wayside. Like when he drags her into an empty office, backing her up against the door once it’s closed with a look in his eyes that she recognizes all too well. Shivering, her hands land on his chest. She ought to pull him away. Ought to tell him to stay focused, keep his mind on the mission —

But he feels so good against her, body pressing her back against the wood, his heart beating fast against her palm. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been tracking him out of the corner of her eye — handsome in his black suit, enough that more than few spoiled wives had thrown him interested glances.

Her hands fist in his shirt, yanking him closer.

“You’re crazy,” she tells him, pulling him down so she can ghost a kiss across his lips. “And if we get caught and killed for this, I will kill you.”

Instead of telling him so, she works the top two buttons of his dress shirt, sliding one hand down his chest, his abs, to begin undoing the button of his pants. They won’t have time for much foreplay, not if they’re going to clean up and be back out there in time for their mark to arrive.