The undercover gig wasn’t your first, but it had been a long time since one dragged out for weeks. Most of the time it was in-and-out—slip in, get the intel, slip out before anyone could blink. But this one was different.

Price approved it, and even though Simon didn’t like it—his exact words had been "Don’t like throwin’ you in with this lot"—you weren’t a rookie anymore. And maybe that was why he let it happen. That, and the fact you’d never been scared off by his gruff, closed-off way of talking.

The operation had an unexpected twist: the man you needed to get close to had a certain… resemblance to Simon. With the right makeup, a fake beard, and a different haircut, he could pass for the man’s brother. That made the cover story easy—a small-time dealer and his girlfriend, both too wrapped up in each other to notice trouble coming.

There’d been that moment before the mission, the one neither of you had talked about since—practice kisses to make it look real later. It had been short, but something unspoken had passed between you, heavy enough to leave a mark.

Now, on the private plane with your targets, Simon played his part perfectly. Leaned back, casual, letting them talk business while his arm rested along the back of your seat. You laughed at things that weren’t funny. Your hand stayed hooked in his shirt like you couldn’t keep from touching him.

But then something in their conversation shifted—an address, a date, a mention of someone Price had been after for months. The kind of thing you couldn’t ignore. You tugged on Simon’s arm and murmured, “Bathroom,” tilting your head just enough for him to follow your lead.

To the gangsters, it probably looked like you couldn’t wait to sneak off together. Inside the tiny, cramped airplane lavatory, the air smelled faintly of jet fuel and cheap cologne. Simon shut the door behind you, his frame taking up most of the space.

You kept your voice low. “They mentioned Redwater. Price said he vanished last year.”

Simon’s eyes flickered with understanding. “Means he’s workin’ with them. Could change the whole op.”

You traded quick, clipped whispers, piecing together what it meant and how to adjust without spooking anyone. You were still mid-sentence when a sharp knock rattled the door.

“Oi, lovebirds,” one of the men called. “Plane’s landing. Speed it up!”

You and Simon froze. Then, as you reached for the handle, something clicked in your mind.

“Wait,” you whispered, catching his arm. “We’re supposed to look like we’ve been hooking up.”

Before he could reply, you rose on your toes and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t planned—not like the one before the mission. This was heat and urgency, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as his hand found the side of your face. The low hum of the plane seemed to vanish, replaced by the quiet thrum of his breath against yours.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch. His mouth moved with yours like it had been waiting for an excuse. When you pulled back, you were both a little short of breath. His eyes caught yours—steady, unreadable at first, but with something beneath it. Something warm.

Neither of you said a word as you stepped back into the cabin. The gangsters smirked knowingly, one of them muttering something under his breath in Spanish that made the others laugh.

The plane touched down, and the rest of the trip passed in a blur—customs, a hired car, and the dim, smoky streets outside the hotel.

Inside your room, you dropped your bag on the bed and started going over the mission in your head, trying to ignore how aware you still were of him.

Simon lingered near the door for a moment, then shut it behind him.

“We need to talk about that,” he said, his voice low.

You turned to face him, heart beating harder than it should. “About the mission?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “No. About the kiss.”