She paused, biting her lower lip.
He knew what she was about to say. He wondered if she felt as torn as he did. If a part of her wished that maybe things could be different.
“While it’s not against DEA rules for us to get to know each other, we both know we were very close to crossing a line. That won’t happen again. It can’t happen again,” Jemma explained, her words spoken with a confident finality. “It’s in our best interests if no one finds out we were together two nights ago. It was a mistake.”
But she wasn’t torn, Rocco realized, and he couldn’t hide that he was pissed by how easily she could erase what happened between them. Not only would it never happen again, but he had to pretend it never happened. Trying to get to know Jemma better was pointless. His focus should be on dismantling drug cartels and not on sexy DEA supervisors. If she could put all this behind her so quickly, so could he.
Rocco crossed his arms over his chest. “I agree.”
“I’m happy we’re on the same page about this,” Jemma said. The tension in her body seemed to ease away. He saw a glimpse of the relaxed woman he’d drank rum with at the bistro table overlooking San Juan Bay.
“Are we?”
“Of course we are.” Jemma took a few steps back, increasing the distance between them. “Good luck with the rest of the tests, Agent Forrester.”
She turned toward the front door of the safe house.
“Supervisor Winters,” Rocco called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder at him.
Rocco tugged at the towel around his waist, making his rock-hard cock evident underneath the terrycloth. Jemma’s eyes rested on the bulge, her eyebrow raised.
“Some mistakes are inevitable.”
Chapter 11
Rum wouldn’t be enough.
Jemma pressed through the hordes of bodies crowded around the bar and waved a hand in front of the distracted bartender. The club’s atmosphere was a jumble of sensations—colorful lights painted patterns on dancing figures, the air thick with a mix of perfumes, and the infectious beats of the music thumped loudly.
“What can I get you?” He barely glanced at her as he put the finishing touches on six drinks lined along the bar in a neat row.
“Tequila shot. Salt but no lime,” Jemma said.
He paused for a second and stared at her with a hint of a smile.
“Rough day?” He asked as his gaze roamed over her.
“Rough week,” Jemma said, reflecting on her time in San Juan. The Proteus Team had taken Rocco through a brutal set of tests, all of which he’d passed with scores approaching the highest they’d ever seen since she’d created the program.
But Jemma hadn’t been around to see his results firsthand, and that had nothing to do with the fact that she found him damn near irresistible. The El Sombro operation was being fast-tracked, spurred by the need for another big takedown in the Caribbean.Despite a respectable number of convictions, they’d taken too many losses in the region.
With her boss breathing down her neck, she’d reviewed Cedric’s original plan for the op and found it severely lacking. Riddled with weaknesses that could be exploited and flaws that could put the UC at risk of being identified. She’d need to be directly involved in reworking the strategy for the operation if they were going to meet the aggressive timelines handed down to them from HQ.
She’d worked almost non-stop on the new plan for the past five days, but work wasn’t enough to keep Rocco from her mind. Now that the revised plan had gotten approval from the Proteus Deputy Agent in Charge, Jemma needed an escape. A distraction to erase her memories of Rocco, even if only for a few hours.
That was how she found herself in one of the most popular nightlife areas of San Juan, La Placita de Santurce. Navigating through the packed streets, she’d been lured by the music thumping from a club with a flashing neon sign that read Vieja Nueva. People poured out of the building, dancing, drinking, and losing themselves in the night.
Inside the club was what she needed. The crowds screamed along at the top of their lungs to each song played, barely able to move on the packed dance floor. An infectious energy swelled in the air. The carefree vibe was already easing the tension from her reckless attraction toward Rocco.
The bartender placed a salt-rimmed glass in front of her, filled with more than a double shot of tequila. “If there’s anything else I can do to make your night better than your week, let me know, okay, Mami?”
Now, it was her turn to gawk. The offer was tempting. He wasn’t very handsome, but his muscular physique made up for what he lacked in the looks department.
She should take him up on his offer.
Who was she kidding?
