The bartender was a poor substitute for the man she wanted between her sheets.
The one she couldn’t have.
The tug to be near Rocco was strong.
It unsettled her as she struggled with the unfamiliar feelings.
Once her team finalized the test results, Jemma would review them and decide whether Rocco was a good fit for the op. After that, she was on a plane back to the States to manage the rest of the portfolio of operations under Proteus supervision.
In a matter of days, there would be thousands of miles between them.
Distance from the man was all she needed to get him out of her system. At least, she hoped that was the case.
She gave the bartender an appreciative nod of thanks, then downed the shot. The liquid burned its way down her throat, landing with an explosion in her stomach that set her body ablaze. A sheen of sweat coated her skin as the liquor took effect, loosening the tension that had gripped her.
She swiped along the rim and licked the salt from her fingers as she turned to face the dance floor. Jemma cursed under her breath. Blinking rapidly, she stared across the room at the man sitting alone at a high bar table in the shadows. He was partially obscured, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was Rocco.
He gripped a tumbler of amber liquid. Probably rum. He brought it to his mouth and took a slow sip. Her gaze drifted from his mouth up to his eyes.
Adrenaline blazed through her veins as she realized his eyes were trained in one direction.
Hers.
She didn’t have time to reconcile the questions bouncing in her mind. Had he been here the whole time? Was he watching her?
Jemma fumbled the glass and sat it back on the bar with a trembling hand. She dabbed at the wayward beads of sweat sliding down her neck. Did someone turn the air off in the place? She swore the temperature had increased by ten or fifteen degrees.
Or was it the lustful gaze in Rocco’s gorgeous brown eyes that had her body aflame?
She felt exposed in the overpriced, sexy yellow dress that left nothing to the imagination. Her club attire was apparently enough to make Rocco eye fuck her from across the room. He didn’t try to hide it. Like a predator locked on his prey, his stare devoured every inch of her body—from her breasts barely contained in the strapless dress to her curvy hips hugged by the tight fabric and her long, toned legs.
The intensity of his gaze made it impossible to ignore the chemistry blazing across the packed club between them. What had started as casual flirting when they first shared a drink over sunset was now uninhibited passion and desire.
Butterflies erupted in her stomach, and warmth pooled between her thighs. Fuck if he wasn’t making her feel like the only woman in the room. The only one worthy of his full and undivided attention. Attention that had more than a few women in the club staring daggers at her. And damn it, if she didn’t love how that made her feel. Even if only for a few drunken moments.
That’s all it could ever be.
The only way to break this pull toward Rocco was to ignore him. She tore her eyes away from him, placed her crossbody purse over her shoulder, and pivoted toward the dance floor. With the thumping music and cramped bodies, there was no way Rocco could keep sight of her. She’d blend into the gyrating throngs and then wait for the perfect opportunity to disappear. If she couldn’t give Rocco the slip, she didn’t deserve the job she’d had for the past decade.
Pushing her way onto the dance floor, she swerved and gyrated to the music, dancing between eager men as she slipped deeper into the crowd. Bodies bumped against hers, hands groped her ass and hips, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was putting as much distance between herself and Rocco Forrester.
He was absolutely off-limits.
A hand gripped her elbow, and she froze.
She didn’t think Rocco would follow her onto the dance floor, but she was wrong. Turning slowly, a wave of disappointment flooded her, followed by a bone-chilling fear.
Dark, cold eyes stared back at her. The brooding hulk of a man leaned toward her and spoke in a deep baritone that was too familiar.
“Bienvenida a casa, preciosa.”
Chapter 12
There was celebrating, and then there was drinking so fucking much that Rocco had conjured visions that couldn’t possibly be true. He stood in the shadows watching her, separated by a sea of undulating bodies on the dance floor. His heartbeat synced with the rapid beats of the reggaeton music.
She stood at the bar in clingy yellow fabric that he supposed was enough to be considered a dress. The edges barely covered her giant tits at the top and hugged the curves of her ass at the bottom. The slightest bend in one direction or the other would reveal a sight every man in the club was dying to see.
But the desire was much stronger for him because she was a dead ringer for Jemma Winters. His cock throbbed in his pants at the possibility, even though he knew it wasn’t her.
