She was deliciously exquisite.
Hadn’t aged a day in three years.
More beautiful than he remembered.
He unraveled as he stared into her dark brown eyes.
Wearing a lavender strapless dress that stopped mid-thigh, her fingers played with the honey-highlighted ends of her hair as she stared back at him. A flirty glint in her eye that belied the seriousness of this exchange. He wanted her, maybe more now thanhe ever did back then. The passage of time had proven she was a more rare find than he’d realized, the kind of woman he couldn’t forget.
“I can take you up there if you'd like. It’s hard to find from here,” Jemma offered, her voice hinting at something Rocco couldn't place.
Rocco nodded, trying to maintain his composure. "Appreciate that. The guy normally at this stall has excellent fruit. Some of the best on the island. I buy from him a bit. Damn shame he’s not here."
“I overheard some folks in the other stalls talking about the fruit guy.” She made air quotes with manicured lavender nails, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “They said he was in some kind of altercation and got shot.”
"Shot? Seriously?" Rocco’s voice edged with concern, his mind racing with the implications.
"Nothing life-threatening, but he won’t be back anytime soon.” Jemma's voice was light, but her eyes were grave as they held his.
“So, I’ll need to find someone new to buy fruit from.” Rocco scanned the market, trying to read between the lines of their conversation. Operating without a handler would pause the entire mission at the worst possible time. Right when he had a chance to get evidence that could lead to arrests of key members of the Sombro Cartel.
“Yes.”
"Well, the lady in his spot won’t make my shortlist." Rocco glanced back in disdain at the rotund woman hawking bruised fruit.
Jemma's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.
Rocco's curiosity piqued. “Are you taking me to this new farmer’s stall?
Jemma turned, her dress swaying gently. She graced him with a breathtaking smile, lips shimmering invitingly.
The idea of kissing her clouded his already muddled thoughts.
“I am the new farmer,” she said.
Jemma continued to walk through the packed stalls, but Rocco stopped moving. His heart pounded in his chest as he deciphered their cryptic discussion. Tank had been shot and could no longer provide handler duties, so Jemma was stepping in for him. He’d be working with Jemma going forward to take down El Sombro?
How the hell was he going to resist the dark beauty if she was stepping in to be his new handler?
He was fucked.
Chapter 22
Jemma stood next to a large boulder at the edge of the cliffside. The sea below roared, drowning out the distant laughter and chatter from the farmers' market. She squinted against the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. The sea breeze was relentless, blowing hair across her face in wild arcs. She brushed the strands away, a momentary shield against the onslaught of emotions Rocco's presence stirred in her.
Rocco sat on the boulder, his posture relaxed and calm. She envied his ability to remain unfazed in the most chaotic situations. The swap of handlers had to be seamless. But the arrangement would be different than Rocco expected. She wasn’t sure how he’d react. Being in Dajabon was critical for her to take on Nomar when he emerged from whatever pit of hell he was hiding in. Jemma would never get a better chance than the one she had now to end things once and for all with Nomar.
"Are you sure it’s safe to talk out here?" Her voice barely carried over the sound of the waves.
"Yeah. Tank, and I do it all the time.”
An emotion flickered in his espresso eyes, making her feelvulnerable and exposed. Like he could see into her soul. He might not like what he saw if he looked deep enough.
“Sometimes we discuss details of the op, and other times we just talk. Never raised any suspicions with anyone.” He dragged a hand slowly down his handsome face. “Is Tank okay?" He shifted on the boulder, an unspoken invitation to join him, but she remained standing, afraid of the proximity.
“Not yet, but he will be.”
“What happened?”
