“Some … man?” Rocco’s laugh was pained, without mirth. He stumbled back, increasing the distance between them. “Yeah, I will back off. Because you don’t need anyone, do you, Jemma? It was stupid of me to try.”
“Rocco, that’s not what I mean.”
“That is what you meant,” Rocco said. His brown eyes clouded with sadness. “I respect your decision. I won’t ask to help you again.” He walked past her toward the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” Jemma scrambled from the couch to follow him.
“I need some time to think.” He wouldn’t look at her.
“This doesn’t change my feelings for you. You know that, right? Nothing between us changes.”
Rocco shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Everything between us has changed.”
With those dire words, Rocco walked out the door, leaving her alone.
Chapter 43
“Shot glass or the bottle?” Dante asked, holding up a bottle of tequila in one hand and a tumbler in the other.
“That’s not a shot glass.” Rocco shook his head.
“We’re men, not boys. This is a true shot,” Dante declared, then said, “Pick one.” He alternated pushing each hand toward Rocco.
“Bottle.” Rocco snatched it, popped the cork, and took a long swig of the smooth tequila. After sleeping at the clinic following his blow-up with Jemma last night, he needed a friend to talk to. His first thought had been Everett, but his friend was still pissed at him for using Stingray to get intel for the cartel. Rocco was in no mood for lectures, especially since Everett didn’t know he was still one of the good guys.
That left Dante, who welcomed him with an open house and all the liquor he’d need to numb the raging emotions boiling through him since Jemma pushed him away.
The damn woman was so infuriating. He understood and respected her toughness. She was one of the best damn DEA agents. Capable of taking on any challenge. She’d proven that skill set year after year with Proteus operations. But the guy in that photo wasn’twork. This was a personal war waged against her. Maybe she hadn’t had a man to rely on and depend on in the past, but things were different now. He needed her to believe and trust that while she could tackle this demon alone, she didn’t have to. She never had to face anything in her life alone again. That’s how much she meant to him.
And when he made that clear, she threw his desire back in his face like it was an insult. Who the fuck did that to someone who cared? He thought about his parents supporting each other through the challenges of running a clinic in Puerto Rico. They always had each other’s back and turned to each other first for help. It’s what he’d seen his whole life and what he’d wanted to offer to Jemma.
But that’s not what she wanted at all.
He wasn’t sure he could be with a woman whose first instinct was to push people away and handle problems on alone. He already felt like he needed Jemma. But she didn’t feel the same way about him. Maybe that was a sign that things between them weren’t as good as he thought.
“The Two Carlas told me you slept at the clinic overnight. What the fuck did you do to make that beautiful woman of yours kick you out?”
“The Two Carlas need to mind their own business and stay out of mine.” Rocco took another swallow of the liquor and allowed the warmth to ooze through his tense muscles. He had slept like shit without Jemma in his arms.
“Trouble in paradise?”
Rocco said, “A guy from her past showed up, and she won’t tell me what’s going on. She doesn’t want me to get involved. Insists it’s no big deal, and she can handle it.”
“Maybe she can, but why should she? You’re well-connected now. I could make the fucker disappear for good. Why should she deal with that stress?” Dante asked.
“That was my point,” Rocco said, then drank more tequila. “All I want to do is help her, but she won’t let me. She doesn’t trust me. Wants to fight every fucking battle by herself.”
Dante asked, “You think she’s hiding something? Maybe they are still involved.”
Rocco paused, reflecting on the photos. Seeing a picture of Jemma kissing another man should’ve sparked jealousy or anger, but all he saw was his woman in trouble. But he never believed she wanted the kiss.
As he swiped through the rest of the photos, he recognized the guy as the same man who attacked her in the club in La Placita. Then he’d looked at the picture of the kiss again, studying it for signs of what he knew in his heart. He’d found them—the frown creasing Jemma’s forehead, the tension in her neck, her hands in a pushing motion. She hadn’t wanted to kiss that bastard. He’d forced his mouth onto hers.
“They aren’t involved anymore,” Rocco responded. “But it’s clear she’s hiding something about their past relationship. She doesn’t want me to know, and it’s killing me. I want to protect her.”
“Maybe she’s trying to protect you from the guy. She might be worried you’d get hurt,” Dante surmised. “It’s kinda sweet, actually.”
“Whose side are you on?”
