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.
Rocco hadn’t seen Jemma in five days.
The rest of the grueling test of his abilities had been performed without her watchful eye. As much as he tried to put her out of his mind, he found himself looking for her each day in case she showed up. But he knew she wouldn’t. They were dangerously close to plunging off a cliff into an abyss that shouldn’t be explored. He was too close to realizing his dream of being on the front lines of taking down a major cartel. He couldn’t let his libido ruin things for him.
Rocco stared down at his fifth, or was it his sixth, rum and coke and wondered why the liquor was having little impact on drowning his memories of Jemma. Purging an attraction was handled in only one way: fucking the woman’s brains out until he proved to himself that she wasn’t anything special after all. That was how it always turned out when he was consumed by a woman. It wouldn’t be different with Jemma if he could execute the purge.
Sadly, that would never be an option.
Crossing the line with the group supervisor of the team he wanted more than anything to join was reckless, which explained why his mind was playing tricks on him. He’d found a woman that was damn near close enough to fill the role. But would a Jemma substitute suffice?
He swallowed a mouthful of his drink, barely tasting it as he glanced across the dance floor.
The woman in the clingy yellow minidress stood out from the crowd. He wasn’t the only man in the room riveted by her radiating beauty and confidence. She appeared like a replica of Jemma, but the more he stared, the more he realized this woman was a step above his future handler. She was sexy and carefree, playful and teasing as she leaned against the bar and allowed herself to be ogled.
They were separated by the dance floor, but he could see the sheen of sweat coating her chocolate-brown skin. A solitary bead slid down the side of her face to her neck, then caressed its way between her sexy breasts. The trail paved a path for his tongue to follow, to revel in her salty sweetness before he pressed his face between her thick thighs.
Placing his empty tumbler in the bin of a passing busboy, Rocco made up his mind. He wasn’t going home alone. He was taking the woman in the yellow dress with him.
The other guys falling all over themselves for her attention were no competition. He’d caught her staring at him almost as much as he’d stared at her. It was time for him to end this madness and give in to what his body craved. All thoughts of Jemma were long gone.
Deciding against fighting through drunk dancers, Rocco walked along the perimeter of the dance floor. He lost sight of her a few times but knew she wouldn’t get far. Reaching the end of the bar, he pushed past a rowdy bachelorette party and set his sights on the woman.
Only a few feet away, the woman in the yellow dress was surrounded by the throngs. She danced, swayed, and rolled her body to the music, turning his dick into stone.
But he was too fucking late.
Tall, muscular, and dressed in a suit that likely cost Rocco’s monthly salary, a dark-haired man pushed against the woman in the yellow dress, tugging on her elbow as he whispered in her ear. She looked up at him, recognition in her eyes.
A former lover or, worse, a current boyfriend.
Rocco took a few steps away from the dance floor. His gaze followed the couple as the man led her toward the back of the club, probably for a quickie. He would give anything to trade places with that bastard right now. The woman in the yellow dress jerked her head around, eyes full of panic as if she was searching for someone.
And that’s when it struck him.
He stepped forward, staring at her.
She wasn’t a Jemma lookalike.
His heart thudded in his chest.
That was … Jemma.
And she needed him.