The Intelligence Unit Series

Camila turned toward her brother, her frown dialed up to ten. "I'm having a drink and a great conversation. Not that it's any of your business." Seriously, Matteo was overprotective-he was a detective, swore it was mostly habit, blah blah-but this was over the top, even for him. Matteo nailed Roman with a glare. "I meant you. What the hell are you doing with my sister?"

Roman's eyes went wide for the briefest second before shuttering to something unreadable. "Your sister."

"Yes. Camila is my sister."

Roman's expression made it clear that he'd had no idea she and Matteo were related. Not that it mattered.

"I'm also standing-and I cannot emphasize this enough-right here," Camila bit out. "Seriously, Matteo. What is wrong with you?"

Roman straightened on his bar stool, looking at Camila as he said, "I worked with your brother on Delia's case. We don't, ah, exactly get along."

Right. Delia had mentioned something to that effect when she'd given Camila the rundown on everything that had happened. Something about a fight over jurisdiction and Matteo having trust issues when it came to Delia's safety, which Camila understood to a point, since Matteo was crazy in love with her. Still... "That's between the two of you, and it certainly doesn't have any bearing on whether or not Roman and I have a drink together."

"Camila-"

"Nope." She held up a hand. For God's sake, she was thirty years old. Her family might all still see her as the baby (and treat her accordingly) but Matteo had crossed a line. "You two can dislike each other all you want, but I'm a grown adult. This isn't up for debate." Matteo let out a breath, his jaw unclenching. "Fine. But I'll be right over there"-he nodded at a nearby bar table, where a few of his fellow detectives were sitting-"if you need anything."

Camila didn't trust herself to respond with anything she wouldn't regret, so she settled for crossing her arms over her chest as Matteo gave Roman one last frown, then walked away. Roman remained as quiet as he had during the exchange, and oh, hell. She might as well get this over with.

"It's fine if you want to run far, far away from me now. I won't take it personally."

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and stayed put. "On the contrary. The way you stood up to your brother made me like you even more."

Relief spilled through Camila's chest, but she still felt like some damage control was in order. "My family is extremely tight-knit. I'm the youngest of five, and Matteo and I are closest in age. He's always been overprotective. He's not usually that bad, but..." "It doesn't help that he and I aren't exactly friends."

A laugh huffed out of her. "That feels like a pretty big understatement."

"Maybe." Roman hid his expression in his beer, and God, he was tough to read. "But I get the impression that you can hold your own. Anyway, I'm not afraid of your brother."

"Another thing we have in common." Camila smiled, her heart tripping faster. "Don't look now, but we're kind of rocking this truce."

His smile caught her completely off guard, leaving her a little breathless. "I'm still not conceding."

Camila was saved from having to come up with a response (thank God, because really? Her hormones were on fire right now) by the sound of Detective Addison Hale's voice filtering down from the speakers.

"Good evening, trivia fans!" Addison waved at everyone in the bar area from her spot on what usually served as a dance floor. Tonight, there were two tables set up on a makeshift stage, and Addison stood between them. "We've got five minutes before tonight's big showdown between Team Delia"-she waited out the cheers and whistles before continuing-"and Team Capelli." More cheers went up for the other team captain, who was also the Intelligence Unit's tech and surveillance expert. "So, grab a seat and your favorite drink and get ready for some fun. Trivia team members, please come up to the stage."

Camila looked at Roman, who she knew was on Delia's team. "Looks like we'll have to table our argument for later."

It was the perfect out. God knew flirting with the little sister of his nemesis probably wasn't on Roman's agenda.

But rather than taking the opportunity to give her some vague "see ya around," he said, "I'm counting on it. Like I said, I'm very good at winning, and I don't intend to let you off easy."

THERE WAS A BETTER than average chance that Roman had lost his damn mind. His brain, being the logical organ that it was, knew this. But the rest of him wasn't heeding any of the warnings his brain was pumping out, namely that flirting with Camila had been a bad idea before he'd realized she was Garza's sister. Not that he cared about pissing the guy off-he'd unlocked that achievement months ago. But still, it was the cherry on top of all the reasons why he had no business giving in to the spark he felt whenever Camila aimed her smile at him.

He didn't want to get started on the flat-out fire she'd ignited inside of him when she'd stood up to her brother.

Christ, this was stupid, he thought as he made his way to the stage. They'd had one conversation. Yeah, he'd felt sparks, and more yeah, that hadn't happened in five years. But he was overthinking it. He could spend one night in Camila Garza's presence without losing his f*****g composure.

Roman met Delia on the stage, where she'd taken the middle seat of three at the table beneath a banner reading "Team Delia." "Oh, good, you're here," she said, gesturing to the blond, white guy on her left. "This is Jonah Sheridan. Jonah, this is Kai Roman." Jonah, who looked like he was either a model or a movie star, extended a hand. "Great to meet you." "You, too."

Delia nodded, her smile becoming all business. "Okay, we only have a few minutes to talk strategy. I made a spreadsheet of each of our core strengths. I think I've got most of the categories covered, but, of course, we can adjust depending on the difficulty of the questions." She passed each of them a three-page spreadsheet that was, in a shock to no one, color-coded. Jonah turned out to be a trauma surgeon, covering a lot of ground in science and medicine. He also had five-year-old twins, so score one for a huge subset of pop culture Roman had no handle on whatsoever. Jonah's wife, Natalie, was also a surgeon, and unfortunately on Team Capelli, along with hockey star Finn Donnelly. But between Delia's obvious affinity for numbers and Roman's penchant for memorizing facts he'd probably never need unless he'd been asked to join a trivia team, the playing field was pretty even, and anyway, Roman was competitive to a fault.

Whether it was taking down criminals, battling for jurisdiction on a case, or Trivia Night at the Double Shot, he didn't lose.

Detective Hale, who Roman had also worked with on Delia's case, got the crowd's attention and introduced both teams, then outlined the rules. Out of the corner of his eye, Roman caught sight of Camila, who had claimed a spot at the Intelligence Unit's table. She was still giving her brother a partial cold shoulder, if her body language was anything to go by-and he'd learned as a rookie agent that it always was. But she cheered and whistled as Delia's team was announced, her affection for her best friend so honest and wide open that something stirred in Roman's gut.

For the sake of propriety-and also sanity, because WTAF-he stuffed it down in favor of concentrating on the matter at hand. The trivia questions came fast and furious, demanding all of his attention, and he jumped right into the zone. Both teams traded correct answers for about ten minutes before Capelli, whose brain was like a crazy, gigantic warehouse of information, went on a hot streak in back-to-back categories. Then Finn beat them to the buzzer in every question in the sports history category, and Roman got good and determined to make a comeback. He swept the next three categories, which would've clinched things if Capelli hadn't pulled a random fact about the Great Lakes out of what had to have been either his a*s or thin air. Delia rallied in the final category, though- thank God, because Roman's knowledge of Greek mythology was admittedly limited-taking the category and giving them the win. Camila whistled and cheered, her face lit with happiness as she came over to hug Delia, and Roman took his cue to pull back to the outskirts of the group. With the last question having been asked and the winners being crowned, everyone started migrating back toward the large table where the Intelligence Unit detectives had all set up camp.

Roman used the natural flow to slip to the bar for one last beer. From his vantage point on the outside looking in, he was able to watch the group of friends as they hugged and laughed and toasted each other. The dynamic was one he hadn't experienced in years, the camaraderie as foreign to him as a long-dead language. Capelli, his girlfriend Shae, Garza, Delia-who were now kissing, much to Camila's obvious disdain-they shared something far deeper than friendship. Roman knew that sort of closeness, and all the emotions that went with it, weren't for him. He was far safer without it. In fact, maybe he should just close out his tab and go.

He aimed his stare at the door to calculate a path through the throng of people between him and the exit. But then, his eyes landed directly on Camila, and all of a sudden his feet were moving.

Just not toward the door.

Roman reached the group just in time to hear Delia make mention of moving in with Garza a month ago. Detective Shawn Maxwell, a big guy covered in as many muscles as tattoos, made a show of rubbing his shoulders and laughed. "How could we forget? I think I'm still sore from helping you move."

Roman recognized the gripe as the sort of good-natured shit that cops and agents usually dished out to their unit-mates when they were close, and Delia hammered home the lighthearted tone of the conversation with a smile. "Of course we asked you to help us move. You're one of our closest friends."

"And strongest," Garza put in. "Let's face it. No way was I moving that couch without your brawn, dude."

"Somehow, I feel like I should be offended by that," Roman said, surprising everyone in the group, including himself. He hadn't meant to insert himself into the conversation. For Chrissake, he hadn't meant to return to the group at all. But then Camila laughed and rolled her eyes playfully, breaking the tension in an instant. "I feel like you live to be offended," she said, her smile so pretty that Roman had no choice but to smile back.

"And I feel like you need to lose at darts."

The challenge had vaulted past his lips before he could kill-switch it. But he'd had a good time so far tonight, glaring looks from Garza notwithstanding. Plus, the way Camila was looking at him right now was worth it. "Wait a sec." Her black brows went up. "Are you challenging me?"

"Well, if you don't think you can handle it..." Roman shrugged, and Capelli's girlfriend, Shae, let out a low whistle.

But Camila didn't blink. "Oh, it's so freaking on right now," she said, turning toward the game alcove on the other side of the bar.

Roman's gaze lingered on Camila's swagger-filled, swivel-hipped walk for just a beat before he impulsively murmured, "Yeah, it is," and turned to follow her.

Garza, of course, was hot on their heels, with Delia hot on his. But not even the surly detective could wreck Roman's mood. He and Camila played a game of darts (he won), then another (she took that one by a hair). Somewhere between games one and two and a lot of pointed glances from his sister, Garza had finally drifted away from the game alcove, leaving Roman and Camila to themselves. They shared some easy conversation as they played, which consisted mostly of smack talk and more flirting. Between the high of winning trivia and the electric thrill of flirting with Camila, Roman felt happy and loose. After she won the second game of darts-and openly celebrated by throwing her hands in the air and crowing "yesssss!" in the cutest way possible-she sat down beside him in one of the semi-private circular booths surrounding the game alcove.

"You know," she said, her face flushed with a pretty glow and her smile bright, "I think we may have been going about this all wrong."

Roman felt the heat of her body in no less than a dozen places, and wanted it in about a dozen more. "How's that?"

"We seem pretty good at this truce thing. Maybe we'd make a good team."

A twinge unspooled in his chest, but he tried to ignore it. "So, does that mean you're finally conceding?"

Camila surprised him with, "That depends."

"On?"

Her lashes swept low, shuttering her stare as it dropped to his mouth. "Whether or not we kiss and make up."

Instinct dared him to close the slight space between them to kiss her, his pulse slamming with every wild, fast beat. The booth was secluded and the crowd had waned enough that he could give her what she was asking for without an audience. But Roman didn't just want to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her and not stop. He wanted to take her home and strip her bare and make her come a thousand different ways. He wanted to taste and tease and take, then let her do the taking, giving her everything she could possibly want until they were both completely spent.

Roman didn't just want Camila for a night. He liked her.

And that was far more dangerous than anything he'd ever face in the field.

He needed to get out of here.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice loaded with gravel as he pulled back. "I don't...I can't-"

"Oh." Her face flushed, her gaze dipping from his. "God. Right. Of course."

F**k, he hated the look on her face almost as much as the fact that he'd been the one to put it there. "I'm really sorry," he repeated.

"Me, too."

Camila's whisper nearly crushed his defenses. But one night of flirting with her had given him more feelings than he'd had in the last five years. He could not, under any circumstances, get closer to this woman.

Doing so would ruin him. So Roman did the only thing he could.

He slid out of the booth and walked away.