Page 17 of Undercover Hearts
"Nothing is interfering," Michelle snapped, her careful control fracturing visibly. "Except this conversation."
Jenna stepped closer, refusing to back down. "Your reaction today when I touched your thigh?—"
"Was concern about maintaining our cover appropriately," Michelle interrupted, color rising in her cheeks.
"No," Jenna countered gently. "It was attraction. I felt it. You felt it. And now you're angry because it complicates things."
The silence that followed felt charged with electricity. For a moment, Jenna thought Michelle might actually acknowledge the truth. Something vulnerable flickered across her face, a momentary lowering of defenses that revealed the struggle beneath her controlled exterior.
Then Michelle's expression hardened. "You're overstepping, Detective Walsh."
The formal address stung, but Jenna refused to be deterred. "Pretending this isn't happening won't make it go away."
"We're done here." Michelle gathered the last of the papers with controlled fury, clutching them against her chest like armor. "I suggest you remember why we're here and what's at stake."
With that, she strode toward her bedroom, back rigid with tension. The door slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the nearby bookshelf, leaving Jenna alone in the suddenly silent apartment.
Jenna exhaled slowly, the confrontation leaving her heart racing despite her outwardly calm demeanor. Michelle's reaction had only confirmed what she'd suspected; the attraction wasn't one-sided. But instead of clarity, that knowledge only complicated matters further.
She returned to the window, watching night claim the city fully. The disconnection felt jarring—ordinary life continuing in surrounding buildings while inside these walls, a battle of wills and emotions raged that might determine whether justice was served.
Their operation had just become significantly more complicated than either of them had anticipated.
She moved to the couch, sinking into its neutral-colored cushions with a sigh. The professional part of her mind—the detective trained to analyze situations dispassionately—was already evaluating options: leave Michelle to cool down overnight, maintain professional distance, focus on the case files, or pretend the attraction didn't exist.
The latter option would be the safer approach. The rational approach.
But Jenna had never been one to choose safety over truth. Her instincts as an undercover operative had always been to confront situations directly and to use emotional honesty as a tool, even when the circumstances were fabricated. And everything about this situation screamed for resolution before it compromised their cover or, worse, their safety.
She picked up her water glass, rolling it between her palms. Michelle's reaction had been disproportionate to a simple professional disagreement. The clenched jaw, the flushed cheeks, the barely controlled breathing—those weren't signs of professional frustration. They were indicators of someone fighting their own desires.
The more Michelle denied the attraction between them, the more powerful it seemed to become. Like a spring being compressed, the tension was only building. Eventually, it would release—potentially at the worst possible moment during their operation.
From Michelle's bedroom came the sound of drawers opening and closing with unnecessary force. More silent fury being channeled into mundane actions. More denial manifesting as anger.
"This isn't sustainable," Jenna murmured to herself.
She'd observed Michelle throughout the day at PWC headquarters—the subtle shifts in her breathing when they touched, the widening of her pupils, the way her hand had lingered just a moment too long at Jenna's waist. Every sign of attraction had been present, accompanied by Michelle's desperate attempt to suppress it.
That suppression was becoming dangerous. The operation required them to be physically and emotionally attuned to each other, anticipating reactions, communicating silently through touch and glance. They needed harmony, not this discordant tension that threatened to snap at any moment.
Jenna set down her glass, a decision forming. She would confront Michelle directly. Not as Detective Walsh challenging Captain Reyes, but as one woman speaking honestly to another about the chemistry that couldn't be denied. Clear the air, acknowledge the reality, then they could establish actual boundaries based on truth rather than fiction.
The silence from Michelle's room suddenly registered. The angry movement had stopped. Now there was…nothing. An absence of sound that felt deliberate and complete.
Jenna rose from the couch, moving quietly toward the hallway. She paused outside Michelle's door, listening. Something about the quality of the silence felt strange—too absolute, too controlled.
Then she heard it. A soft, barely audible sound from beyond the door. A caught breath, a restrained gasp quickly stifled.
Jenna froze, her detective's mind instantly processing what she was hearing. Her first thought was that Michelle might be crying—emotional release after their confrontation. But the rhythm of the breathing, the muffled quality of it...
Heat flooded Jenna's face as understanding dawned. Those weren't sounds of distress. They were sounds of pleasure being deliberately contained.
Michelle was touching herself.
The realization should have sent Jenna retreating to her own room, granting privacy to what was clearly an intensely personal moment. Professional boundaries demanded as much. Yet she remained rooted in place, heart racing as another soft gasp reached her ears. Michelle wasn't just fighting professional boundaries; she was fighting her own body's responses. And losing.
Jenna's hand hovered above the doorknob, a war of conscience raging within her. Walking away was the safe choice. The respectful choice. The choice that would preservetheir working relationship and maintain clear professional boundaries.