“A long while. I’ll melt in here before they do.”
“Water’s hot?” He reached down by her feet and dipped his hand under the bubbles, his fingertips skimming her ankle. He pulled his hand out again. “Hot.”
“I thought I’d search your place since you searched mine. I got this far.” She kicked up a foot a little, the water swirling, the bubbles shifting. “Funny that the weight room didn’t distract me. A bath or a bench press. Hmm. Let me think.”
“You’re done talking Rembrandt with your brother?”
“For now.” From her vantage point, she could see that he was already aroused under his dark canvas pants. Between the bathwater and him, she was feeling the heat. “We think it could be an early version of a similar painting Rembrandt did of Saint Matthew.”
“Another saint.” Colin sat on the edge of the tub, leaning back and stretching one long leg in front of him. “Your grandfather could have known about the Rembrandt before Claire’s death.”
“He’d remember.”
“She asked him about authenticating paintings. What if he realized she had a genuine Rembrandt on her hands and tricked her into selling it to him?”
“If you believed that, you’d never have walked in here.”
“You’re not a hothead, are you?”
Emma didn’t answer, just slid down deeper into the water. “I’m in the tub now to relax and put these things out of my mind.”
“You’re in the tub because you knew I’d be coming back here soon and would find you.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Or you hoped.”
“I checked in with Yank. I think he regrets putting you on my case. He doesn’t want responsibility for either of us.” She kept herself concealed under the mass of bubbles. “The tension between you two complicates my situation.”
“Yank’s a tense man. He trusts me,” Colin said. “He’s just mad because he thinks I did an end run around him.”
“When he tried to pull you off the Vladimir Bulgov investigation.”
“I don’t talk about my work.”
“At all, or only when there are bath bubbles in the vicinity?” Emma didn’t know how much longer she could stand being in the hot water, with her pulse racing, her blood rushing.
“It took all of us to get Bulgov. Including you,” Colin said.
“I just discovered he was interested in a Picasso.”
“Maybe that was the critical piece of information that led to his arrest.”
“What if Vlad turned you and you’re the thief? What if you’ve been playing us all along?”
“I guess that’s fair since I made that crack about your grandfather, but you wouldn’t want to sleep with me if you believed I was a thief and a killer.” He leaned forward, lowering his foot back to the floor and, with one finger, flicked bubbles off her chin. “Would you, Emma?”
“They say you ghost agents have unerring instincts.”
He grinned at her. “Unerring. What kind of word is that?” He touched two fingers to her hair. The ends were wet, dripping onto her shoulders. “Bubbles in your hair, too. Damn. Bubbles everywhere.”
“I might have gotten a little carried away.”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t come this soon?”
She faked an exaggerated yawn. “Chances are you’d have found me in your bed.”
Colin shook bubbles off his hand, then reached over and flipped the plug on the tub. “No pillow barrier tonight,” he said. “No cot in the attic. No sofa bed.”
“I thought you might say that. As impatient and restless as you are, I figured I’d cut to the chase and—”
“Get naked?”
His husky voice and the spark of amusement in his eyes fired her senses. “Well. I didn’t get in the tub in my jeans and boots.”
He stood, reaching for the towel. “What are you going to do about how restless and impatient you are?”
“Me? I have endless patience. I know how to meditate, reflect.”
“You’re going to get cold fast with no water in the tub.”
Emma was getting cold already. The hot water drained around her. Bubbles collected strategically on her pink skin, but they’d disappear and the porcelain would turn cold in no time. “Are you going to give me my towel?”
“Sure thing.” Colin shook out the towel and draped it over her as the last of the water circled out of the tub, exposing her wet, overheated skin to the chilly air. “I’d turn on the heat, but…probably no need.”
He tucked the towel around her and swept her into his arms, lifting her out of the tub. Twice in a row, Emma thought dreamily. Last night and now tonight she’d been in his arms. How lucky could she get? She realized just how strong he was as he kicked back the door and carried her into the hall and down to his bedroom.
The shades were already pulled against the darkening late afternoon. He tugged back the duvet and laid her on the sheets, still with the towel around her. In seconds, she wriggled out from under it, not wanting to get the sheets wet, but kept herself covered, suddenly self-conscious with Colin so very much clothed next to her, and going nowhere.
Her skin—damp, pink and warm from her bath—tingled just from the awareness of his eyes, charcoal in the dark, on her. He smoothed the thick terry cloth over her, drying her off. She’d done some second-guessing in her first minutes back in his house, when she’d helped herself to a glass of water in the kitchen, and thought maybe a bath would be nice.
“You said in Ireland that you’re not like me. It’s true. You’re not.” He curved his palms over her breasts, pressing the towel to her, letting it absorb any excess water. “That’s good.”
She was a little breathless but said, “You’re suited for the work you do because of who you are. You’re quick, decisive, action-oriented.”
“I don’t always think before I jump.”
“Ah, yes. I do.” She eased her arms on his hips. “I consider all the possibilities…all the angles….”
“Maybe we can come up with a few
