He sipped again, more deeply. “Is this an interrogation, Lieutenant?” It was the smile in his voice that rubbed her wrong.

“It can be,” she said shortly.

“As you like.” He rose, set his glass aside, and began to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting into the swim, so to speak.” He tossed the shirt aside, unhooked his trousers.

“If I’m going to be questioned by a naked cop, in my own tub, the least I can do is join her.”

“Damn it, Roarke, this is murder.” He winced as the hot water all but scalded him.

“You’re telling me.” He faced her across the sea of froth.

“What is it in me that is so perverse it thrives on ruffling you? And,” he continued before she could give him her short, pithy opinion, “what is it about you that pulls at me, even when you’re sitting there with an invisible badge pinned to your lovely breast?

J.D. Robb