to agree, grateful for the distraction.
She masked her surprise when he led her to the door next to his. Of course. Of all the rooms in the house, he’d picked the bedroom beside his. Now that should have her sleeping like the dead at night.
The second room was spacious but smaller than his suite. It was private and comfortable and all she’d need during her stay at the townhouse.
“This okay?”
“It’s great,” Alex replied, trying to contain her unwelcome arousal at the knowledge that her room was right next door to his.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, almost as though he’d read her mind. “I don’t bite. Unless asked to.”
Alex flashed him a grin. “I think I need another drink.”
Cole smiled and reached for her glass. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he disappeared, Alex descended the stairs in search of the library, curious to see the room in the light.
When Cole had pulled up in front of his townhouse the night of the burglary, she’d heard him give the instruction to his butler and driver to offload the painting in the library.
That’s how Steven Bryson knew where the painting would be. But how did he know where the library is?
The cat had known exactly where he was going. There’d been no hesitation, no peeping inside any of the rooms, trying to find the painting. He hadn’t even bothered to cut the alarm, which told her he’d planned to be in and out before anyone reacted to it. Either Steven had blueprints of the house or he’d been there before.
“What are you doing?” Cole asked behind her.
“I was wondering how the cat knew where the library is.” Distracted, she reached for the door handle in question.
“How do you know the library’s through that door?”
Alex froze. Damn. She really was smarter than that. She pushed open the door and went inside. “Just a hunch.”
Cole didn’t comment and flipped on the light, studying her. Alex ignored him as she absorbed the beautiful room in awe.
Wooden mahogany shelves lined the walls, neatly stacked with books of all different shapes, sizes, and titles. Several comfortable couches and a large round table decorated the room, all chosen and placed with care, all expensive. A Monet painting, painted as part of his Water Lily series in the nineteenth century, hung against the far wall, remarkable in its age and beauty.
“You said earlier that the first scuffle was here, in the library,” Alex said. “Where were you standing?”
“Alex.” Cole moved closer. “You’re bleeding.”
Alex looked down at her side. Her wound had started bleeding sometime during the evening and had seeped through the dressing and her blouse, settling into a big telltale red stain.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He stood directly in front of her, his body almost touching hers, and she tilted her head to look at him. “I just need a clean dressing.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I have to go.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a whispered curse. “It was you. The night of the auction it was you.”
****
“Ouch, that hurts!” Alex winced as Cole dabbed alcohol on her wound. She sat on the kitchen table with Cole positioned on a chair in front of her, the first aid kit spread out beside them.
Cole silenced her with a glare, his hand pausing over her wound. The bullet had grazed past her, missing her by a fraction but close enough to scrape away a large portion of skin. He didn’t know what annoyed him more—that she hadn’t told him about her involvement in the burglary, or that she’d been hurt. “Serves you right.”
“Remind me never to save you again.”
He dabbed the wound. “Why haven’t you had this checked out yet?”
“It was on my list but—ouch! Will you stop that?”
“Tell me again why you followed me home the night of the auction.”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“I noticed the cat casing you out at Christie’s and I saw him follow your limo. I suspected he was
She masked her surprise when he led her to the door next to his. Of course. Of all the rooms in the house, he’d picked the bedroom beside his. Now that should have her sleeping like the dead at night.
The second room was spacious but smaller than his suite. It was private and comfortable and all she’d need during her stay at the townhouse.
“This okay?”
“It’s great,” Alex replied, trying to contain her unwelcome arousal at the knowledge that her room was right next door to his.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, almost as though he’d read her mind. “I don’t bite. Unless asked to.”
Alex flashed him a grin. “I think I need another drink.”
Cole smiled and reached for her glass. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as he disappeared, Alex descended the stairs in search of the library, curious to see the room in the light.
When Cole had pulled up in front of his townhouse the night of the burglary, she’d heard him give the instruction to his butler and driver to offload the painting in the library.
That’s how Steven Bryson knew where the painting would be. But how did he know where the library is?
The cat had known exactly where he was going. There’d been no hesitation, no peeping inside any of the rooms, trying to find the painting. He hadn’t even bothered to cut the alarm, which told her he’d planned to be in and out before anyone reacted to it. Either Steven had blueprints of the house or he’d been there before.
“What are you doing?” Cole asked behind her.
“I was wondering how the cat knew where the library is.” Distracted, she reached for the door handle in question.
“How do you know the library’s through that door?”
Alex froze. Damn. She really was smarter than that. She pushed open the door and went inside. “Just a hunch.”
Cole didn’t comment and flipped on the light, studying her. Alex ignored him as she absorbed the beautiful room in awe.
Wooden mahogany shelves lined the walls, neatly stacked with books of all different shapes, sizes, and titles. Several comfortable couches and a large round table decorated the room, all chosen and placed with care, all expensive. A Monet painting, painted as part of his Water Lily series in the nineteenth century, hung against the far wall, remarkable in its age and beauty.
“You said earlier that the first scuffle was here, in the library,” Alex said. “Where were you standing?”
“Alex.” Cole moved closer. “You’re bleeding.”
Alex looked down at her side. Her wound had started bleeding sometime during the evening and had seeped through the dressing and her blouse, settling into a big telltale red stain.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He stood directly in front of her, his body almost touching hers, and she tilted her head to look at him. “I just need a clean dressing.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I have to go.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a whispered curse. “It was you. The night of the auction it was you.”
****
“Ouch, that hurts!” Alex winced as Cole dabbed alcohol on her wound. She sat on the kitchen table with Cole positioned on a chair in front of her, the first aid kit spread out beside them.
Cole silenced her with a glare, his hand pausing over her wound. The bullet had grazed past her, missing her by a fraction but close enough to scrape away a large portion of skin. He didn’t know what annoyed him more—that she hadn’t told him about her involvement in the burglary, or that she’d been hurt. “Serves you right.”
“Remind me never to save you again.”
He dabbed the wound. “Why haven’t you had this checked out yet?”
“It was on my list but—ouch! Will you stop that?”
“Tell me again why you followed me home the night of the auction.”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“I noticed the cat casing you out at Christie’s and I saw him follow your limo. I suspected he was
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