“Here.”

“I’m fine,” Emilia said through chattering teeth. The anger in her voice made Morgan flinch.

“Like hell you are. Give me your hand.”

“No.”

“Seriously?” Morgan leaned over further and grabbed Emilia by the wrists. She pried her grip away from the sailboat and hauled Emilia over the rail, thankful for the rigorous requirements of her job. The greyhound stopped barking at once.

Emilia looked too startled at the sudden change in her circumstances to speak right away, and instead stood in a steadily growing puddle on the deck of Morgan’s boat. The thick wool sweater she wore—one of Ray’s, Morgan realized—sagged on her slender frame, and her brown hair dripped into her face. Morgan rummaged through the storage cabinet in the bow and pulled out a beach towel. Surfing penguins emblazoned the worn cotton, but if Emilia found it insensitive she kept it to herself.

“Your dog okay with other dogs?” she asked Emilia. She didn’t love the idea of an unknown dog on her boat, but neither did she like the thought of leaving an animal behind. If it was anything like Emilia, it might decide to go for a swim, and greyhounds were notoriously cold intolerant. Two hypothermia victims weren’t on her docket for the evening.

Emilia nodded.

“What’s her name?”

“Nell.”

“Nell, come,” Morgan said in the soft but firm voice she reserved for skittish animals. The greyhound leapt onto the boat in a scrabble of claws and flung herself at her owner. Her own dog, Kraken, grumbled at this invasion of his space, but obeyed Morgan’s sharp command to stay put.

“There’s a shower at the boathouse. It’ll warm you up.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” said Emilia through chattering teeth.

“Makes sense. I assumed you weren’t planning on going for a swim?”

Emilia grimaced in reply.

“I can lend you something to wear.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

Morgan stifled the derisive snort before it could escape. Emilia’s clipped politeness, which bordered on bitchy, obviously covered up the woman’s embarrassment. Morgan wanted to call her on her bullshit like she would have done with Stevie. That, however, didn’t seem like it would go over well. She untied her boat from the Emilia Rosa and took them into the dock a short distance away. Emilia stared at her soaked feet the entire ride, huddled in the seat next to Morgan and shivering in the wind. Even soaking wet and draped in tropical penguins she was gorgeous; an observation Morgan couldn’t help making despite her better judgment.

“Okay.” She killed the engine and tied up. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

“I’m fine,” Emilia said again.

“Look. Emilia, right? You’re not fine. The water is fucking cold, and no offense, but you look like you drank a bottle of wine.”

“Half a bottle.”

“Close enough. Do I need to explain vasodilation to you?”

Indignation flashed across Emilia’s face. Good, thought Morgan. Indignation was proof she wasn’t totally wasted—and that she had a decent vocabulary. Morgan held out her hand, and despite the resentment evident in Emilia’s eyes, this time she allowed Morgan to help her off the boat and up the ramp to the boathouse. Morgan told herself she didn’t notice the strength in Emilia’s hands or the way her cold fingers locked around her own. Noticing things like that would only get her in trouble.