“Drown you in the tub?” I suggest, turning off the water.

“That will take too long.” He moves to rub his face but halts and swears under his breath.

Poor guy. I glance at the full tub. The copper sides are high, swooping up on both ends. A small teak stool is next to the tub, but that’s about it. Hell. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for torture. “You’re going to need help getting in, aren’t you?”

For a second his expression is totally blank. We stare at each other, facing the inevitable.

His smile is slow and melting. “How much did it cost you to ask that?”

“It’s fine.” Lie! “I’ll close my eyes.”

A low chuckle rumbles. “I don’t mind if you look.”

“I bet.” I wouldn’t mind, either, but I’m not going to do it.

Oh, but it’s a challenge to keep my eyes closed. His warm, hard side presses against mine as he makes small shifts of his hips to lower his sweatpants. Doesn’t help that when I fumble around to grip his waist, I get a handful of what must be the best bubble man-butt I’ve ever touched. And he calls my ass peachy.

Face flaming, I wrench my hand away, but he laughs all the same.

“Copping feels, Ms. Baker?”

“Get in the tub, Con Man.”

He grunts. We bobble once, and I’m terrified we’ll topple again, but he gets in with a clumsy splash and a muffled oath. Winded, I rest my hands on my thighs, then straighten.

Macon’s amused voice drifts over me. “You can relax now. I’m decent.”

Decent. Ha. Nothing about the picture he makes is decent. Arms resting on the sides of the tub, bubbles frothing over his tan chest, he looks like sin. His pecs are large and prominent and lightly furred with dark hair. A bubble dangles from one of his tiny nipples, and I have the urge to touch it.

A smug smile remains in his eyes as, with a long groan, Macon relaxes against the tub. His injured leg is propped on the far side of the tub, exposing a good length of massive thigh. From beneath lowered lids, he looks at me. “Thank you for helping.”

So meek. So deceptive. So damn tempting.

A constellation of fragmented shells and sand floats in his ink-dark hair.

“Damn,” I mutter. “You need to wash your hair.”

A snort escapes him. “Not fucking likely. I’m not moving a muscle. You’ll have to scoop my cold and pruny body out of this tub at some point.”

“Well, that sounds fun.”

His grin is quick and wide. Then he sinks a bit deeper. “It’ll keep.”

It won’t, and we both know it.

“I’ll wash it.” The words are dragged out.

Macon quirks his brow, a frown growing. “No.”

Rejection hits between my ribs. “What? Why not?”

“You looked like you wanted to throw up just offering. I’d rather not suffer through your martyrdom.” He gives me a dismissive glance, then closes his eyes, leaving me to gape at him.

My hands meet my hips. “I am not being a martyr!”

“You’re doing a good job of leading up to it.” He lies there, not a care in the world, soaking in his damn bubble bath. But I’m not fooled. His eyes might be closed, but his attention is on me, baiting like the master he is.

“Do you want me to wash your hair or not?”

Dark eyes snap open and level on me. “Yes, I want you to wash my hair,” he rasps. “Yes, I want you to touch me. I want a lot of things from you.”

Well, hell. I find myself sinking to the teak stool by the tub, my hand curling around the edge.

Macon’s gaze bores into mine. “Question is, what do you want from me?”

I can’t lie now. Unfortunately, the truth isn’t very helpful. “I don’t know.”

He nods as if he knew it was coming. “So let’s talk this over.”

It’s the last thing I expect him to say. Men I’ve known never want to talk things out. But Macon simply sits there, king of his tub, patiently looking at me for confirmation. It’s so disarming all I can say is “Okay.”

He studies me as if trying to think out the best plan of attack. The air is humid around us, thick with the heady scent of his bath, the bubbles making a soft hiss as they fizzle. And Macon lying naked beneath it all.

“Are you pretending to be attracted to me because of our arrangement?” he asks bluntly.

“What?” I sit straight. “That’s insulting.”

He shrugs a big shoulder. “Do you think if you fail to put out, I’ll hold it against you?”

Of all the . . . my hand twitches as I imagine pushing his fat head under the water. “Are you trying to get me to dunk you?” I grit out.

He grins. “Just getting the bullshit out of the way.”

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” I drag my finger through a clump of bubbles resting on the rim. “This is new.”