Macon cuts me a look as though he can’t decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. “Whatever gets you going, Tot.” His humor wanes. “I’ve been standing here for too long, trying to shake it off and get my ass in the tub, but it isn’t working. Would you please, for the love of all that is holy, turn the taps on for me?”

Right, he needs my help. And I’ve been fantasizing about hot male shower action. “Sure.”

Macon’s bathroom is . . . wow. As big as my bedroom back home, it has a copper gentleman’s soaking tub large enough for two tucked into a windowed alcove to take in the view. The fireplace in the bedroom is double sided, open to the bathroom. The flicker of firelight gives the room a golden glow.

“What?” Macon asks when I stand there gaping.

“All that’s missing is a bottle of champagne and some lounge music to make this a perfect seduction cliché.”

He cuts me a sidelong look. “I can barely move, but I’ll make note of that for later.”

Grumbling, I walk over and turn on the taps that are in the middle so that a person can comfortably lean their head on either side of the tub. “How hot do you want it?” I ask over my shoulder as Macon hobbles in, wincing with each step.

“Just this side of cooking me.” He stops by my side. His dark eyes suddenly appear a little boyish. “Can you, ah, put bubbles in?”

I grin wide. “You want a bubble bath?”

“Hey. The bubbles help keep in the heat, and they smell nice.”

The man is a good ten inches taller than me, with shoulders twice as wide. The world knows him as a barbarian warlord king-killer on their favorite show. But he is adorable just now.

“You don’t have to convince me,” I say lightly. “I love a good bubble bath.”

“Do you now?” he murmurs under his breath but then gives me an innocent look when I glance back.

He wasn’t kidding about his love of bubbles. Multiple bath gels and a nice wide loofah wait on a rack by the tub. I eye it, and he shifts his weight as if being caught out. Not hiding my smile, I pour some gel into the water rushing from the faucet. The scents of bergamot and warm vanilla fill the humid air. It’s a subtle fragrance but delicious, like sticking your nose into the warm crook of a well-groomed man’s neck.

I shake my head at my wandering mind. Time for me to go. Only Macon’s lips are still pinched, and he’s wearing a sandy, damp shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders. That shirt isn’t going to come off easily.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

“Can you lift your arms?” I ask, my voice a little thick.