“Do I have to?” His expression is one of dread.

“Come on; man up, and let’s do this.”

He smirks, but that quickly fades as he tries to lift his arm. “Fuck.”

Ordinarily, I might have been flustered pulling off Macon Saint’s shirt. But it’s such a slow, awful process, with Macon gritting his teeth, breaking out in a cold sweat of pain, and me wincing in sympathy, that we both sigh in relief when it’s finally off.

His broad chest heaves as he leans a hip against the wall. “Fuck the bath; just put me out of my misery, Tot.”

“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.”