Whatever he sees in my eyes has the smile slipping off his face, replaced by something distinctly hot. “I won’t touch you tonight. Instead, you touch me.”

“Touch you?” My pulse kicks up and starts to strum.

“Yes.” He rests his arms on the sides of the tub. It draws my attention to the breadth of his shoulders and the carved definition of his biceps. “Put your hands on me; get comfortable with being close to me, taking what you want. Nothing is off limits.”

Oh, God. I want that. He is acres of smooth, slick skin and rippling muscles. I’d touch him all night and then lose my ever-loving mind. “How is that not sex?”

“Because it’s only you touching me.” His gaze glides over me like liquid silk. “Do you want to?”

The breathy “Yes” is out of my mouth before I can think.

His nostrils flare, the look in his eyes pure temptation. “Then touch me, Delilah.”

My fingers curl around the tub, holding on. Just holding on. “It won’t go anywhere. That would be a tease.”

“I want you to tease me.”

Part of me still can’t believe we’re here, talking about this. That he’s naked and willing. “You do?”

His throat works on a swallow. “Yes, I fucking do.”

“Even if you won’t get anything out of it?”

A shuddery breath leaves him, and his nipples go tight. “If you’re touching me, I’ll be getting something out of it.” That dark voice works over my skin like warm honey.

“God . . .”

“I won’t move a muscle,” he promises. “Unless you ask me to. Now, woman up, and stop stalling.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Woman up?”

“I figured you’d object to ‘man up.’”

“You figured right.”

“You’re still stalling.”

Shaking my head, I soften. Then get up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Delilah

“Where are you going?” The slight alarm in Macon’s voice is gratifying.

“To get your shampoo.” I grab the bottle out of the massive walk-in shower, then head back to him, setting the stool behind him. Macon’s shoulders tense. “You need your hair washed, remember?”

“All rational thought has left my head at the moment.”

I laugh, but he doesn’t move as I fiddle with the handheld sprayer by the faucet. Warm water jets out. “Lean forward a little, if you can,” I tell him, feeling the odd need to speak in hushed tones.