It wasn’t until he was stepping out of the shower, feeling a thousand times better, that he realized he’d glazed over a few steps by being so quick to rinse off.

“Hey, Sloane?”

There was no answer on the other side of the closed door.

He grumbled to the steamed-up mirror and palmed the shelf in the closet where clean towels were supposed to be. His mother would raise Cain if she knew he’d yet to fold and put away all the clothes in the dryer.

Brady gave the bathroom another once-over. There was no way he was putting his clothes back on. Not when they were drenched with sweat.

“Sloane?” he tried again.

Silence.

Brady grabbed the hand towel—a glorified washcloth, if he was being honest—and placed it over the part he was sure would make the woman atomic cherry red if she saw.

“I tried to warn you,” he yelled out.

The bathroom opened into the living room, splitting the two bedrooms, but Sloane wasn’t on the couch where he’d left her. Brady peeked into Dixon’s empty bedroom before swinging around to his.

What he saw was an equally confusing and intriguing sight.

Sloane’s legs were sprawled out on the floor next to his bed, along with her wiggling ass. The rest of her was beneath the actual bed.

“Uh, when I said make yourself at home, I don’t know if this is what I meant.”

It was like the woman had been electrocuted. She made a yip sound and scurried backward like a crab. When she cleared the bed and sat up, her beet-red face tilted up toward him with guilt written all over it.

“I didn’t hear you get out of the shower,” she tried, voice holding a good wobble.

“Clearly.”

“I can explain.” Sloane looked at him, back beneath the bed, and then did a noticeable double take. Her eyes landed just below his waist. Where she was on the floor gave her a pretty decent sightline to his hand towel.

“What are you—? Why are—?” Her eyes skirted up his chest before falling back to the towel. “Where are your clothes?”

Atomic. Cherry. Red.

Brady pointed to his dresser behind her. “Had I known you’d be lurking under my bed, I would have been more vigilant about grabbing them before the shower.” He didn’t move but slid his eyebrow high.

“I can explain,” she repeated. Then she motioned to the wall behind her. Where there should have been a framed picture, there was nothing but a nail. “I was trying to get a better look at that picture but didn’t want to stand on your bed because it was so high on the wall, but when I tried to grab it, it, well, it fell.”

After the gush of words, her eyes flashed down his body again. Brady had a hard time not pulling up another smirk.