Because the favor they’d been asked by Roger Norman was to paint his future kid’s nursery.

Why had Brady agreed to help?

Other than Sloane not giving him a choice before she said yes on the spot, he had to admit the prospect of using Roger’s boat as an easy parade float made practical and financial sense. He wanted good PR for the bar, and doing well at the parade, on top of being with the only person in Arbor Bay to go viral, would help him.

Why was he still thinking about Sloane in his bed right next to him?

The ass thing wasn’t helping.

“I—I got it!”

The woman wiggled like a drunk on the dance floor. Brady lowered her and the box she was holding, trying to focus on anything other than her being flush against him as her feet touched the ground. He caught the scent of coconut-something coming off her hair. His mouth slightly watered as he took the paintbrush out.

“Now we can save even more money by using Callum’s stuff to paint the nursery.” She beamed. “So far we’re not spending a dime on this parade. I figure that might help ease that clenching I’m assuming you’ve been doing since lunch at the Robertson estate.”

She twirled around and went to the workbench along the opposite wall. She set the box on top before going through the contents. Brady cleared his throat and joined her, peering inside the dusty thing. True to her word, it was filled with painting supplies and tools.

“Just more manual labor hours. My manual labor hours.”

Sloane shot him an amused look. “I’ve already seen that body of yours. You’re no stranger to manual labor, I’d wager.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t handle it,” Brady said with a snort. “I was just pointing out I’m the only one who’s actually doing the work.”

“I’m providing the connections, thank you very much,” she retorted as she took the paintbrush from his hand. “You’re the hammer, and I’m the one handing you the nails. Free, no-money-spent nails. That has to appeal to you. Being frugal is sexy. At least sexier than turning coals into diamonds in that tush of yours.”

Brady made an exaggerated show of peering into the dusty, mildew-smelling box again. He crinkled his nose and had every intention of pointing out there was nothing sexy about it, the garage, or painting a nursery, but then something on Sloane’s back caught his eye.

Brady abandoned his plan.

His silence was noticed right away. Sloane looked up at him long enough to realize what must be happening.

“Okay, sweet cakes,” he said, “I’m going to need you to not move while I get something off your back.”

“Get what?”

Brady took the paintbrush from her hand and started to lie. “It’s just a little spider—”