Mack lay on his stomach with his head completely under the pillow. Suppressing a giggle, I carefully slid out of bed and jumped in the shower. The smile stayed on my face as I washed and conditioned my hair, soaped, rinsed, and dried off.

Back in my bedroom, with the towel wrapped around me, I couldn’t resist sneaking over to the bed and lifting up one corner of the pillow to peek at Mack’s face.

Even asleep, he was so handsome my heartbeat quickened. His profile was sharply defined and masculine, his jaw thick with scruff, his nose strong and straight. He slept with both arms over his head, and the muscles on his bare shoulders bulged thick and round. I was tempted to run my hand over them, but I didn’t want to wake him up. We’d only been sleeping for about four hours.

His eyes opened.

“Hi,” I whispered, smiling.

“Hi.” He grabbed the pillow I was holding up and stuffed it beneath his cheek, closing his eyes again. “Was I snoring?”

“No. Do you snore?”

“I don’t think so. But the girls tease me about it. Teasing me is their favorite thing to do.”

My grin widened. “What else do they tease you about? Besides your cooking.”

“My hairy stomach, my hairy chest—”

“I like the hair on your chest. It’s hot.”

“Thank you. Then there are my wrinkles, my gray hair—”

“You do not have wrinkles. And I like your gray hair, too.” I brushed my fingertips over the silvery strands at his temples. “You’re perfect.”

Opening his eyes again, he smiled and tugged at my towel. “Come back to bed.”

Ditching the towel, I scrambled into his arms, loving his bare skin against mine. “I’ve only got a minute,” I said reluctantly, tucking my wet head beneath his chin.

He held me close and kissed my hairline. “You have to work?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I wish I didn’t. What are you going to do today?”

“Pick up the kids. Clean the house. Grocery shop. Attempt to catch up on work. Your dad’s probably going to fire me for being so behind. That is, if he doesn’t fire me for seducing his daughter.”

“You definitely did not seduce me.” I dropped a kiss on his chest and sat up. “You just kept me up late.”

“Sorry.”

I laughed. “Liar.”

He grinned, tucking his hands behind his head. “You’re right, that was a lie.”

Wincing a little, I got out of bed and onto my feet. “Sheesh. I’ve never been so sore. My abs are killing me.”

“But you feel okay?” He sat up, his brow furrowed. “I mean, your heart isn’t stressed or anything?”

I grinned. “Oh, now I see the wrinkles.”

He yanked the pillow from behind his back and threw it at me.

I caught it in two hands and whacked him across the shoulder with it, but before I could get away, he grabbed me and threw me down on the bed. I shrieked and struggled half-heartedly to get out from under him, but really I couldn’t get enough of his body on mine.

“You know what I do to my girls when they make fun of me?” he said, circling my wrists and pressing them into the mattress above my shoulders.

“What?” I asked breathlessly, thrilled to be one of his girls.

“It’s called the tickle torture.”

“No! No, please! I’m so ticklish—don’t—no, not the neck—” I dissolved into a wriggling mess, laughing and squirming as he buried his face in my neck and swirled his tongue lightly over the skin just below my ears. “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I’m sorry I made fun of you! I’ll never do it again!”

“Now who’s lying?” He picked up his head and stared me down. “I was serious about your heart. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Your concern is very sweet, but no amount of sex is going to cause my heart to fail, no matter how good it is. I promise.” Then I laughed again. “Your dick is big, but not big enough to puncture my aorta.”

“That’s it.” He dove for my neck again, keeping my hands immobile and torturing my ticklish spot with his tongue until I pleaded for mercy.

“I’ll be good, I’m begging you,” I gasped. “I’m going to be late for work. I have to be down there in like ten minutes and I haven’t even combed my hair yet.”

“Want me to comb it for you? I’m really good at it.”

I laughed. “Stop it. Millie is always complaining about your buns.”

“Okay, I’m shit at the bun thing, but I am awesome at combing hair. I’m serious.” He let go of my wrists and sat back on his heels. “Go get your brush.”

“Mack, you do not have to brush my hair. It’s all wet and tangled. Do you know what a chore it will be?”

“I don’t care. There aren’t many things I can do for you, and you do so much for me. Let me do this.”

I didn’t really have time to mess around, but something about Mack offering to brush my hair was too sweet to resist. “Okay.”

In the bathroom, I grabbed my wet brush and threw on my robe. When I came out, Mack had pulled on his pants and was zipping them up.

“Here you go,” I said, turning around and presenting him with a long, wet, knotted mess.

He started at the ends and worked his way up, slowly and patiently. Since I stood facing the mirror above my dresser, I could see his reflection, and my heart beat faster at his serious expression. His long, gentle strokes across my scalp and down my back sent shivers up my spine. I didn’t care if I was late. This was totally worth it.

“There,” he said. “How was that?”

“Perfect.” We caught each other’s eyes in the mirror. “You were right—you’re awesome at combing hair. Thank you.”

He wrapped an arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, we said goodbye at the door. He pulled me against his chest, hugging me tight. “This was so much fun. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, silly.” I looped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his chest. “I had fun too.”

“I hope no one catches me sneaking out of here.”

“You know, I really don’t care what my parents think about us. We don’t have to hide.”

“But I care.” He pulled back and looked down at me, his expression serious. “Your family is good to me. And this complicates not only our working relationship, but also things with my kids. Can we keep it to ourselves for a little while? Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” He tugged a strand of my wet hair. “I want to do this again. But I have no idea when that will be.”

“It’s okay, Mack. I meant what I said last night. I don’t need promises and I won’t make demands. Whenever we can steal a little time together is good enough for me.”

He kissed my forehead. “You’re too good to be true.”

“You’re in a good mood today,” my mother remarked after she caught me humming a tune at the reception desk.

“I am, actually.” I’d spent the entire morning at work mooning over him, replaying last night in my mind, and wondering when I’d see him again. I’d meant what I said to him about not wanting to be another responsibility. The last thing Mack needed was one more female making demands on his time and attention. But I also couldn’t help the way I felt—every cell in my body was radiating with happiness.