Matt lay, hands folded behind his head, and contemplated the ceiling. It could use a paint job. Actually, he’d noticed a few areas in disrepair since they’d arrived. Much of the ranch’s upkeep had fallen by the wayside since his grandmother fell ill. And the only person he could blame for that was himself. First thing in the morning he planned to drive over to the main office and have a chat with their foreman, Tony, to find out just how bad the situation had become.

A door opened and closed. A moment later the muffled sound of water tumbling into the two-person bathtub filled his imagination with what was happening in the Jack and Jill bathroom he was sharing with his unwanted houseguest. Wonder what she would think if he offered to help wash her back?

The wood paneling wasn’t near thick enough to mask the relieved sigh or the splash as she sank into the warm water. He could smell the vanilla bath soap his sister had set out for her use. Picture her up to her chin in frothy bubbles.

Matt’s smile faded.

Soft, sexy moans mixed with more splashing. He sat up and glared at the door. What the hell was she doing in there? How was he supposed to get any sleep with her making all that racket?

He jumped off the bed and strode to the door. Bang, bang, bang.

She shrieked and then it sounded like a tsunami hit his bathtub.

Shit, had he scared her into hurting herself?

“You okay in there?” he called, hand over the door knob. There was another little cry accompanied by something wet splatting the wood in front of his face.

“You big jerk. Are you trying to scare me to death?” she yelled.

His lips curved upward. “Temper, temper. Don’t you know you catch more flies with honey, than with vinegar?” He relaxed a shoulder against the door jamb, enjoying their little exchange now that he had the upper hand.

“Oooh, I hate you!”

That brought on an outright laugh. She sure had an attitude. Her fiancé—the real one—must have his hands full.

The door swung open mid-chuckle and Matt forgot to breathe. She’d wrapped herself sarong-style in a thick white bath towel, the knot situated right between her breasts like an exclamation mark. One he was helpless to ignore.

She flicked her fingers in front of his nose. “Hello, I’m up here.” And planted a fist on a gently rounded hip.

He looked at her, bemused. How could one female look so… snooty while wearing a towel?

“Aren’t you chilly in that getup?” His gaze did a slow slide from top to bottom, hesitating over all the interesting bits.

She actually growled. He couldn’t believe it.

“I wouldn’t be… chilly, as you put it, if some idiot wasn’t trying to bang the darn door down and wake up the house.”

Good point. Guess he should have just put a pillow over his head, but it would’ve been less entertaining.

“Well if you weren’t indulging in a one-person orgy…”

She sucked in a scandalized breath. He watched to see if the towel would open at the strain. Darn, not quite.

“You are the most aggravating, annoying, maddening man on the face of the planet.” She tucked the towel deeper between her breasts and lifted a hand to close the door in his face.

How rude.

He stuck his foot in the way, stopping the momentum, and grinned at her outraged expression. She really was cute.

“Hold on a second. Since I can’t get any sleep with your caterwauling anyway, we should make a plan on how we’re going to get through this week. Preferably without killing each other.” He joked, but the truth was they really did need to put on a united front or his family would catch on and he would hurt the person he loved the most—his grandmother.

Cassandra glared at the offending appendage. “It’s been a long day, most of it spent in your… scintillating company.” She lifted an elegant eyebrow over sleepy eyes. “I promise to be on good behavior for the duration of my stay. But if you don’t move your foot out of my way, I’m going to slam this door so hard you’re going to be walking with a limp for the next month. Do we understand each other?”

Oh yeah, he got the picture. She was used to getting her own way. That’s okay, so was he.

Without giving her time to guess his intention, he swooped in and used his shoulder to pick her up, one arm wrapping her thighs right where the towel ended. He ignored her grunt and the barrage of fists pummeling his back, to stride the few feet into the bathroom and deposit her into the tub of water. Maybe that would cool her down.

He stepped back to enjoy the show. It didn’t take long. She came up sputtering, her hair a sodden mass covering her face. She shook, and he jumped, barely avoiding the splash.

“What the hell, Shaughnessy? I could have drowned,” she snarled.

He couldn’t be that lucky.

That damn towel had plastered itself to her body, and yeah, she was chilled. As soon as she noticed his gaze, she covered herself with her hands, which led to the whole masturbation fantasy he’d been having about her earlier.

He shifted, hoping she wouldn’t notice the effect she had on him. It was just a physical thing. She was an attractive woman—even with that viper tongue—and he was a single guy. If they had met under different circumstances he might even have given it a shot, but not with her. Besides the fact she was getting married, they were like oil and water, they didn’t mix.

Hoping he could regain his slippery footing, and he didn’t mean the floor, he gave her a cocky grin and headed for the door. “G’night, sugar. Dream of me.”

He caught the movement from the corner of his eye and ducked just in time to miss the bottle of shampoo aimed at his head.