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Pace tosses him an unimpressed look. “Be that as it may, you’re on Justice duty while I see to Rosi.”

Wicker replies, “Deal,” and zips over to scoop the baby up while I blink in confusion.

“See to what?” But Wicker is already gone, taking Justice with him, and I stare balefully at the empty spot on the bed.

Until I realize that Pace is undressing.

I turn to watch more fully as he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his pants, shoving them down his thighs. His cock, limp but long, swings as he hops around, tugging the pants from his feet.

“Come on,” he says, yanking the blankets off me.

I reach for them too late, nose wrinkling at the state of myself. My nightgown is crusty against my chest, the scent of Justice’s spit-up lingering around me like a toxic cloud. “Ugh,” I groan, feeling disgusting. “I guess I should do more laundry.”

It never stops.

An infant, three men, and myself? I could possibly be doing laundry every day until I die, and the thought alone is enough to exhaust me.

But then Pace says, “Already did it,” and grabs my hand, tugging me from the bed.

“You washed my clothes?” I ask, dubious as he leads me across the room.

Into thehall.

“Lex did,” he explains.

“You’re naked,” I hiss, but Pace doesn’t look bothered at all.

He just smirks at me over his shoulder, guiding me toward the staircase. “No one here but us, Rosi. Look all you wanna.”

It’s not a bad sight, the muscles of his ass shifting artfully with each step. His training must be going well because Pace’s body is hard and more chiseled than ever. I feel even more insecure about my own body as I watch his, so tight and fit.

I’m so distracted by it, I don’t even realize where he’s leading me until we arrive.

I pause in the doorway, watching the candlelight throw his features into sharp relief. “What’s this?”

Reaching out, Pace takes both my hands in his, dragging me into the large bathroom that used to belong to Rufus. “We never got to enjoy the jetted tub in the maternity suite,” he explains, pushing my gown off my shoulders. His dark eyes sparkle in the light and he steps close, the gown pooling on the floor around my feet.

“Oh,” I breathe, seeing that the large tub is full of aromatic bubbles.

Palms framing my face, he tips my gaze up to his. “I miss being inside you at night,” he whispers, bending down to pluck a slow, shallow kiss from my lips. “I know we can’t fuck, but I can still take care of you.”

Immediately suspicious, I wonder, “Did Wicker put you up to this?”

Pace frowns, pulling back to search my eyes. “I puthimup to this, if that’s what you mean. We have a solid two hours to make ourselves feel human again. I know I’m all,” he grimaces, fingering one of his silky twists, “covered in spit-up and shit, but I swear I can smell good again.”

And with that, he tugs me to the edge of the tub, eyes beseeching.

It hits me then that maybe I’m not the only one who feels tired and gross all the time. Unable to smother my grin, I lift a leg, and then the other, listening as Pace gets in behind me.

“You’ll wash my hair?” I ask, the excitement leaking into my voice.

He chuckles. “Dying to.”

“And my back?”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder, guiding me into the bubbles. “Every glorious inch of you.”

The water is hot—the kind of hot that’salmosttoo much—and I inhale deeply as I settle into Pace’s chest, letting the warmth seep into my sore, tired muscles.