Free The Making of a Princess by Teresa Carpenter Page B

and helped her step free.
    The fact she made no protest told him how far gone she was. Left in a soft pink camisole and tiny white panties, she shook uncontrollably. Under the camisole and a near transparent bra her nipples jutted against the material, her lush breasts jiggling with the force of her shivers.
    He wanted nothing more than to shuck his clothes and help warm her by joining her under the steaming flow of water.
    “Your l-lips are b-blue,” she chattered.
    He had to unclench his teeth to answer. “I am fine. My own shower awaits at my hotel.” He tested the temperature of the water. “Step in. As you warm up, you can turn up the hot water.”
    She shook her head and opened a cupboard. Pulling out a handful of towels, she dropped one on the floor, and thrust the rest into his arms.
    “Strip. D-dry off. You can have the sh-shower after me.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped into the shower, bra, panties and all, and drew the curtain closed.
    A moment later the undergarments were dropped onto the towel she’d placed on the floor. Leaving her naked behind the curtain. He swallowed hard, his temperature spiking with the image painted on his mind.
    He should reject her decree and head back to the hotel, but a glance in the fogging mirror confirmed he was blue around the fins. No, gills? Yes, gills. It was a saying his maternal grandfather, a sea merchant, would appreciate.
    Regardless, staying was a really bad idea. The two of them alone, out of their clothes, the chemistry between them stronger than ever—it was a recipe for passion.
    Yeah, he’d blathered on about being a man versus a soldier, juggling duty against desire, and he’d stolen a few kisses. But their relations had not gone beyond what was safe. If he stayed that would change.
    And still he reached for the hem of his shirt and drew it over his head.
    Giving in, because the bottom line was that he wanted to stay. Because every second with her could be his last. He would not lose this opportunity to know her before the soldier he was took over from the man.
    The heat against his bare skin felt good, but Amanda in his arms would feel even better. He looked longingly at the shower.
    * * *
    Water sluiced over Amanda. She strained to hear if Xavier had stayed, if even now he was naked on the other side of the curtain. She hoped so. She’d been too cold to be thinking of her seduction plans when she told him to strip.
    But now—after scrubbing every inch of her body, chaffing her skin until feeling returned, gritting her teeth through the adjustment of her temperature to that of the water—now she finally felt warm again, the thought of him nude and waiting made her steamy in a whole new way.
    She reached for the shower curtain but stopped, slicking her fingers through her hair instead. All too soon he would be gone, and already she cared too much.
    Making love would elevate their relationship to a whole new level. Was she ready for the change?
    This had to be her decision, one she made thinking responsibly and not as a knee-jerk reaction against her grandmother, or for a sense of camaraderie with her mother.
    Searching her heart, she recognized a fear of being hurt. And a certainty that she wanted him beyond all doubt. It came down to what she would regret more—something she did, or something she didn’t do?
    With the adrenalin coursing through her blood, and her hormones running hot, there was no real choice to be made.
    Passion making her bold, she swept back the curtain. And looked straight into Xavier’s molten eyes. Eyes filled with a longing hot enough to make her toes curl.
    Her only cover the steam drifting through the room, she flushed under his fiery regard. He’d followed her orders, standing proudly before her in nothing but a towel.
    Moisture glistened on the wide, tanned breadth of his shoulders and the defined muscles of his chest. Her gaze followed a thin line of dark hair past his six-pack, to the pink towel clinging