Christmas Angel by Amanda McIntyre

night would live in infamy.
    Water splashed on him as she reached over the side of the tub and picked up the rug’s edge to admire her handiwork. “How to make it simply came to me, like the oranges. You know, this will last a good long while providing you take it out for a good beating now and again.”
    Yeah, but it sure as hell would look pretty damn goofy on Bonnie now.
    Shado’s gaze followed her arm, glistening with tiny bubbles, and heat slammed into his gut. So much for his glory days. It was time to leave—past time, truth be told—before he did something he’d surely regret. With greater ease than he felt, he ran his fingers over the intricate workmanship. It was impressive, the way she could create something of such homespun beauty from torn up shirts. He studied the rug in silence.
    “Did you want me to save the water for you?”
    “Thanks. That won’t be necessary.”
    “Are we going to watch more of those western shows tonight?”
    He spoke as he tucked the radio under his arm, making a mental note to remove all electrical appliances near water sources. “I’m afraid I’ve got to ask you to take a look at some new books.” He looked up and found her smiling up at him. He stared, unable to block the image of walking in on her and seeing the foam clinging to her flesh.
    “Do you plan to stay while I dry off?”
    Jostled from his reverie, Shado’s thoughts gave way to the mind blowing visual of Angel stepping onto the rug with nothing but bubbles covering her tantalizing curves. “Damn it,” he spoke in a gruff tone more to reprimand himself than her.
    “You stay there until I leave.”
    Her lilting laughter did nothing for his libido, currently in a tailspin. He paused at the door. “And another thing. Hold onto the side when you step out.” He turned in time to meet the obvious surprise on her face. Big mistake. His brain dissolved to something akin to Jell-O. Her mouth formed in a small O as she stood there, attempting to cover where the bubbles did not with her small hands.
    He forced himself to look everywhere except at her body. Not easy in a small bathroom.
    She nodded, crouching lower, losing her camouflage of soap rapidly.
    Shit . Shado averted his gaze. “I’ll get you some clothes.” He ducked out, flattening himself against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to dispel what he’d seen. Yeah, right. There was no fucking way he was going to sleep well tonight. He cursed himself silently, taking giant strides to his bedroom where he yanked open his dresser and stared down at the array of clothes he had to offer her. He spotted a pair of running tights and an old football jersey—one thankfully he’d chosen not to place in the corner pile—and stood there wondering how many pairs of boxer shorts he was going to have for the week between the two of them. He walked back to the closed bathroom door, making another mental note to stop by the corner drugstore soon and pick up a few feminine items—underthings mostly. She didn’t wear make-up that he could tell. Certainly, she didn’t need it. He’d make a point to ask her what she needed as soon as he recovered from this little adventure.
    He rapped on the bathroom door and eased it open an inch to offer her the clothes. It was a moment before he felt them slip from his fingers. Shado quickly looked away when he caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her damp body wrapped in a too small towel. “I’m sorry. I can only offer you boxers to wear beneath your clothes until I get out and buy you some underwear…er, things.”
    God damn it. He made a living hunting down cold-blooded murderers, but he could barely wrap his mind around the thought of buying her lacy panties. Then again, maybe it was his imagination jumping into overdrive at the thought of seeing them on her. The point was he ought to be able to handle talking to a victim of a heinous attack without his brain going to mush every time he