The Naked Prince by Sally Mackenzie

remember it being so strong, but then, I haven’t been here in probably fifteen years.”
    â€œPerhaps the heat makes it worse. Greyham has five—no, six—braziers going.”
    â€œIt is oppressive.” Jo unbuttoned her pelisse; Damian helped her off with it and then shed his cloak, coat, and waistcoat. He stuffed all their outer garments in a corner, out of sight behind a large, decorative urn.
    They walked farther into the bathhouse, their feet echoing on the tile floor. The room was about forty yards long and perhaps twenty yards wide with large stone pillars along each side. The pool, dark and murky and green, took up most of the space.
    Perspiration beaded on Jo’s lip, rolled down her sides, pooled between her breasts. It was hotter than Hades—or so she would imagine, not having yet visited that place; however, given her reaction to Damian’s broad shoulders, narrow waist, and splendid arse, she might be heading there shortly.
    â€œI suppose Greyham wanted to raise the temperature to thaw the naked idiots,” Damian said. He turned and frowned down at her. “Which you should not be here to see.”
    â€œI will close my eyes.” She should close them now. Damian’s fine lawn shirt was plastered to him, revealing his wonderful chest and shoulders. She forced herself to look away before he noticed she was staring at him like a child at a sweets counter. “There aren’t any good places to hide, are there?”
    â€œNo, unfortunately. We’ll just have to stand behind a pillar and hope for the best.”
    They positioned themselves so they were hidden from the door. Damian was still frowning.
    â€œI do wish I didn’t need you here,” he said. “If only I could—but it’s too late for second thoughts. I don’t have time to escort you back, and with drunken idiots running wild, it’s not safe for you to go back by yourself.”
    She had no intention of leaving, but it wasn’t fear of naked nodcocks that kept her in the bathhouse. “Oh, I’m sure the revelers would just pass me by. Even Papa says no one would take liberties with me.” That comment still rankled, even if it was true.
    â€œWhat?” Damian’s eyebrows shot up. “Haven’t I already proved him wrong?”
    â€œOh. Well, er . . .” Damian had kissed her when she’d fallen from the cart and again when she’d hidden in the library. And he’d taken more than a few liberties with her in his room.
    Heat that had nothing to do with the bathhouse washed through her. She was going to melt into a puddle—she felt a distinct dampness between her thighs already.
    He took her by the shoulders. “Have you forgotten?” His hands slid down her back, coming to rest on her hips, and he pulled her tight against him. With the heat and the damp, it was almost as if they were naked . . . almost, but not quite, blast it. “Let me remind you.”
    His mouth covered hers as his hand moved to her breast and his leg . . . oh! His leg slipped between hers so his thigh pressed against her most feminine part. She rocked against him by accident and thought she would faint with pleasure.
    Her fingers found their own way to his waistband and started pulling his shirt free. She had to feel his skin again.
    â€œGod, Jo,” Damian muttered, his lips moving to a sensitive spot just below her ear, “you make me forget propriety. Hell, you make me forget my own name.”
    â€œMmm.” She tilted her head to give him more room to explore as she succeeded in freeing his shirt from his breeches. “Mmm.” She ran her hands up his back. If only she could—
    His fingers dipped below her bodice and rubbed over her nipple. Lightning shot through her body to lodge . . . she pressed herself more tightly against his thigh and moaned. “Damian—”
    Suddenly her face was crushed against his chest again.