The prince set her down and dismissed his valet. The latter left with a bow and closed the door. Leaning against the wall, the prince pulled off his stockings. As he walked toward the amethyst tub, he yanked his shirt over his head.He was lean and tightly sinewed. Her little bird heart thudded.He glanced at her, his lips curved in not quite a smile. The next thing she knew, his shirt had flown through the air and landed on the cage, blocking her view toward the bathtub.“Sorry, sweetheart. I am shy.”She chirped indignantly. It was not as if she would have continued to watch him disrobe beyond a certain point.

All right, my hope—but I am not saying the rest of it—I have something you need to feel.”She feigned the sound of outrage. “But we barely know each other, sir!”He laughed softly. “But you must hold it in your hand and feel it change,” he urged, in her ear. “I insist. I can wait no longer.”She knew they were on a serious subject, but the flutter of his breath on her skin, the low drawl of his words—heat raced along all her nerve endings. “Will I like it?”“Well, I do have to apologize for its size. It is rather small.” And with that, he pressed something rather small into her hand.