Page 63 of A Delicate Conquest

Heat spread across her cheeks, rushing down into her chest, suffusing through her body, potentiating the arousal that had tormented her all blissful evening.

“I’d like you to undress and take a seat in that chair over there.” She nodded toward the big, winged Chesterfield armchair in the corner—an antique she’d salvaged from an auction.

“Oh?” Mavrel smiled indulgently. Clearly aware of the effect he had on her, he slowly stripped to his skin, dropping his clothes on the floor in an insouciant, almost arrogant manner. Then, reminding her somewhat of a cat, he walked across to the big chair and sat down, elegantly arranging himself with his long legs extended, his lean, powerful arms draped across the armrests, his long hair slightly tousled and cascading over his chest and shoulders.

He could no longer hide the fact that he was aroused—it was plainly obvious to her.

Bea’s breath caught.

It was dark inside her apartment. Only the golden glow of a single floor lamp and a few flickering candles on the dining table allowed her to see.

Mavrel was shrouded in shadow, framed by the large, old chair.

“The shades, too,” she ordered, her voice cracking.

He peeled off the dark lenses that had protected his eyes, letting them drop onto the soft carpet.

His eyes were barely visible in the dim light.

Suddenly, his Kordolian features made perfect sense. Darkness was his natural element. He wore it like a second skin.

Right now, he could see her better than she could see him.

Hands trembling, Bea walked over to the sideboard and opened the drawer that contained her drawing materials.

She found her sketchpad and charcoal pencils.

Then, she sat on the sofa opposite, where the lamplight was brightest.

She started to draw.

Mavrel flowed under her fingers. Lines. Shading. A smudge here and there.

She drew him as easily as she breathed, for she’d already memorized these planes and angles, this living, breathing sculpture of a man, who washers.

She graced his intense gaze with shadow and curved his lips with sensual memory.

He barely moved, somehow sensing that she was working.

In fact, he was almost preternaturally still.

The last of the daylight disappeared. Time flowed.

And she knew the exact point when she was done.

This portrait—it didn’t need too much.

Too much would ruin him.

She ripped the page from her book and took it to him. “There you are. A gift from me to you. This is how I see you.”

For a moment, Mavrel was unnervingly still and perfectly silent, and doubt crept into her thoughts, just enough to make her wonder if she’d somehow upset him.

But then, his eyes widened.

His lips parted, revealing his gleaming fangs.

He inhaled deeply, and his body trembled.

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