Her figure was an hourglass, with curves in all the right places that accentuated her feminine form.
As she moved, her body swayed, as if inviting his touch, beckoning the brush of fingertips or the press of lips.
A flash of desire went through him as he had an unbidden fantasy of her beneath him, writhing against him as he plunged deep into her softness.
He cursed under his breath and summoned a refill of his glass, swirling the dark amber liquid under his nose in an attempt to erase her foil.
Fokk, it drove him wild with its strains of jasmine and vanilla, lingering wherever she went, sweet and alluring, drawing him in like a magnet.
Adding to his agony was her laughter. It filled the air, a husky, sensuous chuckle of joy and delight, intoxicating and irresistible.
Her voice, too, carried a dulcet resonance, far from the shrill tones of some of the women he’d encountered before.
Her entire essence danced with notes of sensuality emphasized in her hips as she swayed with grace.
She was a vision of femininity, with no real clue of how appealing she was.
He also sensed a gentleness in her nature. She’d not been hardened by the harshness of her uncle’s apparent greed. Instead, she emanated affection, kindness, elegance, and authenticity from every pore.
Yet, strength, resilience, and defiance flitted in her eyes, a promise that she would not be broken without a fight.
In conversation, she’d already revealed herself as intelligent and more thoughtful than most women he’d met, a breath of fresh air.
Still, she’d aimed to deceive him, and he inhaled, in part to deflect the harsh reality that threatened to suffocate him.
His lips twisted.
He had to find a way to punish her, to make her beg for mercy as payback for what her family took from him.
When she’d faced his glare in that office earlier and tried to convince him to respect her, he managed to stop himself from ripping her head off.
She thought she’d charm him into letting her into his world, but she didn’t know him or the darkness that danced within his soul.
Despite his desire to see her suffer, his eyes locked on her as she stood by the gallery windows. With a contemplative expression, she turned at that moment as if sensing his gaze on her, and their eyes met across the expanse of the room.
His heart lurched then quietened as he found surprising solace in that unspoken, unexpected link.
Then he recalled her family’s betrayal, and his spirit raged once more.
He denied the indisputable pull toward her and refused to believe she held the promise of a genuine connection.
‘There you are,Šar!’
The booming voice belonged to Don Tewa Lisades, his bride’s uncle, a portly man with an overbearing presence.
Mak hid a grimace, for he disliked the man.
To be frank, he loathed him.
As well as being an oily, snake-like sycophant, he was the architect of Mak’s present agony.
‘Is all well?’ he whispered, leaning over the banquet table to where Mak was seated.
Mak studied his face, noting the beads of sweat on his oily skin and the rank odor of fear that permeated his form.
‘Apart from asachemtrying to cut us down, we’re laughing.’
‘That was quite the display,’ Tewa said, his chin wobbling.
