Bitten by Desire by Marguerite Kaye Page B

and her own desires.
    As if released by her understanding, he moved towards her. She could see the perfection of his skin now, pale as the moonlight, oddly smooth like marble; his eyes which gleamed not bright but darkly, like strength or power would, if it could manifest itself. It sapped her will, that look, drew it from her like a blotting sheet, leaving her pliant when she should have been resistant. Oddly, satisfyingly helpless. Mesmerised.
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    Vaelen surveyed the woman before him. Young, though not completely untouched, the unsatisfied yearning which had caused her to summon him shimmering around her, almost tangible. Her eyes were unusual, a curiously luminous blue, smoked with grey, alight with anticipation, darkened with trepidation. He could still smell the remnants of her fear, acrid wisps of it mingling with the muskier scent of her imminent arousal. A combination he was used to, but subtly different too—or his reaction was, for he was already hard. More hard than hungry, not a trace of his usual ennui. This woman was no ordinary feast. He would need to be careful.
    Her mouth was luscious—a burst of petal pink, sweetly curved, a generous mouth, though he could sense that she had not been smiling much recently. She was beautiful, though more in the fashion of fifty years ago than now. Curves, dips and swells, no sharp angles or jutting bone. The hair tumbling down her back was black as moonlight on deep water. The bosom rising and falling above the neckline of her nightgown was full. There were dimples on her arms, which were soft and round. There would be dimples on her thighs, soft and round too. Vaelen, who had lived through every possible definition of beauty, was surprised to find himself thinking her quite delectable.
    Succulent. A twisted smile tugged at his mouth. It was not like him to indulge such thoughts. He’d had them once, many lifetimes before, and had spent the lifetimes since avoiding them. He banished the memory before it surfaced, but was too late to stop the piercing sweetness of longing from twining itself around his insides, twisting into a tight knot in his gut.
    Vaelen cursed under his breath. Necessary as it was, he wished he had not responded to her call. There would be others. There were always others, so willing as to be tedious. He should go, but he was here now. She had summoned him to her chamber after all. Why leave without slaking his thirst?
    Her gaze, both clear and smouldering, was as ambivalent as he felt. He took a step towards her and his senses stretched and strained as they always did at this time, so acute as to be painful. Her smell, so sweetly female. Her skin, creamy soft. Her breath, warm and shallow. He could hear her heart beating and feel her pulses fluttering, strong and fast, driven by a mixture of excitement and fear. A fast-racing, heady mix. Vaelen’s own blood rushed too in response, but cold and sharp, like a melting glacier. “What is your name?” he whispered.
    â€œImogen.”
    â€œImogen.” Soft, like her body. He sat down beside her on the bed. She would not resist him. He already knew that, as he already knew it would be a mistake not to resist her. He reached out to touch her hair, running the flat of his palm down over the delicate shape of her head. Watery silk. “Lonely Imogen.”
    It was a statement, not a question. “How did you know?” she asked.
    â€œWhy else would you summon such as me?”
    Vaelen watched her think about this. He enjoyed watching her, the way her expression softened as she pondered the truth of it, and her mouth, her luscious mouth, turned up into the trace of a smile as she nodded to herself.
    An aching hunger gnawed at him. The kind of hunger which would not be ignored, which he knew he could not resist, even though there was something about this one, something vulnerable that he didn’t want to damage.
    He wanted her. The realisation astounded him. It had been so