to expect such things. He liked these clothes, the breeches that hugged slim curves, the fitted shirt that clung to a generous pair of breasts and a long, slender waist. Loose waves of midnight hair tumbled over her shoulders, and she shoved it back with one hand while she examined something, some carving in the frame beyond. Big, thickly lashed eyes of deep sapphire-blue looked at the glass, looked through him.
Still, in the brief moment her gaze touched his, Adrian felt heat suffuse his body in one dizzying rush. What fresh torment was this to be? She was bound to be as bad as the rest. An enchantress, probably, like Melisande, his first mistress. The one who had bound him to this accursed place. But Melisande was nothing but a pale shadow of this woman, a cruel and artificial beauty who had gone to extreme and bloody lengths to keep her looks.
No, he had only seen this woman’s equal once, long ago. That one had never known he even existed, which was just as well…considering his power had been used to attempt her murder.
As he watched her look over the mirror, frowning lightly, he noted that she looked…confused. Displeased. And still, she made no attempt to call him. Biding her time, he supposed. Making him wait.
Finally, she settled her hands on her hips, shook her head and turned away.
When she began to take her clothes off, Adrian’s mouth went dry.
She doesn’t know I’m here, he thought, then shook off the forgiving notion. Of course she knew. She was playing with him. And though it shamed him, angered him, he was ripe to be played in such a way.
Adrian watched her pull the shirt over her head, the thin material sliding up to reveal more porcelain skin marred only by a thin black strap across her back. The strap was quickly hidden by that mass of shining hair. Her shirt was tossed onto the bed beyond, a simple piece of furniture not at all suited to the sorts of things he found himself wanting to do to this woman. For the first time in centuries, his thoughts drifted to the chest at the foot of the bed, to the silken ties and velvet whips…and the sharper things. The heavy chains. The cat-o’-nine-tails.
His blood went cold, even as his cock rose to full attention, throbbing insistently. His body had betrayed him at first with Melisande, too, he remembered. But not for long. Not once her pleasure could only be achieved through his pain.
Gods, he was a fool.
His new mistress slid the pants she wore down shapely legs, leaving an intriguing scrap of black silk that covered…very little. Adrian braced one hand against the wall, gritting his teeth. He had to look. He had to master this temptation before it got out of hand. In all his years as the mirror slave, only Melisande had tried to use his body to destroy his soul. It would not happen again. He would feel nothing when he looked at this wench. Nothing.
Then she turned back, and he forgot to breathe. The blood pounded in his ears. One hand fisted at his side. Seemingly unaware, she turned this way and that, examining her perfect form with a critical eye. Then she skimmed her hands up her waist, beneath breasts pushed up by the fascinating, lacy undergarment that he wanted to remove with his teeth.
Adrian hitched in a single breath. Enchantress. She had to be. Desire nearly took him to his knees, a position he had sworn never to be in again. Adrian swallowed back a soft moan, hating that anyone was still capable of making him feel like this, want like this. Knowing she would walk away while he spent himself, alone in the dark.
Then her ruby-red lips moved, and the words he both wanted and dreaded echoed from her world into his.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”
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