V. J. Devereaux - Books - V. J. Douglas

Tall, he had to top at least six foot six, give or take an inch or two or three, and every single one of those marvelous inches was beautifully muscled, the firm curves of those muscles gleaming as if they had been oiled. His chest and shoulders were broad, the pecs deeply curved, his stomach giving a new definition to washboard abs. His waist and hips were narrow, every muscle of them—including his obliques—sharply defined. Even his legs were gorgeous.

Hair as dark and as glossy as a raven’s wing streamed as smooth and straight as a ruler to his broad shoulders, framing a face that might have been carved by a master sculptor. Every line of it was clean, perfect, from his broad forehead to his high cheekbones with their deep hollows beneath, his finely bridged nose to the defined line of his square jaw. His mouth was a thing of beauty, firm, neither too thin nor too lush. There would be dimples in those cheeks if he smiled.

Completely naked from the top of his horned head to his feet, it was impossible for her to miss any part of him…including those short curved horns and the sinuous tail that twined like a cat’s around his body, except that his tail was smooth save for the end of it where it flared into a point. The motion of that tail was oddly hypnotic, twining and swaying like a cat’s, too. A pair of partly folded wings arched up from his back.

His skin was colored a deep rich red—not copper, red , a dark scarlet, like the guy from that movie, and yet not—with odd patterns of black that shifted and flowed beneath the surface like a chameleon's skin, constantly changing, except that unlike a chameleon’s it appeared to be as smooth as silk. The shifting colors seemed to reflect his agitation—none of which showed on his impassive face, but was echoed in every line of his incredible body.

Beautiful long-lashed eyes the color of rubies touched with molten gold met hers reflecting both a kindness and an ancient wisdom. The patterns of red and gold within those eyes shifted and whirled entrancingly, enticingly.

He had fangs, the faint white tips indenting his lower lip.

Both hands and feet bore claws the color of polished jet. His hands were huge, the fingers long but strong.

Iron bracelets encircled his wrists. Something about them said that they were not decoration.

Despite the circumstances, just looking at him, at all the magnificent masculine glory of him, had Angel yearning to touch all of that gorgeous gleaming skin, no matter what color it was. She wanted to run her fingers through that silken ebony hair, to feel those long, strong, clawed hands on her flesh, that sinuous tail twining around her body as it now twined around his.

For all that what she saw spotlighted in the middle of the floor was frankly impossible.