Her gaze met familiar violet eyes and she tilted her head, critically examining the photo of herself, half reclining on a rich brocade coverlet, her hair rippling around her. They’d been right to choose the ruby red for that dress. It complemented her pale skin and the fortune in gems she wore. Poppy remembered the day mere weeks ago when that shot had been taken. No wonder her eyes held that slumberous come-hither look. Her mouth looked fuller, too. An hour before she’d been in Orsino’s bed. She could still recall the taste of his demanding mouth on hers, the hot frenzy of need as he tormented her almost to breaking point before rewarding her ardour with a shuddering, soul-searing climax. She’d felt well-loved. Physically, and she would have sworn, emotionally. Poppy’s mouth flattened. That was before. She couldn’t fool herself any longer that he cared. Had it been worth it? Giving herself to him again? Ecstasy while it lasted and pure hell now. Sometimes only the pain seemed real.
