Hunter's Kiss

There she was again. Intoxicating. Her gaze burned sweeter than a fine dark scotch. Her hair was like black fire, reflecting in the light from the hearth. She moved with liquid grace, cat-like in every way. You would never know you were being hunted by her until you looked up from your evening tea to find her emerald eyes locked on yours, and her cold steel against your throat.
Her body was perfect. She had large supple breasts balanced atop an hourglass waist and shapely hips, shown off nightly in clothes tight and revealing enough to make most men bow to her every whim. Her skin was like ivory, her lips as red as fresh spilt blood. She seemed to practically ooze sex from her very pours. There was nothing to dislike, and of course she’d planned it that way. It was part of how she did her job, and Raury hated her for it.