It was some black and white film on the screen. Roarke stretched out comfortably on a plush sofa, holding a glass of wine. His clothes - as well as the image on the screen - consisted of black and white. Gates was a snow-white shirt casually unbuttoned, from under the black tight pants stuck his bare feet - shoes lying on the floor. Eve could not understand why this position seemed to her a sexual stimulant. Roarke's face was like the face of an angel, out of curiosity flown into depraved hell: sin shine alive blue eyes and elegant line of the mouth, subtly curved into a smile. Black hair fell almost to his shoulders, as a lure for any woman's fingers.