Chapter 30

Haven's plan to saunter haughtily down the stairs and ignore the duke altogether, as he'd ignored her all day, died at the heart-stopping sight of him waiting regally at the foot of the sweeping staircase. It should be illegal to look so good in formal wear. He wore a black suit coat over a pristine white shirt, and an equally white cravat was tucked expertly beneath his square chin. His black trousers did nothing to hide the power, strength, and utterly lip licking outline of his thighs. Holy hell, how was she supposed to sit through dinner with him? Her dilemma became more perilous when she saw his face, one that should've been harsh because of the Roman angles, but was breathtakingly gorgeous. Full lips were like a delicious prize beneath the arrow of his straight nose. His black eyes telegraphed messages of hot, bone melting sex. Her legs liquefied under her weight, and the once dry space between her thighs welled with unwelcome slickness.

Shit.