I slowly pivoted to face the saints-forsaken prince in question, hating that victorious grin curving his lips as my attention swept over him in cool assessment. All six feet whatever inches of him lazily leaned against the doorframe, toned arms crossed in his fine suit, hazel gaze running over me in triumph, his wretched golden-brown hair mussed in a way that suggested he’d just come from someone’s bed. The perfect image of royal debauchery and indulgence.
