Good God! Every time Audrey laid her dull copper eyes upon that infuriatingly self-assured man, her body threatened to turn into a puddle of steaming liquid. She often told herself that was the proper reaction when one hated someone, but that small, annoying voice at the back of her mind disagreed.

While Charles was never seen with the same woman twice, and that alone should inform her distrust in the man, and it did, Audrey always found her control slipping. The man was repulsive and dangerous, and while all logic dictated that she should steer clear of him, her body would not cooperate. Even now, her breaths felt shallow despite the thundering rhythm filling her ears. It was most inconvenient.

Audrey most certainly possessed no desire to be tempted or exhilarated by the man. It would have helped tremendously if she found him as ugly as his personality, but for all his annoyances, his appeal remained.

A feminine flaw in herself.

Men like Charles only knew how to do one thing—breaking hearts. Audrey was not ready to sign up for such a melancholy adventure. Not with Charles. Not with any man, and certainly not with the knowledge that he was the biggest flirt she'd ever encountered.

If she should decide to be with any man, it would not be Charles Davenport. Whatever interest he had would die if he were allowed into her bed, and Audrey was not a woman who dived into a sinking ship.

What Audrey needed was a man who did not dredge up ridiculous notions in her head, especially when it came to sex. But Audrey knew, as sure as she knew the colour of her own eyes or the shape of her lips, that Charles Davenport was a good over. How could she not know?

Audrey often overheard, in detail, his exploits with other women. Not from his lips but from the women who adorned his bed.

And there were many. Far more than Audrey wanted to know. There was no way she would ever wish to be one of the many women Charles Davenport slept with. Her pride would not allow it. Audrey was an only child, the apple of her parent's eye. She could never be an option for any man. That was not a position she knew how to settle into.

Nope. Charles Davenport, while an assuredly good time, was only a fleeting diversion. It was not worth it to make her throw caution to the wind. She needed someone better than him—a man who valued women enough to treat them more than mere bodies made for pleasure.

"Are you alright?" The question was accompanied by a firm grip falling on her shoulders to halt her from moving further. Audrey had not realised that she was wandering through the crowd aimlessly.

"Edgar!" Audrey panted, unable to find the breath to say more. She remedied that by using the time to inhale as much as possible before it was her turn to speak again.

"What has gotten you this breathless?" Edgar, her childhood friend, pried as his concerned eyes roamed over her for any further signs of distress.

"I am not breathless," she protested with flushed cheeks and jittery hands. The air returned slowly, filling her deprived lungs.

"I am fine." Audrey smiled. Edgar narrowed his eyes on her, and his hand dropped from her shoulder.

"Uh huh," Edgar was wholly unconvinced, not attempting to conceal it.

"Then what caused your moment of distress?" Edgar opted for a revision of his query.

"Too much exercise. I'm not used to all this walking." Audrey shrugged, but Edgar raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, signalling he did not want any excuses.

Audrey sighed. "I was waylaid by that ridiculous man, and then I was walking across here. Maybe I inhaled something? There are a lot of smokers..."

"What man?" Edgar cut her off, looking around to discern whether there were any suspicious attendees.

"Charles Davenport," Audrey retorted with a potent bitterness that seemed to have taken permanent homage on her tongue.

Edgar was visibly relaxed at the mention of Charles Davenport. A womaniser, yes, but he could not intervene in something mutual.

"You had a mini crush on him when he first made his appearance, yes?" He recalled Audrey becoming starry-eyed the first time Charles glided through the doors to her home. Recently, though, she'd convinced herself and everyone around her that he was the scum of the earth, and she disliked him passionately.

"Me? No." Of course, she did. What woman came face-to-face with Charles Davenport and was not giddy by his sheer existence? The answer, dearest friends, was none.

It did help that her disillusionment with the man had come swiftly and painfully, like a tonne of bricks falling off a building.

"That's amazing," Edgar said, swallowing his laughter.

"You protest your dislike for the man while your body discredits you." Edgar leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

"Stop lying to yourself, Audrey." He teased her.

Audrey revolted with an offended gasp, her arm coming out swiftly to collide with Edgar's shoulders. She inwardly groaned at the pain shooting up her arm. Hitting him was not a good idea. Damn, these men and their rock-solid bodies.

"You are mental," she hissed as she cradled her aching arm to her body.

"I am leaving," she huffed, ready to call the night to an end without more of Edgar's smugness.

"Still coming to the cabin with your parents this weekend?" He asked before she flew away. His family hosted an annual social event. It was

a two-week-long trip to their family estate, and Audrey's father was eager to attend this year.

She had almost forgotten about that. The invitation came a month ago, and she hadn't decided to attend.

Audrey scanned the room as if the answer was plastered on the beams when her eyes fell on Charles.

He was at the bar, staring at her over his glass of whisky. His eyes were almost stormy, and she swore she'd never seen him appear so serious. At that moment, with her grasping to retain the air in her lungs, her mind was made.

"I won't miss it." She declared and scooted away. She needed to get as far away from Charles as humanly possible. Accompanying her parents would be an ample distraction. There was no doubt the men would disappear to discuss the latest investments while the women did what they usually did—find their diversions on their own.

It was settled. Two weeks would be sufficient to sort out these inconvenient feelings for Charles Davenport.