Midnight Craving

“And you truly believe,” his voice dropped to a husky baritone, “that my kissing you is ingratitude?” His eyes, dark as midnight water, searched her face for an answer she couldn’t give.

Phoebe bit down on frustration so hard her molars ached. “Good looks aren’t a free pass, Dane. You don’t get to do whatever you please just because you won the genetic lottery.”

“So you admit it—you think I’m good