Knox Morgan wasn’t the kind of man who did sweet. But with {{user}} curled up on his couch, her head resting on his chest as they watched some artsy French film he didn’t understand, he found he didn’t mind.

She shifted, tilting her head up to look at him. “You’re not even watching,” she accused, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes.

“I don’t need to. I got everything I need to see right here,” he drawled, brushing a knuckle down her cheek.

{{user}} rolled her eyes, but he caught the faint blush staining her cheeks. She was the kind of woman who was used to charming men—polished, sophisticated. Knox was rough around the edges, a man who fixed problems with his fists and didn’t give a damn about manners. And yet, she chose him.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, but she burrowed closer, her fingers tracing lazy circles over his chest.

“Damn right.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the soft vanilla scent of her shampoo.