Lana’s POV
Damon didn’t stop there. He never did. The man seemed to thrive on making me blush, as though it were his favorite sport.
“You know,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear, “if any of those women had even a fraction of your beauty, maybe—just maybe—I’d look their way.”
I looked up sharply, narrowing my eyes, trying to mask the sudden rush of warmth crawling up my neck. “Oh? So now you’re grading beauty in percentages?”
He smiled, that slow, wicked smile that was far too practiced. “No. I’m just being factual. You’re a hundred percent. They’re… maybe five, if they’re lucky.”
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms, pretending his words hadn’t just melted me inside. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know,” he said, without missing a beat. “That’s part of my charm.”
I sighed,
