Sylvan Cheney's hand injury had already been treated, and he stood at the bathroom door for quite a while without any reaction from Jasmine Yale.
He walked in, bent down, and shook her shoulder with his hand: "Jasmine Yale."
"Mmm." Jasmine Yale smacked her lips but didn't wake up.
Sylvan Cheney frowned, wrapped her in a bath towel, and lifted her out of the bathtub.
This time, Jasmine Yale woke up.
Still drowsy, she immediately hooked her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek with a "smack."
After the kiss, she giggled.
For the first time, she felt this man so close to her.
So close that, at this very moment, he belonged only to her.
Sylvan Cheney frowned with distaste.
Jasmine Yale rested her little head in the crook of his neck and nuzzled it.
Her body emitted a pleasant fragrance that wafted straight into his nostrils.
Sylvan Cheney's blood surged in an instant, his throat moved, and his grip around her tightened.
