Li Qiao lost her senses, staring into the depths of his eyes, and subconsciously murmured, "Why don't you just say it's your lawn that's too slippery..."
Shang Yu squinted his cold eyes, inching his handsome face closer, the breath of the two mingling, their proximity no more than a whisker away.
After a few seconds of silence, he teased, "From what you're saying, should I dig up that patch of grass then?"
Li Qiao pursed her lips, remaining silent.
Perhaps it was the low temperature in the mountains that made her feel the man's palm getting hotter and hotter; even through the fabric, it burned her skin, making her whole body heat up.
With her throat dry and tongue parched, Li Qiao was about to speak when Shang Yu slowly withdrew his hand and let her go.
The unexpected embrace wasn't too long or too short, but Li Qiao's heart struggled to calm down.
