The door opened a crack, and Jiang Qingli hid behind it, reaching out a hand.
Her fingers fumbled in the air. Instead of a towel, they grasped something else.
Jiang Qingli felt along the texture and asked in confusion, "Why is this your hand? Where's my towel?"
"My apologies," Baili Jing said with a gentle smile. "I offered the wrong hand."
He slowly retracted that hand and passed her the soft towel. As he pulled away, his fingers gently brushed against hers.
The girl's hand froze before she sharply yanked it back.
'Was she scared?'
Baili Jing lowered his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger together, rubbing the lingering, steamy moisture he had picked up from her palm.
The memory of her fair, slender wrist reaching out made the young man's breath hitch.
