She had drunk quite a bit, and her steps were unsteady.
It was better to be drunk, for then she knew nothing.
Her steps were unsteady, but her mind was still clear, and she made her way toward him, leaning on the table for support.
Yet before she could reach him, he stretched out a long arm, scooped her into his embrace, and held her tightly.
"Hey! You're going back on your word," Jasmine Yale struggled.
Unfortunately, compared to Sylvan Cheney, she was like a frail cat against a sickly tiger, and he easily enclosed her in his arms, immobilizing her.
She gave up struggling and looked up at him.
Under the light, Jasmine's eyelashes were long, her lips were lustrous, and her cheeks even more delicate, fair and soft.
"Mr. Cheney, you're not treating me as your sister now?"
Sylvan pinched her cheek, clearly unwilling to answer her question.
His fingers were icy cold, pinching her burning cheeks made her feel like she was electrocuted.
