Qingran inhaled sharply, gripping the edges of the sink as if the cool ceramic beneath her fingers could somehow ground her, could somehow erase the fire still licking beneath her skin.
It didn't.
No matter how hard she tried to will away the lingering heat of his lips, the way his tongue had tangled with hers in a slick, intoxicating dance, her body refused to forget.
Damn him. Damn him for knowing exactly how to kiss her, exactly how to pull a reaction from her that left her pulse racing and her body aching in ways she refused to acknowledge.
With a frustrated huff, she turned the faucet on again, cupped her hands under the icy stream, and splashed the water against her face.
The cold shock did nothing to chase away the images seared into her mind—his dark, hooded eyes, the smirk curving his lips before he had stolen her breath, the way his body had pressed against hers, solid and unyielding, like he was daring her to push him away.