Mingling with the scent of wine, a faint fragrance of roses teased at Fu Xiaoquan’s senses. The finger tracing his lips was incredibly soft… A storm churned in the man's eyes. He suddenly snaked an arm around Rong Jin’s waist, turning the tables and pinning her against the wall. His voice was a low, husky growl. “No need to wash,” he rasped. “I don’t mind.” Then he leaned in and captured her lips.