The woman sat on the sofa, her bright, glistening eyes fixed on herself, her small face seemed very tense, and her rosy lips were trembling slightly.
"Are you feeling unwell?" He stopped in front of the sofa, squatting down slightly, his large hand pressed against her cheek.
Tracy jolted as if electrified, shrank back instinctively, and subconsciously avoided him. Her face flushed, and even though she didn't dislike his touch and words, she still seemed unable to accept such intimacy between them at that moment.
"What? Do you have a fever?" The man frowned, holding her hand, feeling her sweaty palms, and seeing her unusually red cheeks, he placed his hand on her forehead again.
"No..." She dodged his hand, covering her face, her body shifted slightly to the side.
Lorraine Hanson raised his eyebrows, sat down beside her, one hand on the back of the sofa, the other still holding her wrist. He studied her shy expression, was momentarily stunned, and immediately understood.
