Sophie Wilson couldn't even remember how she fell asleep in a daze. By the time she opened her eyes, it was already half-past eight.
Luckily, it's the weekend, so there's no need to go to work. Otherwise, she'd really go crazy.
She rolled over, hugged the quilt, and snuggled lazily, not wanting to get up.
When Charles Seymour came in through the door, this was what he saw: her pajamas had ridden up, revealing a sliver of white, supple waist, her straight calves were tangled in the quilt, and her rosy toes were spread out lazily like a kitty's paws…
Charles's eyes darkened, his grip on the doorknob tightened slightly, his knuckles showing a faint whiteness.
"Hmm? Why are you here?" Sophie asked as she noticed the door opening through the corner of her eye. She yawned while hugging the quilt, lazily resembling a just-awoken Persian cat, especially with that strand of hair sticking up on her head, making Charles's palms itch with the urge to give it a rub.
