He looked down at Jasmine Yale, who was very close to him. She wasn't wearing perfume, but her hair had a faint jasmine fragrance.
Jasmine Yale sat up straight, still not recovered from the recent events, her cheeks flushed red, and her heart pounded fiercely.
The space inside the car was already quite cramped, and being near Sylvan Cheney gave her a different kind of excitement.
This kind of excitement felt as if she was back at sixteen or seventeen, at the beginning of a girl's infatuation.
At that time, she already understood matters between men and women; when he sat next to her, her heart would race, and she'd blush at every word he said.
And now, that feeling had returned.
"Why aren't you speaking," Sylvan Cheney began in a low voice, his husky tone carrying a suppressed heaviness.
His gaze fell on her face, his dark pupils reflecting her petite figure.
Jasmine Yale brushed her messy hair, trying hard to calm her heart.
She smiled faintly, "I'm okay."
