That night, Sylvan Cheney escorted her to the building downstairs.
Neither too early nor too late, the autumn breeze wafted, rich with fragrance.
In the dim hallway, he reluctantly pinned her against the wall, one hand braced beside her, eyes burning with impulsive desire and restrained control.
No one was in the hallway, it was quiet, so quiet that Jasmine Yale could hear her accelerated heartbeat.
Originally a calm heartbeat, now it fluttered with peaks and valleys.
Eyes locked together, Jasmine saw depth and longing in his gaze, a longing tinged with impulse.
Despite this, he forced himself to hold back, just gazing at her.
In his pupils, she saw her small reflection; in the dim light, his chiseled face appeared even more profound and deep.
She traced his outline with her eyes, bit by bit.
Sylvan Cheney leaned in slightly, his breath somewhat rapid.
At a mere hair's breadth, it felt as if their heartbeats were entwined together.
