From head to toe, all she felt was shame, her face blushing bright red.
She took two steps away from him, glaring sharply, her eyes like daggers.
It was really too much.
She glared at him, her face red as if it could bleed, as if even the cold wind on her body had turned hot.
"Saturday, nine in the morning, I'll pick you up downstairs in your neighborhood," Sylvan Cheney insisted without a word.
"Not happening."
"I'll be there on time."
Jasmine Yale was terribly angry, while Sylvan Cheney, holding the roses, appeared completely serious, stern and reserved, making those unaware think she was being dramatic.
At this moment, he returned to his usual demeanor and behavior, elegant and composed.
If it weren't for... she really couldn't believe he could behave in such a rogue manner.
But then, it wasn't surprising either.
He was inherently a beast in gentleman's attire, a polished thug.
The autumn wind brushing against her body felt distinct.
