His Son

Anya opened her lips to ask him to put her down but her throat went dry looking at his gaze turn intense. 'Why did he turn so serious?' She just wanted him to learn to be polite, she didn't mean to reach his arms. It wasn't her mistake, he was the one who held her.

Her heart was going crazy in her chest, he was too close for her comfort. His hypnotizing woody cinnamon cologne was just making it hard for her to compose herself. It was like a toxin, that reminds her of things she was trying to forget.

Seeing his eyes move down to her lips, she assumed he was waiting for her to speak. She didn't even consider he might be thinking something else. Hence she again tried to speak and just her lips moved, her voice seemed to be lost looking at his hooded eyes darkening.