He slowly turned around and faced me, his eyes looking dark, cold and controlled for a moment as he made his way towards me.
The scene seemed strangely familiar.
In a mild strike of panic I backed away until I stopped at the closed wooden door. He stopped a few inches shy of me and supported himself against it. His arm was so close to my face I could smell the scent of his skin; that impossibly masculine scent that he always seemed to smell of, a scent that didn’t come out of any bottle. He leaned in, his face close to mine, his eyes trying to focus, and it was with some relief I saw the stern look disappear and a softer one appear.
Then he looked down and I closed my eyes, in a ricidulous attempt to escape.