When his eyes lay on her for the first time his heart quickens and words that came so easily before remain garbled in his mind. What happened to that quick wit that lied so artfully at the tip of his tongue? His mind was like his magic, sharp, keen, and powerful. But around her they were lost – words gone on the wind.
He hadn’t noticed anyone as beautiful as Josephine Cherrette Montilyet before. Her gorgeous sun-kissed skin seemed to glow, her eyes a honeyed hazel that seemed to look right through him, and her lips formed words so exquisite – so beautiful that they were practically laced with gold.
She was so tiny compared to Owen and he found it maddeningly delightful. Tiny hands that worked over ink stained parchment, tiny feet that pitter pattered in search of those lost documents, tiny brows that furrowed as she scolded herself for not remembering the details, and tiny little lips that made him feel just a tad woozy when they were a bit too close.
When those lips held his name it sounded as if they could make gardens grow, kings fall to their knees, birds stop mid-note, and his heart stop mid-beat.