Julian
She leaned in to look at the dagger, and I stopped breathing.
It wasn't deliberate; I knew that.
Rosamund had the self-awareness of a battering ram when it came to physical proximity. She wanted a closer look, and so she leaned in and her shoulder pressed against my arm, and the soft, warm weight of her breast settled against my sleeve as naturally as if we were sitting side by side in a pew.
She didn't notice, but I noticed.
Her breath fanned across my skin in slow, warm puffs as she studied the inscriptions. She smelled of rosewater and clean linen, fresh from the bath, her hair still slightly damp at the ends where it fell across her shoulder.
The neckline of her gown sat just low enough that the swell of her breasts rose gently with each breath, and when she tilted her head to angle for a better look, her teeth caught her lower lip and pressed down, biting softly in concentration.
Jennifer's voice slithered into my head uninvited.
