The golden-eyed stranger stood a little less than a foot over her own—very respectable—five feet and five inches. His disheveled black hair was a bit longer than the preferred style of the men in New Orleans, combed back haphazardly and curling ever so slightly at the ends. His face was conventionally attractive—square jaw, sharp cheekbones, perfectly straight nose—in a way that may have leaned toward boring on anyone else. But the golden hoop that was pierced through his full bottom lip and the hypnotizing gold of his eyes enticed Genevieve in a way that was sinful.
