Funny how Adam never noticed her scent; she smelled faintly of roses, the kind that grew along the border of her herbal garden—intoxicating. Really intoxicating. Another moment of her scent whispering beneath his nostrils, and he’d be swooning at her feet like a woman. God, but how could he have mistrusted her and thought her ugly when she was so innocent and beautiful that it made him weak with love and longing?

“Rather cold out, isn’t it?” she asked, her hooked nose wrinkling as her face broke into a knowing, sneering grin.

Adam gaped at her as though she’d just told him the most astonishing, the most wonderfully fascinating thing, and nodded. “Never colder,” he agreed eagerly.

Cackling, she seized his arm with bony fingers and gave him an icy look before pulling him inside. “Everyone that crosses me,” she said before closing the door, “shall get a whiff of my love potion and suffer the consequences—and that, Adam, includes you.”

[Each sentence begins with a letter that spells out the title.]

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