The man sent shivers down my spine.
I’d done my best to ignore everyone and everything when they asked about that man they saw me leaving the wedding with that night all those months ago.
Why? Because I still yearned for him.
I still wanted to ride that beard like I did that night and smother myself in his scent.
“You’re a blacksmith?” I asked in confusion.
Had I even asked him what he did for a living?
He turned back to his work, picking up exactly where he’d left off when he first saw me.
Only this time, he was turned so he could see me out of the corner of his eye.
“Bladesmith,” he muttered, still not taking his eyes off of what he was hammering. “Different set of training, and different set of skills are required to do the two.”
“But you can do a blacksmith’s work?” I continued.
Why was I prolonging this?
The answer was an easy one. The man was sexy.
Hot, sweaty. His head was dripping sweat down his neck, and it was disappearing into the collar of his shirt.
His gray shirt was wet all the way down to his waistband where you could see the different shades of grey.
“Yep,” he confirmed. “I was a blacksmith before I started to hone my skills into doing this for a living.”
“Do you ever worry that your beard is going to catch on fire?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He stopped what he was doing and leaned up, picking up the piece of metal and shoving it back into the burning hot coals.
“No,” he admitted. “Should I?”
I shrugged.
“Those sparks are bouncing everywhere…I was just curious.”
He grinned, and I watched as a drop of sweat dripped down from his hairline, around the curve of his eye, down the side of his nose, and then dropped onto the floor among a ton of similar drops just like the one that’d just landed.
When I looked back up again, it was to realize that his eyes were still on me.
“I wasn’t sure this was the place I was looking for,” I continued babbling. “You should put a sign out front.”
He shrugged, and then pulled the metal back out of the coals.
This time it was glowing bright yellow.
“Have you ever touched that before?” I questioned.
He set the metal down onto the metal anvil like thing, and then lifted one arm.
I saw a nasty looking scar right above his right elbow, which happened to be the only thing not inked on one arm.
“Ouch,” I murmured.
“What are you looking for?” he asked as he picked his hammering back up.
I fished a piece of paper out of my pocket, and unfolded it.
“A couple of months ago, my dad told me he wanted one of these. But I haven’t been able to find it anywhere that didn’t come from the other side of the world. And not cost my firstborn child in shipping,” I murmured, walking towards him and his hammer.
The one in his hands, not the one in his pants.
His eyes shot to me, and he looked at my belly like I was about to announce something that clearly wouldn’t have appealed to him, and I waved him off.
“I don’t actually have any children,” I admitted. “So you can wipe that panicked look off your face.”
He shrugged without apology.
“A Roman sword?” he asked. “Why that?”
“My dad is a big history buff,” I explained. “We visited Rome last year, and he fell in love with everything over there, especially this sword that is supposed to be an exact replica of the first Roman sword ever made.”
He nodded his head, then went back to hammering.
“What are you making right now?” I asked, leaning closer.
He moved me with his hip and said, “Don’t get that close. You’re not wearing protection.”
I bit my lip, my mind automatically going back to other protection that he’d worn.
And then I cursed myself.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Verity!
I stepped back and gave him the space that he needed, and saw a chair in the corner of the room.
Thinking that I’d just left my workout and I was on the closer end to being exhausted than not, I took a seat and waited for him to finish.
***
Truth
I hadn’t expected that.
Well, I had been expecting someone.
Two someones, actually. But not this particular someone.
Finishing up the last bit of shaping for the latest blade I was forging, I thrust it into the cold water at my feet and then turned to survey the woman.
Verity, aka Very.
The woman who I’d slept with almost three months to the day ago and still masturbated to almost every single night.
She’d gotten skinnier, but not by much.
I would say she looked better, but I’d be lying.
I was quite fond of the curves she had before, but this new look, the more toned ass, and the yoga pants slicked over it—well, I kind of was into this look, too.
“What was the cost of the sword to have it made over there and shipped?” I asked, stripping my leather apron off and laying it against the table next to my hammer.
“A couple grand…” she hesitated. “Well, to be exact, it was around twelve thousand dollars, three of it was the shipping.”
I blinked.
“I can probably make that one for you for around five, but it’s not going to be quick,” I admitted. “I have about six ahead of you, and four of them are big projects.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. Are you thinking before Christmastime, at least?”
I walked to the wall where my calendar—one of naked women from the waist up—and flipped through the months.
“You have about two and a half months until Christmas, and I expect these next builds to take me right on in to January…but I’ll see what I can do. I’m not promising anything,” I informed her. “Likely, I’ll overshoot January, too. But we’ll see.”
She blinked, then nodded in understanding. “I’d like to add my name to the list.”
My mouth kicked up in a semblance of a smile.
Then my first appointment showed.
Causing me to grimace.
“Yo!”
Verity jumped and turned only her head to look at the door that was at her back, and immediately stood.
“I should go,” she said hastily.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “I’m sure you remember Eugene.”
Verity grimaced and waved.
Eugene was the spitting image of Kenneth. Seeing as they were twins, it wasn’t unheard of.
“H-hi, Verity,” Eugene looked apologetic. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Verity shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t either.”
Eugene offered her a shy smile, and I felt sorry for the both of them.
“Eugene isn’t the asshole that his brother is,” I told her. “Though, I’m sure you already know that. In secret, Eugene likes to tattle on his brother and slur his name.”
Verity snorted.
“I know,” she snickered. “I was on the receiving end of that one. And for the record, Eugene, I should’ve listened to you.”
My brows rose and Verity was quick to explain.