Page 135 of The Silversmith

But it was only three years’ difference. Plenty of sixteen-year-olds were married off to men much older than me. I winced at my own thoughts. Never, not once, had I considered marriage. For good reason—many reasons, actually—I abhorred the idea.

“How old are you?” she asked.

I cleared my throat. “Nineteen.” Less than two months from twenty, but nineteen was still the truth and less likely to scare her off. Hopefully.

She looked around nervously, and my stomach churned at her discomfort.

“You don’t need to be nervous around me,” I blurted out. And it was true. It didn’t matter how much I lusted after her. I would cut off my own hands before touching her in a way she didn’t want. I was rough. Definitely a cold-hearted prick. But at least I could say I never gave a woman what she didn’t want.

And looking at her, my heart didn’t feel rough or cold at all.

When she smiled, I almost choked on air. The way her green, gold-speckled eyes illuminated with gratitude. That perfectly kissable mouth.

If I hadn’t accepted my fate upon first glance, I only had to see her smile to know I was completely and utterly fucked.

“I’ll make you whatever you need and teach you everything I know, on one condition,” I sputtered. She rubbed her left forearm with her right hand and waited for me to continue. “Let me make you dinner. Tomorrow.”

All of her blood collected in her cheeks in the most adorable display of bashfulness. All of my blood flowed south. I realized that—for the first time—I would punch myself in the gods-damned face for my wolfish thoughts.

“What?” Her voice was high-pitched, surprised.

I suppressed a smile. “I want to see you again.”

“You will.” She twiddled with her thumbs and swallowed. “For the weapon. And…” Her eyes darted to the side. “Training.”

“I want dinner.” I stepped forward. Another first, another thing I’d never bothered to ask a woman for. “With you.”

And more. So much more. But we would start there.

Her mouth parted in shock, but she didn’t object.

“So you’ll be here, then?” It was a great effort not to sound overly excited. “For dinner?”

“Umm.” She looked around nervously again. “I’m not understanding… why?”

I huffed out a breath, failing to contain my grin. She had no clue. She was the most exquisite creature in the world and she had no clue.

“Because you’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” And I had seen a lot of things. A lot of women in various… positions. But I decided not to tell her that. As of the last few minutes, none of them mattered. “And if you say no, I think it might kill me.” With the way my pulse roared in my ears—like it would explode right out of me—I wasn’t lying.

Her lips parted as she inhaled sharply. That tiny, heavenly noise sent me spiraling through fantasies of what she would sound like with my mouth on her.

I was unhinged.

“Fucking hell,” I growled to myself, shifting my pants at my belt again to try and make my hard-on less obvious. I had been attracted to plenty of women before, but my body had never reacted with so little control. It was mortifying, unruly, and addictive.

“Excuse me?” she squeaked, eyes wide. Her gaze remained on my face, thank the gods. She hadn’t noticed, though I still welcomed the undeniable need to submerge my entire body into a bucket of ice just to snap the hell out of it.

“Tomorrow?” I insisted, voice strained. “Will you join me for dinner?”

She looked to the left, then right, and checked the doorway, almost like she was afraid she was being followed. My gut twisted, and I fought the urge to hunt down whatever invisible threat she feared.

One glimpse of terror in those golden-green eyes and I was ready to kill for her.

“Okay.” Her sweet, gentle voice calmed the storm of rage inside me.

“Okay?” I repeated, making sure I’d heard her correctly.

She nodded, then turned to leave.