Page 38 of The Silversmith

I gave in, playfully gasping. “Do you have a secret stash of goodies?”

His gentle chuckle caused warmth to pool in my belly. “There’s a lot your friends don’t know about me, Ella.”

When I bit into the pastry, my eyes rolled back in my head and an involuntary long half-sigh, half-moan slid out of my throat. It tasted so good.

“Fuck.”

I looked up, shocked to see Gavin Smyth, one hand pinching his nose, the other gloriously muscular arm pressed against the tree, glowering at me like I had just kicked his imaginary dog. All traces of that playful smirk, that gentle laugh—gone.

“Don’t do that again!” he snapped at me, body tense.

“Wh—” I swallowed down my large bite. His eyes widened. “What? Eat this delicious treat you so generously gifted me?”

“That… noise.” He waved his finger at me. “That sound you just made. Don’t do that again.”

“I… why?” I glanced nervously at the others, who had just returned.

“Because I said so!” he shouted, storming toward me. I tensed, unsure what to expect. He was careful not to brush against me while reaching for the treat in my hand like he would tear it away, like it had… wronged him. But he stopped, a brief, unexpected hint of sadness passing through his angry glare at the sight of me. With an irritated grunt, he pointed at me and ordered, “Finish your cake!” before stomping away.

“What on earth did you say to him?” Gemma sidled up to me, watching him storm off.

“I didn’t say anything,” I answered, still in shock. “He got mad at me for making a noise because the pastry was so good.”

“A noise.” Gemma’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, scanning me from head to toe. “Interesting.” She scratched her chin with her index finger. “It has to be a woman that has him on edge. I’ve never seen a pair of balls wound up so tight.”

“Must be some woman,” I grumbled, stomach souring.

“Ary,” she hissed. I glanced up and found her studying me with a furrowed brow. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You, just now.” She pointed up and down the length of my body. “I mean, I suppose he could be attractive under all that… displeasure.” She shuddered.

“Gemma!” I hissed, glancing to make sure the boys hadn’t heard. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, forget about it,” she muttered under her breath. “He’s at least ten years older than you. He’d be robbing your cradle for sure.”

I cringed and blushed.

Finn and Ezra looked at us warily, like they didn’t want to know.

“I’m almost nineteen years old,” I whispered back. “Hardly a child.”

“And you’re Winterton’s bride.” She winked at me, her beautiful smile bright in the light of the sun.

I forced back a scowl at the reminder and mentally apologized in advance to Elias Winterton for not wanting to give him a chance. “How old is Elias again?”

“Twenty-four.” She nodded toward the thicket of trees Gavin had disappeared into. “Older than you, but not as old as him, that’s for sure.”

“Is Elias Winterton… attractive, at least?” I felt ashamed for wondering. But was it shallow to hope?

“Oh, yes.” Gemma raised her eyebrows suggestively. “That’s not something you need to worry about, Ary.” She smirked. “Elias has the kind of hair you’d kill to run your fingers through—thick and shiny and bronze. The face of a god. Tall. Lean muscle, tight ass.” She shivered with delight.

Finn shifted uncomfortably where he sat. I immediately felt bad for him and every other perfectly handsome man trying to compete with Elias Winterton in those Caves.

“You know what, though?” Gemma’s eyes darted fleetingly behind me, her mouth curling into a mischievous grin. “I think you could benefit from your own bit of fun before being married off. The gods know Winterton’s had his share of it.”

“What kind of fun?” My stomach churned, laced with apprehension.