Page 26 of Ironling
“I appreciate it, Hakon, truly. This is so much better—and faster than I ever expected. I hope it didn’t interfere with your other work.”
“There will always be horseshoes to make,” he replied in good humor.
She handed back the shears for the final touches, although reluctantly. Something about holding them, feeling how fine a creation they were, made her greedy.
“I hope you will enjoy using the shears as much as I did making them,” he said as he pulled out several pieces of wood for her to choose from. “If you need anything else made, I will help any way I can.”
More beautiful words had never been said—at least not to Aislinn.
“I wouldn’t want to impose…”
“What else is a blacksmith for?” His smile turned cheeky, that dimple elongating. “All those designs in your notebook are very…”
It was Aislinn’s turn to flush. “Messy?”
“Impressive,” he decided. “You have so many ideas.”
Aislinn shrugged, not knowing what else to do when faced with such praise. “It’s just how my mind works, I suppose. If I didn’t draw them and get them out, they’d crowd around in my head and leave me no space.”
When her explanation was met with silence, she dared look up—to find him staring at her in…she didn’t know what, but it had her heart fluttering like bird wings.
“I hadn’t considered that.” A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “I like it. The drawing frees your mind for more ideas.”
“A blessing and a curse,” she agreed. “It means there’s always a new idea to distract me from the last one.”
“A mind always at work.”
“Yes.” That was exactly right. He put into words how she felt in a way no one had before. With it came a sharp pinprick of truth, though; her mind truly was always whirring, which could be exhausting.
Not right now, though. As she sat speaking with Hakon Green-Fist, she found herself on the edge of her seat, greedy for what he might say next in that brogue accent of his.
After choosing a solid piece of pine, Hakon said, “Let me get a few measurements of your hands, if you wouldn’t mind staying another moment?”
Mind? He’d have to throw her out.
“Of course,” she said, adjusting her skirts to hide her happiness.
Pulling over a stool, he sat before her with a ball of string. Although the stool sat him a little below her in her chair, his head still rose above hers. The impact of his size was even more acute like this as he leaned forward, attention on unspooling a length of string. He took up most of her vision, and so close, she could smell the heat of the fire on him, the crisp scent of wood and iron just beneath, along with a heavier, deeper tone of male. His scent reminded her of a bonfire, like crackling orange sparks and fragrant wood in conflagration.
When he offered his large green hand, she didn’t hesitate to give her own. She bit her lip at the feeling of his skin againsthers as he held and moved her hand so, so gently. He touched her with his fingertips, as if she was delicate, precious. The string whispered across her skin as he took the length and width of her hands, a soft, teasing whisper followed by the warm scrape of his calluses.
She watched, mesmerized by the slow, almost sensual movements of his hands. How the tendons flexed under his skin, how the blunted fingertips held the string, how his palms almost burned her with their warmth as they held her hand.
It was a long while before Aislinn realized that the string no longer touched her, that it was only his two hands holding hers. Breath stuttering, she looked up between her lashes to find him looking at her much the same way under the shadow of his heavy brow.
A frisson of…something passed between them. She could only describe it assparklingandexciting.
Aislinn held her breath, waiting.
For what, she didn’t know.
For once, her mind was blessedly quiet as she took in every detail of the handsome blacksmith. The fleck of gold in his right eye. The small scar that bisected his left brow. The few freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. The perfect arch of his upper lip, hiding the tips of those small tusks.
Her lips parted—to say what she didn’t know—and she watched his gaze drop to her mouth.
Fates, what am I doing?
Pulling her hand back, Aislinn dropped her gaze to her notebook.
