I was glad I’d worn my sweatshirt when I walked into the yard from the kitchen and felt a cool breeze. The path to William’s work shed was accommodatingly lined with solar lamps, and I made my way toward the glowing open doorway. Something mischievous in me wanted to surprise him so I bounced up on the balls of my feet, tiptoeing along. In my sneakers, it wasn’t hard to be silent on the brick path.

A hammer rang against metal with a rhythm so precise it might have been operated by machinery. I knew that William was a blacksmith for the RMRA. He’d been doing it for several years, as a matter of fact, and I’d admired the pieces he’d made. After the weekend, I imagined he had a lot of work to catch up on.

But there wouldn’t be any more blacksmithing tonight. We had important work to do. William had a duel to win.

I entered the workshop through the open door and, as I’d hoped, I caught him unaware. He was bent over his anvil, tongs in one hand and hammer in the other. He had goggles on and jeans with a full leather apron. I was briefly reminded of Hephaestus, blacksmith to the gods of Greece. But he had been deformed, and from what I could see, there was nothing about William’s body that could even be remotely described as deformed.

His arms and back were fully exposed, and seeing him like this hit like a punch to the gut. A pleasant punch, actually. I inhaled a deep breath and drank him in, watching as his biceps and triceps bunched and stretched with the rhythm of his hammering. His arms were sculpted, strong—superb. I hadn’t noticed under all that armor what good physical shape William was in. He’d never been unfit, but with all the working out and training he’d been doing over the last four months…now he was downright scrumptious.

My mouth went dry as I imagined those shapely, solid arms wrapped around me. Distractedly, I licked my lips and looked away, startled and even a little unsettled by this powerful jolt of attraction. I’d always thought William was good-looking and knew I was attracted to him. But it was never in a lusting, gotta-have-him sort of way. At least not until now.

Suddenly, the hammering stopped—along with the attractive ripple in his back muscles that accompanied the motion. Without turning, William straightened and said, “You’re thirty-three minutes late.”

My jaw dropped. How the heck did he do that? Had I been breathing too heavily or something? Damn. “Oh, uh. I’m sorry.”

He adjusted where his hammer rested against the piece he was working on, but he still didn’t look at me. “And you didn’t ring the doorbell.”

Oh shit. I’d completely caught him off guard…and he sounded pissed off about it. Though honestly, it was always hard to tell with him. He was like a Vulcan on steroids most of the time.

“My bad,” I said, trying to stifle a little heat—both from embarrassment and irritation.

“Your bad what?”

“Uh…” Okay, now I was completely lost. “Huh?”

He heaved a sigh. “I’ll be right with you. This needs more work before the metal cools.” He bent over his work again, then added, “Oh, good evening. I hope you are well.” He recited the words as if he’d learned that that’s how you greet a person. Like he actually was a Vulcan who had just landed on the planet wielding his trusty guide, The Customs and Mores of Earthlings.

I blinked, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

While I watched William finish his piece, I continued to be disturbed by how much the movement in his back and arm muscles fascinated me. I finally forced my eyes away, turning to take in the shelves of his workshop. Atop each shelf were pieces—some finished and some still in progress—all meticulously labeled with their intended destination. They were mostly simple looking, garden implements and lots of metal buckles for period-style belts, armor straps, weapon sheaths and canvas tents. People who made these other items depended on William to supply them with the hardware.

There were also more complex pieces that he’d obviously been using for practice. I’d read somewhere that it took years and years of fulltime work to master blacksmithing. This was William’s hobby, but from the looks of his workshop—fully tricked out with his own forge and bellows—it was a serious hobby.

I also spotted a full suit of armor on a stand in the corner. It did not resemble the armor he’d worn at the duel, and I moved to get a closer look. In the process, I stole a glance at him again, noticing the play of light on his sweat-coated upper body as he bent to drop his piece in the bucket of water. With a slight hiss, it sank to the bottom while he removed his goggles and pulled his apron from around his neck.

I stopped in my tracks. Now his chest was fully exposed and I had to suppress a gasp. Heat rose to my face. Holy Artemis, he was hot. His chest was all sharp planes and masculine angles, and it looked very, very hard. I stopped fantasizing about touching him—and maybe even licking him—when I realized that I was staring, and he, in turn, was watching me stare. I spun and my wandering eyes once again focused on the suit of armor.

“Don’t touch that,” he said as my hand was halfway extended toward the breastplate. I jerked it back, flustered.

“That piece is broken and needs to be fixed…it’s too delicate to handle right now.”

“Huh. I was just wondering where the Ark Reactor was…” I snarked, still staring at the wall. “It’s obviously not, um, not on your chest—” I cut myself off, thankful that he couldn’t see my face.

Damn it. Flash some fine muscles and a strong, male physique at me and I lost it like a schoolgirl. I swallowed the thick lump in my throat.

William pulled his piece from the water bucket—or at least that’s what it sounded like. “That’s not an Iron Man suit. Those don’t actually exist.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I knew that. I wasn’t expecting you to go flying around or anything.” I faced him again, forcing my eyes to stay on his face. “Are you finishing anytime soon? I haven’t got all night, you know.”

He blinked. “I’m finished. I just need to bank the fire. It won’t take all night. Just a mere fraction of the night.”

I would have laughed if I thought he was making a joke. But he wasn’t, so that breath I let go was merely to help me blow off some steam. I was flustered and embarrassed—both at my reaction to him and at his lack of reaction to me.

If he were any other guy, he would have checked me out twice by now. Instead, he’d barely looked at me since I arrived.