My hands clamp on her waist, holding her still. Then, because I’m a bastard, they linger, my thumbs rubbing over the swell of her hips. Her clothes are soft, slipping and sliding under my calloused palms.

“It’s no use,” Gwen says, completely unfazed from the way I’m pawing at her. “Everyone in the valley already knows me. They know I’ve only ever done farm work, and more than that, they know exactly what I’m like.”

I grunt, losing the battle with myself and pressing my face against the back of her head. My lungs fill with her daisy meadow scent. “That’s a good thing, cariad.”

Gwen scoffs. “No, it’s not. Anyone who’s ever listened to my Dad for five seconds will never give me a job.”

Well, that’s probably true, because Farmer Roberts holds sway in this community. He won’t take well to Gwen discovering her independence. And I bite my tongue against the same advice I’ve wanted to give twenty times already this afternoon. Leave this valley. Look elsewhere.

It would crack me open of course, but who knows? Maybe in time I could follow. Maybe she’d let me, and she wouldn’t be disturbed by how deeply I need her nearby.

She wouldn’t have to be in my bed. Lord knows I could never be so lucky. But I need to catch glimpses of her walking down the lane; need to hear snatches of her giddy laughter. Without those things my world will turn gray.

“Does he know you’re here? Should I expect an angry mob circling my forge with pitchforks?”

Gwen slumps in my lap, resting her head on my shoulder. “Wow, I really hope not. Just in case, though, I’m sorry.” Her head tilts to the side, the tip of her nose brushing my bristly jaw. “He shouldn’t have spread those rumors about you, Rhys Evans. He knows it’s all bullshit.”

I squeeze her waist, my heart slamming into my ribs. “Not all of it.”

Gwen’s silent for a long moment, and all I can hear is my blood rushing in my ears. Our shared breaths, getting quicker and more ragged.

“Listen, Gwen—”

She moves quickly. One moment she’s still, and the next, she’s a flurry of frizzy hair and sharp elbows. My air leaves me in a rush as she jabs me in the gut, and my eyes are watering when she finally settles in my lap again, facing me this time.

“Gwen,” I wheeze.

Her mouth twists. “Sorry.” A fingertip traces over my cheekbone, and fuck, I can’t think straight. Can’t do anything except stare at her pursed lips, chest heaving. “I’m so clumsy, I swear to god. I never mean any harm, but I still wreak havoc.”

Not with me. I can handle a stray elbow or two, no problem. I’m more than built for it. I’d tell her, too, but she’s still talking, leaning so close that her breath mists warm against my cheeks.

“I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me, Rhys Evans. You’re like this big granite boulder of a man, so stoic and unreadable, and the last time I tried to flirt with you, you shut me down so hard.”