She walks into my forge like trouble wrapped in silk, all soft curves and curious eyes that see too damn much. Emery Morrison—my daughter's best friend, a city girl with a podcast about traditional crafts who thinks she can handle the heat of my world. I should send her away. Should ignore the way she looks at me like I'm something worth having, something worth the risk. At forty-seven, I've made peace with solitude. I shape steel and keep my hands busy and don't think about touching anything softer than metal. But then she asks the right questions. Shows me she understands what happens in the fire, what it means to transform something raw into art. And when she looks at me with those impossible eyes, I forget every reason this is wrong. She's twenty-three. She's forbidden. She's everything I shouldn't want. I'm going to claim her anyway. Augustus Wallace is exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined. Gruff, intimidating, beautiful in the way forest fires are beautiful—destructive and mesmerizing and absolutely not meant to be touched. He's also my best friend's father, which should kill any attraction stone dead. Instead, it makes the hunger burning between us even more dangerous. I came to Vermont for an interview. One hour in his forge, recording the legendary blacksmith's secrets for my podcast. I should get my story and leave, drive back to the city and pretend I never felt the weight of his stare or the heat that has nothing to do with thousand-degree steel. But I've been waiting my whole life to feel claimed. Transformed. Made new by someone who understands that creation requires controlled violence, precise destruction that builds something stronger. He warns me to stay away, tells me to lock my door, growls that I don't know what I'm playing with. He's wrong. I know exactly what I want. Him.