Page 26 of The Candlemaker

I opened my mouth and then snapped it shut again. Lou was too practical to believe in ghosts, but that didn’t matter right now.What was that saying? In for a penny…

“I haven’t personally experienced any of the sightings, but I believe those who have. Thankfully, from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like any of the spirits have any harmful intent.”

“And what if opening it back up makes them angry?”

“Oh, it won’t,” I blurted out a little too confidently as his eyes narrowed. “I think they’re just a little frustrated that their home has been left to decay for so long.” I tacked on a soft smile and laughed at the end like the message wasn’t clear.The sooner I—Lou—took control of the inn, the hauntings would stop.

Marty returned with the check and discreetly took Chandler’s card.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. Better to steer clear of the ghost conversation. “It was delicious.”

His tipped smile made my stomach do something I’d also later attribute to the wine. “Thank you for the company. And the conversation.”

Heat prickled in my cheeks.

Perfect.

I couldn’t hold back my smile as we strolled out of the restaurant. Whether it was the glasses or the glasses of wine, I took the two small steps outside too quickly and turned my ankle on the landing.

“Shit—” Air whooshed from my chest as I collided withsomething hard—something I knew instantly wasnotthe ground. It was far too warm and far too…alive.

“Are you okay?”

I tipped my head back, my balance steadying on the twin dark points of his eyes. They were so close. So intense. But my mistake wasn’t looking at him or touching him, it was breathing him in. It was breathing in his spiced sandalwood musk and the dark cherry wine lingering on his breath. Letting it fill my nostrils and infuse straight into my veins. Like his own brand of adrenaline, it made my heart skip and pound and my body ache and ache…and ache.

No…

“Yes,” I murmured, my fingers curling into the lapel of his jacket, and took another breath.

He was…intoxicating.My lungs craved the scent of him rather than oxygen, my head growing light as it sacrificed air in exchange for him. With every breath, I expected him to pull away. I’d told him I was okay. Steady. He could let me go.

But he didn’t.

If anything, his hands on my waist grew tighter. His body swayed closer. His head dipped lower.

My eyes didn’t dip into the depths of his, they dove. Deep beneath his collected veneer and calm aloof. Deep until I reached the source of his heat—and the source of my own.

“Chandler…” What should’ve been a plea to end this instead left my lips in desperation for more.

Scent was the precursor to taste. It prepared our mouths for what was to come, our tongues for what to expect. I’d understood the relationship between those senses for a long time and experienced it for far longer, but this was the first time scent had ever prepared my mouth for the taste of a kiss.

But the taste of him was about the only thing I was prepared for, as his mouth claimed mine with a heavy groan.

Restraint was the difference between the warmth of a candle and the blaze of a wildfire. And this kiss lacked all of it. Chandler hauled me against him, his lips crushing—bruising in their hunger. Maybe I shouldn’t have liked it—the way everything about this blaze signaled instant havoc and destruction—but I more than liked it. I craved more.

This kiss was trouble, and I craved it all.

My arms wound around his neck, my mouth opening to let the warm velvet of his tongue spear deep and tangle with mine. I felt his deep rumble of desire against my chest, my nipples pebbling painfully at the sensation. I’d never felt like this before. This instant, ravenous want. I bowed closer to ease the ache, but it wasn’t enough.

He sucked on my tongue. I bit into his lip. He growled and wrapped one hand around my braids, tugging my head back and giving him deeper access to my mouth.

The kiss consumed me. Every lick. Every stroke. He was the fire, and I was the candle, my entire body melting under the heat of his flame. Dissolving. Disintegrating for a man who thought I was my twin sister. Reality, like a cold, heavy stone, plummeted into my stomach.

I don’t know what would’ve happened if we’d been left like that—how far or how hot the blaze would’ve burned. I do know it would’ve been destructive. It already was.

The door to the restaurant opened, and with it came the boisterous laugh of a woman with her friends.

“Shit,” Chandler muttered and practically shoved me away from him.

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