Page 32 of The Candlemaker

“Yes—”

I whipped my head and glared at Frankie, anger and attraction sizzling through me like ungrounded electricity.

“No, it’s not,” I bit out, my eyes still locked on her, daring her to contradict me.

And she did.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Collins”—her sweet voice was as saccharine as raw honey—“I know you’ve just arrived in town and aren’t familiar with the area or much of its heritage”—touché—“but I promise you, the old Lamplight Inn is most assuredly haunted. Feel free to askanyonewho lives around here.” Her eyes never broke from mine, the golden flecks in them tap dancing over my irritation. She knew I’d asked around—knew I would ask around. And now she rubbed it in my face that I’d walked right into the net she’d planted for me.

If I wasn’t so damn annoyed and inconvenienced by hergall, it would be one more thing on a quickly growing list of the reasons I was attracted to her. A list I’d retitledReasons to Avoid Frankie Kinkade.

“Miss Kinkade, even if ghosts do exist, I can assure you, it’s no concern of Mr. Fairfax. It’s the property we’re here to look at. Your ghosts will rest in peace once the building is rubble,” I bit out, losing another layer of restraint. So, what if she knew the buyer I wanted to sell to not only offered more but planned on destroying the historic inn?

Business was business.

Frankie’s jaw went slack, her full lips separating just enough to make me want to slide my tongue back inside them. My tongue…and other parts of me.Fuck.

I forced my lips into a cold smirk. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Fairfax?”

“Oh, no,” Frankie interjected before he could answer. “Ghosts don’t just disappear when the building goes; they haunt the land, and they’ll probably be even angrier that you’ve destroyed their home.” Her eyes flicked from me to Fairfax, and whatever she saw must’ve made her realize she was losing her foothold because she pressed her hand to her chest and then reached for my arm with her other. Heat blasted through my veins. Heat and hunger. “But what I’d be more worried about is the cemetery underneath the inn.”

“Cemetery?”Jesus Christ.My hand slowly curled at my side. This was the kind of shit that only happened in small towns. Rumors and secrets and…shenanigans.

I turned my head and met her stare, and she didn’t flinch. When my fist balled tight, it flexed my arm underneath her fingers, and I heard the small catch of her breath before she dropped her hold.

My nostrils flared.You’re playingwith fire.

Playing with fire is my job.Her gaze seemed to respond a second before she actually did respond.“There’s a Native American burial ground that colonial settlers built over—according to legend.”Or according to Frankie’s imagination.

“Collins, if I tear this thing down and end up with zoning and historical society and preservation society hoopla because of a damn burial ground?—”

“There is no burial ground underneath the inn,” I snapped. Later, I’d regret losing my cool and wonder what the hell it was about her particular brand of impertinence that got so far underneath my skin.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Mr. Collins.” Frankie stepped to the side, holding her smile and batting her not-so-damn innocent lashes. “But as I told Mr. Fairfax, when I heard the inn was for sale, I wanted to help in any way I could. Of course, there was no way for you to know about the ghost problem.” She put her hand on my arm, heat branding my skin. “So, I’ve been performing séances here every week to help appease the spirits.”

Are you fucking kidding?

When her eyes widened, I realized the rumble around us wasn’t traffic on the street but the growl erupting from my chest. Gritting my teeth, I tugged my arm away.

“Look, Fairfax, I can assure you?—”

“I’m going to need more than assurances here, Collins,” he blustered, reaching and adjusting the seat of his hat. “No burial ground. No ghosts. Or no deal. I’m not going to pay a premium for this property only to have all my investment go six feet under.”

“Absolutely. I will provide you with documentation of the historical uses of this land, as well as radiographic scans to prove there are no bodies underneath the ground.”

“And the ghosts, Mr. Collins?” Frankie probed sweetly, her almond eyes waiting for mine to land as my head whipped back to her.

I didn’t know what was more unbelievable right now—that I was having a legitimate conversation about ghosts or that I still wanted—with an insane amount of lust—the woman who was single-handedly derailing a dozen multi-million-dollar deals.

My glare was so fixed on her that I jerked back in surprise when something broke through my line of sight. I blinked and turned and found the culprit—a butterfly.By the time I saw it, it was far enough away that I couldn’t tell if it was like the one in Mom’s frame, but at that point, it didn’t matter. A butterfly had appeared at this exact moment, and all I could think about was what she’d said.

“You’ll know the right thing to do.”

“Do you have physical proof they exist?” I demanded low.

“Proof? Of ghosts?” Her laugh was like individual rays of sunshine. Something that made me want to close my eyes and bask in its warmth…if only she wasn’t my adversary. “Oh.” She stopped suddenly, pressing her hand to those damn lips. “Oh, I thought you were joking.” The corners of her mouth turned up, and so help me, all I wanted to do was kiss the damn coyness from her face. “I don’t know that I can provide proof, Mr. Collins. It’s just common knowledge when you live here, but if you’d like, I can continue my séances?—”

“You know what?” I interrupted her, a wide smile breaking over my face.The first clue that I’d lost my fucking mind.“I have a solution.” I faced my counterpart, almost completely cutting Frankie out of the conversation. “I will prove to you the property isn’t haunted, Fairfax. Personally.”

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