Page 52 of The Candlemaker

“Plenty.” And by morning, I’d probably hog all of them.Lucky him.

I was glad when he didn’t reply. At least for a few minutes, I was, but then the silence started to feel less like a comfort and more like a chokehold. I was lying in bed next to the singular barrier between Lou and this inn.

We weren’t touching, but that didn’t matter. The flamenever touched the wax of a candle, but that didn’t stop it from melting.

“You know you can change your mind. Take Lou’s offer and put an end to all this.” My voice hitched inexplicably at the end.

I practically chewed a hole through my cheek waiting for him to respond, and when he did, it wasn’t with a reply to what I’d said.

“Why did your grandmother know my name?”

Crap.

“She didn’t.”

“She absolutely looked at me and your cousin and said my name like it meant something.”

“Because Chandler means candle maker, and I make candles, and now that my two older brothers are in relationships, I’m next on her chopping block,” I rattled, keeping my eyes locked on a string of cobwebs on the ceiling where the very faint streetlight caught the fragile strand. “If she knew who you were, she’d realize how wrong her thoughts were.”

“So why didn’t you tell her?”

My breath caught.Why hadn’t I?Because I would’ve had to admit to this—being here with him. Except that was a lie—one I’d been content to live with until he asked me to face it.

“Because that would’ve been worse for you, trust me.”

“So, you did something to spare me?”

I hated how I could hear the smile in his voice.“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“That you’d rather let your grandmother matchmake us than explain that we’re enemies?”

I tensed. “Not enemies. Adversaries.”

“There’s a difference?”

Twenty minutes ago, I would’ve said no. But right now, lying next to him, the differencewas profound.

“Apparently,” I murmured and turned on my side away from him, thinking the position would form some kind of mental block for all the things I shouldn’t be thinking. Instead, my spine prickled to life from the heat of his proximity, warm electricity stretching to the far reaches of every nerve. Not being able to see him, even in my periphery, made me overanalyze every sensation, anticipating it as touch.

“Because you don’t kiss enemies?”

My mouth went dry, and I fumbled for a reply. “I don’t kiss anyone. What happened earlier was a mistake.”Famous last words.I gave myself a mental eye roll. “All I care about is my candles—my business. Of all people, I think you’d agree that’s most important, Mr. Business Not Pleasure.”

He hummed, the sound creeping through all the cracks in my armor like a bug with a thousand legs.

“I do.” He replied much slower than I’d anticipated. “But maybe you don’t want those muscles to atrophy.”

Air sucked into my lungs, a tangle of heat and want and promise. Yes—no.

A thousand nos.

“Whatever I want, it can’t be with you.”

“Because we’re adversaries?”

Because we’re dangerous.The spark. The heat.The burn.I was rarely afraid of something. To try something. To test something. To tease or toy with someone. I was rarely afraid to put myself at risk because I did it so many times, I thought I’d numbed away the fear.

But I’d never felt at risk like this before. I could be silly or haphazard or even immature at times, but I knew real danger when I felt it. And all I felt when I was close to him—in his arms, locked in his kiss—was how unsafe every single second of that embrace could be.

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