Page 23 of The Candlemaker

“Hi, Lou. You can come up,” Charlie called.

My head snapped up, the room wobbling through Lou’s glasses for a second. Only when Charlie addressed me did I step forward. “Hi, Charlotte.” Lou never called her Charlie, only Charlotte. “I’m here to meet a…friend.” Lou would’ve faltered on the word, but so did I. “I’m not sure exactly what the name is under, but it’s for two people at seven?—”

“It’s under Chandler,” a deep voice spilled from behind me, the edge of his name lifting on the quirk of his smile.

Chapter Six

Frankie

Like a match to a wick,his voice lit a flame of goose bumps along my spine. I forced myself not to shiver. Not to tremble against the controlled, combustible heat of him as he came to stand beside me. I watched the color of Charlie’s cheeks deepen even in the dim lighting. Of course, they did. How handsome he was was probably the only thing his money couldn’t buy.

I had to turn. Had to greet him. I took a deep breath.Sandalwood.He smelled of sandalwood.And a hint of clove.I shoved the breath out and started to face him—but hesitantly. Lou would be nervous. Uncertain. My shoulder brushed into him, my jacket dampening the sparks. And then I was staring at his broad chest.

“Good evening, Lou.”

He was a liar. A liar and a dreamkiller.

I lifted my gaze and smiled. “Hi.”

Thank God for Lou’s glasses.They were like lookingthrough a low-dose funhouse mirror, distorting his dark eyes, softening his square jaw, and obscuring the rest of his deceptive handsomeness that I’d loathe to admit threw me off guard.

His head tipped, those molten eyes sinking deeper into mine for an instant before they swept over me, and I let mine return the gesture.Sizing up my opponent.

Navy suit and white shirt, all tailored to perfection. He had one hand in his pocket and the top button at his collar undone. As though refined ruthlessness was his own style.

“I can take you to your table.” Charlie’s voice interrupted what could’ve only been a few seconds.

“After you.” Chandler stepped to the side, extending an arm to let me proceed first.Like the gentleman he wasn’t.As I moved past him, I felt the slight prick of heat low on my back. His fingers, I realized too late, were ever so gently guiding me forward. Even through my layers, the touch felt like the lure of a low flame, begging me to move closer, aching for me to let it burn hotter.

No.

My shoulders rolled back, and I walked a little faster, out of his reach, as Charlie led us to the back corner of the steakhouse, the round table suddenly seeming more like a fighting ring. I sank down into one side of the booth and Chandler went to the other. The casual flick of his wrist to unbutton his jacket as he sat didnotmake my cheeks warm. Absolutely not. It was just hotter back here.

And to prove it, I slid my arms out of my jacket.

Before we had a chance to say anything, our waiter, Marty, introduced himself and offered us water. Chandler took the opportunity to order a bottle of red wine, the name and year meaning nothing to me but clearly something to him—that he pulled the vintage right off the top of his head like a rabbitfrom a hat.

“Thank you for joining me for dinner,” he said as soon as we were alone. “I don’t get company for meals too often.”

“Oh?” I choked out, not for a single second believing his words. This man had brokered half of Boston and had been given a face Narcissus would be jealous of; there was no chance he ate alone regularly.

Why was he trying to hide who he was?

Before I got another answer—another lie—Marty returned with water and the bottle of wine that he presented to Chandler and then poured him a taste. The exchange would’ve almost seemed a little ridiculous if I wasn’t caught off guard by the way Chandler sniffed the wine first, his eyes shutting and his jaw tensing as the aroma hit him. He looked the same as when he’d smelled my candles—as though it were one of the few, rare times he gave himself a moment to just breathe.

I guessed breathing just wasn’t lucrative enough for Mr. Collins to do it regularly.

I blinked, and Marty had filled both of our glasses. Taking the opportunity to follow his lead, I let a little piece of Frankie slip out as I brought the glass to my nose, swirled the wine, and inhaled.

Rich, but fruity.Was that black cherry?I could make something similar…

I opened my eyes, instantly snagging them with Chandler’s and feeling my cheeks flush.

“I have a few specials for tonight.” Marty linked his hands behind his back and rattled off about their dry-aged cowboy-cut steak and a salmon special.

Lou would’ve picked the fish; she was the surf to my turf.

“Are we ready to order?”

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