Page 50 of The Candlemaker

A grunt was the only gratitude I received as he stalked out of the room.

“Check the windows, too!” I called after him, confident he wouldn’t find the broken latch on the one in the kitchen; it looked like it was locked, and the wood frame was so swollen with age and elements that it felt locked on first tug, requiring several good hefts before the seal gave way and opened.At least, that was how I’d explained it to Nox in the short minutes I’d spoken with him earlier.

Lifting a second candle from my bag, I lit the wick before I even checked the rest of the lanterns by the wall.Nox was definitely thorough.

To the tune of Chandler’s heavy, determined footfalls, I began to deconstruct Nox’s masterpiece. Placing the candle in the center of the room, I collected the pentagram of water bottles and lined them up along the wall, removed the remaining blankets from the windows, returned the air mattress to where it was this morning, and somehow found myself re-making his bed.

I shouldn’t have. I should’ve left it for him because this was blurring an already-blurred line. But I felt a tiny bit bad.For the guy who only cares about selling this place to the highest bidder? Come on, Frankie.

I dropped his pillows in the center—like not putting those in place negated the effort I’d put into restoring the rest of it.

Clutching my own pillow to my chest, I looked for mysleeping bag.The one thing I hadn’t seen yet.I walked the perimeter of the room, but there weren’t many places for it to hide. Picking up the candle, I checked the hall next. The creaky closet. The empty dining room. My head whipped side to side, my steps more frantic as I searched the crevasses of the first floor before I returned to the stairs, somehow bypassing Chandler entirely in my path.

I looked up to the second floor.Come on, Nox.My cousin wasn’t thrilled about my request; the pausing traffic for my faux séance was one thing, but this…he was skeptical.And that was without knowing that I was staying at the inn, too.I could claim I hadn’t had the chance to tell him that part yet, but even if Chandler hadn’t shown up at my shop earlier, I hadn’t planned on telling him.

I claimed I needed plausible deniability, but if Nox had done all this, he would’ve found my sleeping bag and realized the truth.Maybe that was why my sleeping bag was the only thing hidden in Timbuktu…if it was hiding at all.

I took the steps two at a time, my heart thudding heavily when I reached the second floor.

There were no ghosts, but the second floor was still creepy as hell. Dark hallway. All the doors shut.

You’re the one who invented the ghosts, remember?My inner trouble reminded me.

Gritting my teeth, I went to the first door and flung it open. Dust. Dirty windows. No sleeping bag. It was the same with the second room across the hall. The third. The fourth. The fifth. If he took it with him because he realized I was sleeping here too…no, he wouldn’t.The last door stuck in the jam, requiring a little shoulder grease to shove it open.

Empty.“Dammit?—”

“What is it?”

I spun with a gasp, my foot catching on theuneven floorboard that stopped the door from opening smoothly. As quickly as it sent me toppling backward, I was yanked forward into Chandler’s arms—against his chest.

Heat burst through my skin, sinking its teeth deep into my chest and stomach and…lower.Dammit.I squeezed my eyes shut.Why was this happening? Why did I want him like this?Why couldn’t it be anyone else but him?

My heart raced like I’d run a marathon.I should step back. Move away.Run.But I needed a second. Air dumped only the scent of him into my lungs, overtaking everything else like a Trojan Horse let loose in my chest.

“Frankie…” His chest rumbled under my fingertips, and I tilted my head up, following the trail of bronze skin that started at the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, up the thick cords of his neck, along the pulse of his jaw to his full, firm lips, and finally to the dark embers of his stare.

“What are you doing?” I choked out like he was the one at fault when I was the one still clutching his shirt.

“Looking for you.” Dark eyes searched mine. “What are you doing?”

My lips parted. “Looking for my sleeping bag.”

His big body tensed, sending a warm shiver through my own. We both considered the consequences—that there was now only one bed between us.

I stepped back, quickly but carefully this time.

“Did you find it?” he rumbled and moved around me to double-check the room. Or at least pretend like he was—just like I pretended not to see his hand move to his waist and his stance widen as he adjusted his hard-on.

“No. It’s nowhere.”

“Let’s check downstairs again.” He grunted and led the way back down the hall.

“Was everything still locked up?”

I caught a shadow of displeasure cross his face before he moved ahead of me down the staircase, and my stomach did a small victory flip. “Yeah. Everything was still locked.”

At least part of my plan was working.Back in the living room, I picked up a water bottle and cracked it open, watching him scour the nooks and crannies once more.

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