Page 64 of The Candlemaker

The door swung wide. “You’re welcome to come in and look for them.”

I stepped inside, my arm brushing hers as she closed the door behind me.

“Frankie…”

“While you’re here, let me clean your face.” She strolled ahead of me like there was no chance I’d protest.

Moving wordlessly through her shop, I felt the edge of my brow, wincing as my fingers brushed the slight swelling around the cut.Damn.I’d forgotten about that.

In the back, Frankie tugged out a stool from underneath the counter; it was the one she always sat on to review her orders. It was a simple wood piece that looked damn uncomfortable until I sat in it myself. The way the seat was carved forced my back straight.

“Jamie made it for me,” she said, seeing me examining her chair. “He made all the shelves and furniture in here; he’s incredible.”

I slowly admired the craftsmanship of the work, my gaze sliding around the room until it landed on Frankie’s ass. I stiffened. My cock stiffened. Hell, everything but my restraint stiffened.

She was bent under the sink, practically crawling completely inside the cupboard, leaving her ass up in the air.Christ. Wasn’t it bad enough I had to feel those curves pressed warm and soft against me every night?

She made a sound of triumph and appeared with a smile on her face and a first-aid kit in her hand.

I cleared my throat and banded my arms over my chest, hoping she didn’t look too long south of my waist.

“Doesn’t seem like a great place for a first-aid kit.”

“Says the first person I’ve had to use it for,” she returned smartly, opening up the box and pulling out what she needed. She went to the sink next and wet a cloth with warm water.

“I’m going to wipe off the dried blood first and make sure there’s no glass in there,” she said and came to stand in front of me. Cinnamon burned into my nostrils, pulling my jaw tighter.

I winced at the first brush of her hand. Not because it hurt, but because it was her.

“I’m sorry.” She dabbed gently, andher teeth clamped into her bottom lip.

“Don’t…” I closed my eyes, unable to look at her—to know she was damn close and so fucking kissable.

Nothing existed outside the warm drag of the cloth over my skin. The uneven catch of her breath. The heat making the air between us buzz with electricity. It wasn’t painful; it was torture. So, I kept my arms tight over my front, afraid if I loosened them an inch, the first thing they’d do was reach for her.

“It’s a good gash you’ve got here,” she murmured, attempting to add some lightness to her tone.

“Will I survive?”

She hummed, pretending to consider her answer. “Too soon to tell.”

I let out a weak laugh.She wasn’t wrong about that.

“If I don’t, maybe I’ll join the inn ghosts.”

She stilled for a split second. “You’d have to expire there for that to happen.”

My chest rumbled. “I didn’t realize there were rules to haunting.”

“Oh, many,” she replied matter-of-factly, pulling the cloth away.

I opened my eyes, instantly finding hers. “So, if I expire here, then I guess I’d be stuck haunting you.”

Her mouth parted, and I bit into my tongue to hold back a grunt of pain. My cock was so fucking hard, if skin had seams, mine would’ve split by now.

“You already do,” she murmured, and the husk in her voice, the look in her eyes…she wasn’t talking about the way I hovered around her all week.

My gaze dropped to her lips, and the hold I had on myself started to loosen. My fingers uncurled. The fire in my chest burned hotter.

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