Page 69 of The Candlemaker

“Chandler…”

“Let’s start the fire before we both catch a chill,” he said and maneuvered around me, his footsteps firm as he walked back to the living room.

He was trying to fight it, and maybe I should be, too; he was…who he was, after all.

But he was also the man who worked by my side without question. Who talked to my customers and sold my candles like they were his own. And he was also the man who was willing to do anything for the people he loved—even cutting himself out of his mom’s life if it would spare her pain.

I could resist every other temptation the man possessed except the broken-hearted loyalty that had crushed him earlier.

I stood next to him as he crouched in front of the hearth, holding the candle steady as he unwrapped and lit a brand new log. The wood cracked and popped to life, the flame slowly sinking its teeth through the worn, hard layers, not unlike desire, which had latched onto me.Onto us.

“You should change,” he muttered, staying low by the fire.

My throat tightened.

“I don’t want to change.”

His shoulders jerked back, and then he straightened and turned in one swift movement to tower over me with an angry glare.

“What do you want, Frankie?” he dared, his husky voice making my core clench painfully.

I wasn’t ashamed of who I was or what I wanted, and no matter the outside circumstances that brought us here, I wasn’t going to share now.

I handed him the candle, holding his eyes. “I want you to show me.”

His expression turned pained. “Frankie…I can’t—we can’t.”

My chin lifted. “Because you don’t want to?”

Something like a growl drifted between us. He moved so our chests were almost touching, his head dipping lower as he uttered, “I’ve never wanted anything more.” He took the candle from my hand. “But I won’t do that to you, or to me, because we’re adversaries.”

My hand landed on his chest, stopping him from walking away again.

“Not in here, we’re not,” I murmured. “Not tonight.” I felt him shudder against my palm. “Do what you promised.”

His jaw tensed. “And what was that?”

“Don’t mix business with pleasure.”

His eyes flickered. Popped. Cracked. I shivered.

And then the flame erupted when his mouth claimed mine.

His kiss burned away the chill from my bones. He set the candle somewhere because his hands were on the sides of my face an instant later, tipping my head, angling it for the deep press of his tongue.

I wanted more. I wanted everything. I’d been so focused for so long—so single-minded on my own success—that I didn’t leave room for distraction. But tonight, I wanted to be free. Tonight, I didn’t want to care about anything except easing the ache that had been building from the second I’d met him.

Tonight, I wanted to be taken by my own trouble.

“Chandler…”

Water ran along my fingers and splattered onto the floor as I squeezed his shirt and pulled him tight. A groan rumbled from his chest, as unsteady as the ones that quaked from the sky, and he deepened the kiss.His tongue pierced every corner of my mouth, licking and stroking—scorchingscars of pleasure with the same white-hot heat as the lightning outside.

I shook. The old building shook. The same rain that pelted the windows dripped from our clothes onto thefloor. It was as though the fury outside was nothing more than a mirror for the tempest that consumed us. The tighter he held me, the louder the booms. The deeper the kiss, the heavier the rain.

My hands skated up to his nape, threading the damp strands of his hair and wringing them dry. He was so hot, like molten stone pressed to my chest, and all I wanted was to be closer. All I wanted was to melt against him.

I didn’t even realize when my hips began to rock, aching for the hard ridge of him wedged against my stomach.

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