Candlelight Conspiracy Read Free

a luxury.”
    She slipped a fork full of risotto into her mouth—the best part of being a chef was watching people enjoy his creations. This meal wasn’t his best, thanks to the sudden lack of power, but Sophie wouldn’t be sitting in his apartment asking him ridiculous questions, like she cared, if his meal had turned out perfectly. The give and take of life struck again.
    “What do you think?” he asked, but he already knew the answer—the edges of her mouth turned up and the happiness in her eyes clearly said she loved it.
    “Tasty, but it’s a little … hmm … the same as I’ve had somewhere else.” She shrugged and took another bite.
    Tasty? The same?
This was his family’s recipe. It was the best.
What the hell?
He watched her enjoy the next bite, too.
    He stabbed a beef medallion and part of an asparagus. “Would’ve been better with the sauce. That’s what I was experimenting with.”
    “I may actually catch up on sleep this week. I think, as an adult, sleep is always a luxury. You’re not off the hook, by the way.” She pointed her fork at him before choosing a medallion off her plate.
    “I like to fish for fun. When I have the time. What exactly don’t you like about the meal?”
Is she screwing with me?
    “Have you been able to go fishing since you moved here?” she asked.
    “No. I don’t ice-fish. It thaws around here in April, right?”
    “Sometimes. There’s great fishing on the Platte River, though. That starts earlier than the lakes, I believe.” She glanced down at her plate. “It’s a good meal, don’t get me wrong. Thank you for sharing. Just no
wow
factor, if that’s what you were going for.”
    “Wow factor?” Seriously? His food was very full of wow.
    “Yeah, like, I don’t know if I’d crave it in the middle of the night.”
    “And what do you usually crave in the middle of the night?” The question left his mouth before the innuendo registered in his mind.
    She blinked, and a flirty smiled appeared and stayed as she glanced up and down his body. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
    He could practically feel the color red tinge his cheeks. She sure had a way of detouring the subject, and he didn’t want to keep asking about his food since he evidently wasn’t going to get a precise answer. What where they talking about before? He cleared his throat. “Do you fish?” Great, now he was sucked into question-land.
    “I grew up fishing. On my dad’s days off we’d go out early in the morning.” She paused. “Like, before-the-sun-is-up-so-we-can-get-the-best-spot-on-the-lake early.”
    “You’ll have to tell me that spot.”
    She shrugged one shoulder and pushed around the risotto. “That was a long time ago.”
    He picked up on the sore subject. Life could suck. Didn’t he know it. That’s why he’d come up with his plan—and not even Sophie could deter.
    He lightly cleared his throat, hoping his innocent questions hadn’t ruined their night. “That was three questions. So, where am I from?”
This should be good.
    Candlelight shadowed the walls behind her and shaded half of her beautiful face. He wished they were sitting on his big couch together. Then he could really see what she was thinking.
    “Tacoma, Washington.”
    She spoke so confidently, he’d swear he’d told her. There was no question in her voice, and she was correct. Tacoma had been his home for thirty-one years, and then he’d made a conscious decision to leave and never return.
    “Wrong,” he said.
    “Liar,” she instantly retorted and raised her brows.
    “I do not buy for one second that those questions helped you guess Tacoma.”
    “I’m psychic?”
    “Try again.” He swayed his head, and the sides of his eyes crinkled.
    Marc couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed getting to know someone. Wait. He didn’t know much about Sophie—certainly not as much as she’d been able to get out of him in the span of fifteen minutes. He’d only invited her in because he felt