Page 74 of The Candlemaker

“Shit,” I muttered and did my best not to disturb Frankie as I stood.

My pants looked like shit, but at least they were dry. I shoved my legs into them, knowing I only needed to make it to the hotel with them, where I could change.

“One night was all it took to scare you away?” Frankie teased behind me, her voice warm and husky like a wick sputtering back to life.

I stilled and then grinned as I faced her. But my smile weakened at the sight of her.My little flame.Her hair spread over the pillow in waves of honeyed sunlight. The blanket covered just enough of her for me to resent it; the only thing I wanted draped over her was me. And the sultry upturn of her lips…

“I don’t scare that easily.” But maybe I should.

The way I looked at her. The way she was looking at me.What happened last night.This was the exact kind of thing I should be running from.

It had been a long time since I’d engaged in wax play. It required a level of trust that one didn’t often get from one-night stands, even with partners who were into kink. But Frankie…she’d begged for it. Without fear and with implicit trust. For me.Her adversary.

I hadn’t asked for it, and she’d just…given it to me. Her vulnerability. Just like she’d given of herself yesterday with Mom.

“What’s wrong?” Her brow creased as she sat up, and the blanket dropped, catching on the hard tips of her breasts andteasing me with her red-stained skin from the hot wax. Need slammed through me, and I gritted my teeth.

Frankie grabbed the blanket and pulled it higher—seeing the marks, too—before covering them up. A heavy exhale pushed through my lips when her eyes lifted to mine. The flame between us hadn’t burned out. Not even close.

But that wasn’t part of this agreement.

“I have to go,” I said and grabbed my shirt off the floor, giving it a hard shake.

“To see your mom?”

How did she…I stilled. “Yeah.”

“I’m coming with you.” The blankets rustled behind me.

“Frankie—” I broke off when I turned just in time to watch her stand from the bed, rising like Venus from the waves, and the sight put me in a chokehold.

The dip of her waist. The swell of her ass. The full weight of her breasts…god, I could spend a whole night worshipping her breasts.Painting them with wax. Soothing them with my lips and tongue. She was wildly responsive; I’d make her come just from sucking her—fuck.My cock jammed against the front of my pants with more than enough pain to let me get my head on straight.

I spun away, pretending it was her privacy and not my own hunger I was trying to protect her from.

“It’s fine,” I managed curtly, shoving my arms through my shirt. “You don’t have to?—”

“I’m coming. My shop is closed.”

I tensed. Yesterday, I’d brought her along in a fit of madness—let her through a door in my life I kept permanently closed and locked as a matter of principle and self-preservation. And now, I couldn’t find the words to push her out of it.

“Going to be hard for you to go without me.”

“And why’s that?” I lifted one brow.

She bent and pulled something from her bag. “Because I still have these.” She straightened, dangling my car keys from her fingers.

“They told me what she did yesterday,” Tom said and came to stand beside me, nodding in Frankie’s direction where she sat at the edge of Mom’s bed, smiling and showing her photos of the Candle Cabin.

Today, Mom remembered me. She was in bed, groggy and a little more sedated because they’d increased her meds after what happened yesterday, but at least she remembered me. I didn’t know if this was how Alzheimer’s worked or if it was how Mom worked, but the swings from highs to lows seemed more pronounced. What started as small missteps of memory turned into noticeable stumbles and then worrisome trips and then…yesterday. A fall.

“Yeah.” I didn’t realize how unprepared I was for this conversation. A reflection of how unprepared I was for how I felt about her…and what I was going to do about it.

“And it’s her sister who’s trying to buy the inn?” he asked, a glimmer of hope flickering in his tired eyes.

Mom wasn’t the only one who was a little worse for the wear today; Tom looked just about as ragged. The creases on his face. The shadows under his eyes. I didn’t need to ask if he’d slept at all yesterday, it was written all over his rumpled clothes and exhausted voice.

“Her twin sister.” I had no idea why that was relevant to say, but I said it.

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