Page 107 of The Candlemaker

Too reckless.

Too real.

I curled under the covers, eagerly wading along the shores of sleep as Chandler cleaned us, then cleaned up from the takeout. I was almost out—maybe I was out when a low buzzing woke me and I turned, searching for the source.

“It’s mine,” he said, striding quickly to the nightstand where his phone vibrated. “Dammit.”

“Is it your mom?” Alertness sprung like ice water into my veins.

“No.” His head shook. “Just the GC Holdings acquisition; it’s coming to a head.” His jaw flexed. “I’ll take it in the hall. I’ll be right back.”

I sagged back into the pillow, listening as the door opened and shut. I didn’t know how long it was that I slept or that he was on the phone, but when his weight dipped the mattress next to me and his arm reached over to rest protectively over my stomach, I opened my eyes long enough to think he had to have been on the call for a while because it was completely dark outside. But then he pulled me close, and the thought didn’t matter anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chandler

“All right,I think these should last you until….tomorrow.”

Frankie shot me a glare that turned into a smile, admiring the towers of pumpkin spice candles I’d set out on the display. She wasn’t kidding that these were her bestsellers; I couldn’t make the damn things fast enough. It seemed like as soon as I filled the center table and then the second placement on the side shelf, I’d take one phone call from my secretary, Judy, and at least half of them would be gone.

“Am I making you work too hard, Mr. Collins?” she teased as I came up behind her, sliding my hand over her stomach and pressing a kiss to the corner of her neck.

“Never.” I trailed my mouth up the soft column of skin, savoring the way she moaned.

“Is this a new one?” She lifted my hand and examined my thumb, a patch of peeled red skin signaling a fresh burn.

I grunted.

I turned her to me, capturing her chin in my fingers. “You know how much I love to burn for you.”

Her breath caught, and I dipped my head to claim her lips, but her hand on my chest stopped me.

“Chandler.”

“Yeah?” I pressed my hips against hers so she could feel how hard I was.

“Can we go visit your mom?”

I stilled, the question like ice water through my veins.

Mom was doing good—really good according to Tom, and I checked with him multiple times a day. But if I were being honest, the longer it went, the more I convinced myself he was the best person for her. The more I rationalized that it was my fault for what had happened and the risk I’d be taking by going to see her.

“Frankie…” I clenched my jaw.

“It’s not your fault, Chandler,” she said softly, and for some reason, I could believe it coming from her.

“I don’t want to make it worse.”

She made a soft sound. “What if you make it better?”

My chest squeezed. “How?”

“By telling her about the baby.”

I took a measured breath. Mom would be thrilled. I could see her face now. No matter what tangle her memories were in, knowing she was going to be a grandmother would bring her out of them. But it wasn’t just the baby, it was Frankie I wanted to tell her about, too. And I didn’t know if she was ready for that.

When it came to Frankie Kinkade, I was a beggar, not a billionaire, and I was willing to take whatever pieces of her, however meager, she’d give me. But every day that passed was one more evidence to the notion that I wanted everything. Iwanted her schemes and her smiles. I wanted her laugh and her body. I wanted this baby, and I wanted her forever.

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