Текст книги "Reckless In Love"
Автор книги: Bella Andre
Соавторы: Jennifer Skully
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
“Sebastian’s going to make a wonderful father someday,” Susan said.
“Yes, he will.” Sebastian would love any kid he had with everything in him.
“Speaking of family, I’m sorry about your mother’s health. Sebastian has mentioned her more than once.” Susan’s gray eyes were misty with empathy. “Being in pain all the time must be terrible, and so hard for you to watch.”
“Thank you for your kindness.” Charlie smiled softly, though she stiffened slightly, nervous that Susan might add in her two cents about letting Sebastian do more. “It is hard, but Mom’s always upbeat.”
“Your mother’s new home sounds lovely. You’re Sebastian’s hero, with your dedication to caring for her. As busy as you are, I’m amazed you still manage to visit twice a week.”
Charlie shot a look at Sebastian. He’d told Susan all the good stuff and none of the bad. He hadn’t said that Charlie was hesitant about the doctors he’d found or that she wouldn’t take his money to help with Magnolia Gardens. Had he really called her his hero?
“Sebastian bought Mom a lovely china tea set,” Charlie wanted Susan to know. “Will and Harper picked it out. That’s become part of her ritual too.”
“He’s a good boy.” Susan was quiet a moment before looking straight at Charlie. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that he thrives on helping.”
Charlie nodded. “He’s amazing with the people at his seminars and he’s been so nice to the kids this morning too.” Even if he hadn’t always stopped to let them learn by doing the work themselves.
“His heart is in the right place. Always. But...” She paused, as if wondering how Charlie would take what she was about to say. “Sometimes he doesn’t know when to step back a bit and stop helping.”
“It’s only because he thinks everything needs to be perfect.” His need for perfection had driven him to hide his sketchbooks from the world. He wanted everything to be perfect for her mother, and for Charlie’s career. Somewhere along the way, he’d learned that perfection was crucial. Though as far as Charlie could see, Susan obviously wasn’t the person who’d taught him that lesson.
Susan’s eyes lit with hope. “You understand him, don’t you?”
“I’m trying to.” Charlie took a deep breath. “I love him.” Once the words spilled out, she couldn’t stop the rest. “I love him so much that all I want is to make him happy any way I can.”
“He wants the same for you, Charlie.” Susan took her hand and held it tightly. “Promise me you won’t give up on him.”
“He’s the most incredible man I’ve ever met. I’ll never give up on him.” Never.
“You’re a strong person. An independent woman who clearly knows her own mind. And Sebastian has never been as happy as he is now, just from being near you. Do you know what else I see, Charlie?” She paused, holding Charlie’s gaze. “That he loves you exactly the way you are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Daniel broke the moment, clapping his hands and announcing that their break was over. Charlie and Susan only had time for a hug before heading back to their posts.
He loves you exactly the way you are.
Charlie still wasn’t completely sure about that. Yes, Sebastian loved her—she believed that with everything in her, with his every touch—but he also had a vision of the celebrated artist and socialite he wanted her to be. He’d never say it—maybe wasn’t even aware of it. But she didn’t know how long she could live up to that vision.
She still had so many more questions for Susan, so many important things she needed to know. What had Sebastian’s relationship with his parents been like, particularly with his father? How had he dealt with their passing, given that they hadn’t made the changes he’d so hoped for? What had Sebastian been like as a teenager? Had he always been so positive, so sure that everyone was capable of change? And why he was so intent on keeping his artistic talent a secret from everyone? Charlie was almost sure Susan had to know about his drawing.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t sneak away when she was in the middle of assembling drawers with Stacey. She would have asked Sebastian all her questions face to face if she could be certain they wouldn’t upset him. He’d been almost feral the night she’d found his sketches. She couldn’t do that to him again. All she wanted was to support him and his art, not tear him down by forcing him to face a painful past.
Charlie sighed, wishing, not for the first time, that there were easy solutions to everything—from how to move Sebastian past his block about his talent to keeping up her stamina during the endless stream of galas and new commissions. Long days full of hard work, evenings full of sequins and small talk, and moonlit nights wrapped in Sebastian’s arms tumbled into one another faster than she could believe. She’d found love, but that didn’t mean life suddenly became an effortless walk in the park.
Glorious. Breathtaking. Heart-racing. Yet still completely confusing at times.
She watched him, brimming with all her emotions.
“We’ll apply the adhesive to the wall, then press on the tiles,” Sebastian explained, and like a typical teenage boy, EZ grunted in response. “We need to get the squares straight along the line I’ve drawn.” Instead of letting EZ try, Sebastian fit the next square, turning it a couple of times before finding the right position and pressing it into place. “We also want to make sure we don’t get any black ones side by side.” EZ nodded and handed Sebastian another tile set, then another.
Sebastian was doing it again, telling rather than letting EZ do the work.
Stacey was cooking along nicely with the drawers, so Charlie left her to it, sauntering close to lean against the doorjamb next to the empty spot the stove would fit into once the backsplash was done. “Looking good.” Before Sebastian could reach for another tile, she added, “Let’s see what you can do, EZ.”
“Me?” EZ put the fingertips of both hands to his chest, his brown eyes wide.
Charlie laughed. “Yeah, you. You’ve been watching Sebastian closely enough.”
Sebastian glanced at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Then he nodded. “Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Good idea. Lay some in, EZ.”
The edge of tension thrumming through Sebastian’s voice was subtle enough that EZ wouldn’t notice. But Charlie heard. Still, Sebastian was as encouraging as ever, complimenting EZ’s technique as he worked.
Once Stacey finished the drawers, she joined them to watch EZ press the next pieces into place on the adhesive. Clearly distracted by the pretty girl, he pushed it a little higher than the straight line Sebastian had drawn.
“You’re doing great, especially considering it’s your first time,” Charlie said, feeling Sebastian tense beside her. She wanted to shake the person who’d taught him there were ugly consequences to imperfection. She not only learned from her mistakes, but sometimes they even led to her best accidental creations. “When you’re doing this kind of work, it’s good to pause and take the time to check things out,” she coached EZ.
“Cool, will do.” EZ backed up a couple of steps, then said, “That side’s a little high, isn’t it?”
“Good catch,” Sebastian said, smiling at the boy. “Why don’t you look at the info on the bucket of adhesive to see if it’s still okay for you to adjust them.” While EZ and Stacey both squatted down to read the fine print, he turned to Charlie. “Can I grab you for a second?”
* * *
Leaving EZ and Stacey to work on the tiles, Sebastian took Charlie’s hand, leading her outside to a semi-private spot beneath one of the backyard canopies. “Thank you.”
“Is that really what you want to say to me?”
He appreciated the fact that she didn’t pretend she had no idea what he was thanking her for. “At first,” he made himself admit, “I was annoyed when you stepped in. I know you teach, but I do too. I know what I’m doing...at least, I thought I did.”
“You’re great with the kids—”
“But I was still screwing up. I didn’t want the tiles to be laid in crooked so I stopped teaching and started doing it for them instead.” Through the window they could see how well the two teens worked together, figuring out a great tile pattern all on their own. “Now they’re doing better than I was.”
Charlie smiled. “You’re welcome.” Then she put her hand to his cheek. “Who ever made you feel you had to be perfect?”
He tensed. He didn’t want to get into it, not now, as if he were whining about his childhood again. “I don’t need to be perfect.”
She studied him. He thought she’d push, but her gaze roamed his face, then she looked down at his mouth as if suddenly making a decision. And she stepped into his arms.
Her mouth was soft and sweet against his. Yet again, he couldn’t believe his luck. From the Opera House last Saturday night to a young adult group home in San Jose was a major difference. He loved watching Charlie wend her way through a ballroom, wearing another of the sexy little numbers she and her mom were so good at putting together. But Charlie in jeans and a work shirt really got his engine going.
Every time he looked at her, every time their lips met, a wave of emotion rolled over him, swamping him. It was more than mere desire, more than need. He wanted her in every part of his life, not just his bed. She brought laughter and joy. She brought him meaning and new goals. He needed to help her take her career to the very top, to ease her mother’s suffering, even to be her family. While she had only her mother, he had the Mavericks. They weren’t his blood; they were so much more than blood. And he wanted to share his family with Charlie as well as her mother.
Susan was probably the only other person in the world who got away with stepping in to guide him when he needed it. Like Susan, Charlie was smart, and even more, she was diplomatic. No wonder she’d chosen to augment her art career by teaching. She was great with people, instinctively knowing when to offer a suggestion and when to back off, letting her students learn for themselves.
Yet he couldn’t help but worry how she’d do both once classes started again in the fall. She was already working on the chariot and her new commissions from six in the morning to six at night—not to mention the hours he kept her in his bed, loving every beautiful inch of her, never able to get enough. How much more could she possibly fit in? The number of galas and events would ease up a bit after the grand opening and the sculpture’s unveiling, but he couldn’t see how adding her teaching into the mix would be a good thing at this point.
“Have you made a decision about your classes yet?” He hadn’t pushed her since they’d talked about it with Francine.
“They don’t start until the end of September, so I still have a little time to decide.” She glanced back at the kitchen. “Now that they’ve got the tile covered, we should finish the cabinets.”
Clearly, she didn’t want to talk about it any more than he’d wanted to talk about his father or his past. Because it was in the past. But this was Charlie’s present, and he was too worried about her budding exhaustion to let it go. “You’ve got a lot of commissions. I can see what a great teacher you are, but you don’t have to go back, you know.”
“I know that.” She went quiet for a long moment. “Like I said, I’m not sure what I want to do yet.” Her voice squeezed with a note of frustration. As if she felt conflicted. As if he made her feel that way.
And yet it was his duty to watch out for her. He wasn’t pushing. He was simply offering. “Charlie.” He ran his hand down her back, her muscles stiff under his touch. “You can talk about it with me.”
She looked up, and for once, her beautiful eyes weren’t clear. She’d gone inward, shutting him out.
Damn it, no. He wouldn’t let her shut down, couldn’t bear the thought of it. He needed to keep their connection strong, no matter what it took.
“Come with me.” He wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care as he led her to a shed by the back fence.
“Where are we going? We need to get back to the kids.”
No one had been in or out of the shed all day. The door wasn’t locked and he pulled her into the bare, clean space inside. The lone window was too high in the peak for anyone to see through.
“The drawers can wait.” He pushed the latch shut on the shed door. “This can’t.”
* * *
Charlie had loved everything about today. There’d been no need for all the schmoozing required by the crowded, impersonal galas Sebastian loved. If she fell asleep exhausted tonight, it would be due to a hard day’s work using her hands, not because she’d worn herself out with small talk. The Mavericks welcomed and accepted her. It didn’t matter that they were all wealthier than Saudi princes. She fit with them, like Susan and Bob or Harper and Jeremy, or even Paige.
If only Sebastian hadn’t asked her about her classes. But she’d started it by poking at his past, asking about why he had to make everything perfect. She shouldn’t have brought that up, because it had only led to his questions. And now her insides were all twisted up. There were all the letters from the college in the drawer at the bungalow. She had to make a decision. After Labor Day, the kids would start signing up for classes, and hers would either be in the catalog or they wouldn’t. She had to do something.
She knew what Sebastian wanted—he’d opened the doors to a bona fide art career and clearly thought she should step through, reaching for the success right at her fingertips. Charlie had never been foolish enough to think she could do everything. She understood you had to make choices about what you could and couldn’t do, and that if you took on more than you could handle, you’d fail. Yet her heart wrenched at the thought of telling her dean she wasn’t coming back. Lord knew she’d far rather give up all the parties, the endless schmoozing, being on, on, on all the time.
Any way she looked at it—and sometimes she felt that was all she did, examine the situation from every possible angle—she couldn’t do that to Sebastian. Not when it would be ungrateful, and worse, it would seem as though she’d chosen teaching over him.
Something had to give—either teaching or the parties. But there was one thing she absolutely would not give up. Not for anything in the world.
Sebastian.
She wanted him with a need that scared her sometimes. Her fear abated when he touched her, looked at her, when he loved her late at night in his big bed until she was boneless with pleasure. And she knew he was in as deep as she was.
But then a new day dawned, and alone in her workshop all those bigger, heavier storm clouds still gathered above her. If she couldn’t figure out how to survive in his world of important parties and even more important people, did she stand to lose everything? She honestly wasn’t sure how long she could keep on being that perfect celebrity. One day—and she could feel it coming soon—she’d slip up. She’d snarl instead of smile. She’d snap instead of laugh. She might even scream.
“You want to talk yet?”
Despite the heat in his eyes, he was giving her another chance to open up to him. But she was so knotted inside. Too twisted up to talk anything through right now.
“Not yet.” His arms were open and she stepped right into them. “But I need this. I need you.”
Thankfully, less than a heartbeat later his mouth crushed hers and he hauled her up to wrap her legs around his waist. Backing her up to the counter, he set her down, so thick and hard between her legs that she whimpered.
He yanked her tank top up, then pushed aside her bra and closed his lips over her nipple.
She writhed against him, holding him tightly in the vee of her thighs. “Sebastian.” There was such need in her voice, such desperation.
“You make me nuts.” He kissed her lips, her neck, the hollow of her throat, while his fingers worked the button and zipper on her jeans. Faster than should have been possible, her pants and boots hit the floor, then her panties. He trailed his lips down her body, licking, tasting, his eyes dark with desire. “I need to taste you.” He nipped her thigh, kissed her belly, circling ever closer. “I need to feel you come apart and hear you cry out my name.”
He covered her with his lips and there was no more talking. There was just his mouth on her, his fingers inside her. Charlie curled her hand in his hair, holding him close as he took her. There was such sweetness in letting him take over, and the moan in her throat becoming a cry of pure pleasure.
His touch eased all the knots in her stomach, made her forget everything she was supposed to think about. She could only make little sounds, leaning back on her hands, opening herself to him. He was gorgeous, sensual, always needing to please as much as to take his own pleasure.
He held her hips in his hands, forcing her to take everything he had to give. Sensation spiraled up inside her, deep, into her core. Her stomach muscles clenched as the first swell of her climax hit. She panted, then lost it all, falling back on the counter, writhing wildly, crying out his name in broken syllables through wave after wave of ecstasy.
She’d barely come down before he’d rolled on protection and entered her, so deep, so fast, so exquisitely, that she lost what was left of her breath. Holding her tightly, melding their bodies, he forced her higher, pushed her limits. Then he catapulted them over the edge together and she flung her arms around him, kissing him so deeply she tasted pleasure. She tasted reckless abandon.
And, most of all, she tasted love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Isn’t the garden lovely?” Francine sighed blissfully a couple of days later.
Sebastian was seated with her at a café table, having just finished a lap around the Magnolia Gardens walkways. “There’s some nice shade under this tree.”
“Yes, and the breeze truly makes it an idyllic spot.”
Francine was radiant. Despite her infirmities, she always looked to the brighter side of things, even if it was just the weather. Sebastian had learned a long time ago that there were two ways to consider life—choosing to see the negative or the positive. Your choice was what defined you, and Francine was a happy person.
Sebastian tried his best to be happy too. Unfortunately, since working on the group home in San Jose, his frustration had been building. All right, it had been building longer than that, for weeks, since Francine had first brought up Charlie’s fall classes. Yet Charlie still wouldn’t talk to him. If he so much as hinted at her decision about teaching this fall, she completely shut down on him.
For the third time in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to do. First with his parents. Then with Francine’s health. And now with the woman he loved—and would do absolutely anything for. But she was too damned independent to let him.
Since their tryst in the shed behind the group home, he’d barely let her take a breath without having his mouth or his hands on her. Even if she still wasn’t ready to talk to him, he would damn well make sure they didn’t sever any of the threads that connected them. She clearly needed time to decide she could trust fully in him, and he was forcing himself to give her that time. He always wanted her, but now more than ever, making love to her until her limbs were jelly and she was hoarse from crying out his name seemed the only way to keep their connection strong.
He worked to shove away the frustration as Charlie returned with the china plates and mugs, one pastry split with her mother and a whole one for him. Francine truly looked as though she was in heaven as she took a delicate first bite.
“Oh my dear, I’ll never tire of these.” She closed her eyes in rapture. “Your father, God rest his soul, would have gotten fat, wouldn’t he, honey?”
Charlie laughed. “He probably would have.”
“So does that mean I’m going to get fat if I eat a whole one every time I come to see you?” Sebastian asked.
Charlie merely smiled at him and said, “You’ll work off that bun in no time.”
She was right. In fact, he’d already burned plenty of calories in the shower with her that morning...with more plans for tonight.
The same thought simmered in Charlie’s eyes and in her secret, sexy smile. “Come to think of it, maybe I should start working out more often too.”
Her mother tsked. “You take after me, honey.”
“That’s why she’s so gorgeous,” Sebastian said.
“You’re such a shameless flatterer,” her mother said with a roll of her eyes and a sweet smile.
When the plates were empty, Charlie put her hand on his arm. “Sebastian, I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
Her tone was surprisingly serious for the mellow day they’d been having. “Anything for you.” They weren’t just empty words. It was a promise he planned to keep until the very end. He needed her to know that.
She stared at him for a long moment before rummaging in her enormous bag. Then she pulled out a sketchbook. He glanced from the pad to Charlie’s face, his breath tight in his chest. Was she really blindsiding him?
Guilt flickered across her face. But right behind it was determination.
And love.
“It would be great if you’d sketch Mom.” She held out the pad and one of his pencils, her hands the slightest bit shaky.
He stared at her offerings for several beats, a hint of anger swirling in his gut. No, not anger. Fear. The two emotions could so easily be mistaken for each other—but if he were totally honest with himself, he’d have to admit he wasn’t angry at Charlie.
He was simply scared.
“Oh, Sebastian.” Francine’s voice was warm and comforting. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“His drawings are amazing, Mom.”
They weren’t. He’d known it since his father had pointed out every flaw, every mistake, and laughed at the crap his kid had drawn, throwing all his sketches into the fire. Knowing Charlie believed in him despite those flaws was the only thing that kept Sebastian in his chair.
Francine put a hand to her cheek, her fingers bent, her skin mottled with age spots. “You can’t possibly want to draw an old woman like me. You should draw Charlie, instead.”
“I want to see you through Sebastian’s eyes, Mom.” She touched his arm again, smiling hopefully. “He has very special eyes.”
He couldn’t possibly decline. There was no choice. Francine needed this drawing, if only to show her that she was worthy of being seen. And he was so damn tired of listening to his father’s voice. He would not allow his fears to hurt this lovely woman. He would overcome them, if only for this moment.
And there was no question about it, Charlie was not only a brilliant diplomat—she was a master strategist. Especially when her actions came from pure love. However misguided she was about his talent, she’d never meant to hurt him.
He finally took the pad and pencil from her. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to hers, letting her know he wasn’t angry with her.
He tasted the relief on her lips, and hoped she could taste his love for her on his. Even if he’d never drawn in front of anyone before, and was honestly scared shitless. He could stand on a stage in front of tens of thousands of people, absolutely calm and in his element. But in this moment...
It felt like he was trying to walk the mile Francine had just walked.
“Drink your coffee,” he told them. “Have a chat. Don’t mind me.”
His voice sounded stronger, and more confident, than he actually felt. Then, with Charlie’s warm smile on him, he began to draw. She chatted with her mother about the new friends Francine had already made, told her all about the group home, the Mavericks, Susan, Bob, Noah, the kids working on the tile. She repeated the word family and by the fourth time, he was so glad to realize she’d felt like part of his family. Finally, she understood that she was a Maverick.
As the women talked and his pencil flashed across the page, he felt pretty good. For a while. But then...
His tension started to rise, higher by the second. The drawing wasn’t right. Wasn’t perfect. He could show off Francine’s bright eyes, her childlike delight, her enthusiasm, but something about her face didn’t hit the mark. He wanted to capture the webbing of fine lines, contrasting it with her sweet smile and illustrating the woman who was strong enough to endure. That was the real Francine, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t master any part of the sketch. Couldn’t do Francine justice.
You drew this crap? You drew all these pictures of me looking like shit? His father’s voice rang through his head as if Ian Montgomery had risen from the dead and was standing right in front of him. My stupid, worthless kid thinks he’s an artist. But he’s nothing. I’ll show you where your pictures belong, you little shit.
Sebastian erased the lines and started over. He would not let his father get the best of him. But when he tried once more, the voice he couldn’t get out of his head was even louder now, and he had to erase again.
“May we see?”
Charlie’s voice abruptly jolted him back to the present. To the garden at Francine’s nursing home—and the sketch he was all but erasing holes in.
He took a breath, silently counting to four before replying. “Let’s work on this drawing later.” He made himself smile for them both, feeling it stretch too far across his face until it resembled a grimace. “I can sketch your face from memory, Francine.”
But Francine was already holding out her hand. “Please, Sebastian,” she said with a sweet, appreciative smile, “don’t keep me in suspense.”
He couldn’t hurt Francine’s feelings, would never forgive himself if he did. So he handed over the sketch, hiding his reluctance. It was ten brutally long seconds—he counted each and every one of them—before she looked at him again.
“You’ve made me beautiful.”
“Of course I did. You’re very beautiful, Francine.”
“I’m old, Sebastian. Old people are usually completely invisible. But I’m not anymore. Not when I look at this wonderful picture you just drew. Look how marvelous this is, honey.”
He swallowed hard as Francine handed Charlie the sketchbook.
Whereas Francine had taken only ten seconds, Charlie had barely looked down at it when a sheen of tears swelled in her eyes. Her smile trembled. “This is beautiful.” She held the sketch to her chest, as if she needed it next to her heart. “The most beautiful drawing I’ve ever seen.”
* * *
Charlie had begged her mother to let her keep the drawing—and Sebastian had promised to do another of her very soon. It lay on Charlie’s lap as they drove back up Highway 880 to Sebastian’s mansion on the hill. She smoothed the edges with her fingers. “I’m going to frame it and hang it on the wall.”
“You’re going to frame it?” Sebastian got that panicked look she only ever saw when he was talking about his art—or his parents. “You’ve got to let me try again. I’ll make a better one.”
They’d stayed late at Magnolia Gardens and now traffic was gridlocked. But for once, Charlie appreciated it, because it meant Sebastian was her captive audience. “You can draw my mother as many times as you want, but you’re not getting this one back. It’s mine now.”
Sebastian was silent for a long moment. Long enough that she prayed he finally understood just how special his gift was.
“I wanted to convey her strength of character. But I couldn’t get it right.”
“You did get it right,” she said, frustration seeping into her voice despite her attempts to hold it in. “This is my mother the way I remember her when I was a child. Before the pain. You’ve captured her heart as a young woman.”
“That’s great, but I still didn’t draw what I wanted to draw.”
Why was it so hard for him to believe in his own art? “You might not have meant to sketch her like this—” She stroked her mother’s jubilant face. “—but it turned out to be magic. This drawing makes me remember cookies baking in the kitchen and the dolls she used to knit. Can’t you see? That’s what art is all about. How you make a person feel.”
He kept his capable hands on the wheel, switching lanes, eyes on the road. “You love it because you love me.”
She almost growled at him. She’d shamelessly tricked him into sketching her mother, but even though she and her mother had been moved to tears, it clearly hadn’t proven anything to him.
Why could he see everyone’s brilliance but his own?
