Текст книги "Reckless In Love"
Автор книги: Bella Andre
Соавторы: Jennifer Skully
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER THIRTY
Early Sunday morning, Charlie had to drag her butt down to the studio. Between working on the house in San Jose, a Saturday afternoon barbecue with the Mavericks, then heading straight to another event that Sebastian was absolutely convinced could be critical to her career—she hadn’t even had the energy to make love last night. She was pretty sure he’d carried her in from the car, undressed her, pulled the covers over her, then given her the softest, sweetest kiss on the forehead before whispering, “We’ll take tomorrow night off. I promise.”
God, she prayed that wasn’t a dream. Please, please, please, not again tonight.
Utterly exhausted, she dropped down to sit on the bare concrete floor and stared at her magnificent stallions. Once upon a time they’d been so alive to her. Now they were mere skeletons. She just didn’t feel them anymore, and she was so tired that she couldn’t get her brain to focus on the vision she used to have.
But Sebastian was trusting her to create something truly amazing for his building. And she’d had a powerful vision of the two of them working side by side, showing their art together—a vision she would give anything to see come true. With only three weeks to go before the grand opening of his headquarters, she would get through the rest of the work even if it killed her.
At this moment, it felt like it would. Even her teeth were tired. All she could manage was coffee, hot and extra sweet. Just the way she liked Sebastian, she thought, but smiling was beyond her.
“Have you eaten?”
Thinking about him must have been like a psychic telegraph message, because there he was. Big, beautiful, sexy. Perfectly silhouetted in the open barn doorway.
“No.” She was starving. But not only was she too tired to make herself something, she was too tired to get up and walk into his arms.
Sebastian approached, a tray balanced on his hand. “Eggs Benedict.” He sat down with her so they could eat right there on the floor, bending over the plates on the tray. She managed half of hers, plus a piece of toast and some freshly squeezed orange juice.
“You spoil me.” The food helped. She was still tired, but now she might actually be able to get up off the floor at some point today and start her work.
“I love spoiling you.” He leaned in for a kiss that was as delicious and sweet as the orange juice.
When he helped her up, she swore her knees creaked as if she were her mother’s age. She might be exhausted, but that didn’t mean she’d given up her plan to bring Sebastian out of his artistic shell. “I’ve got a brilliant idea.”
“All your ideas are brilliant.”
He was so quick to praise her. But so hard on himself. “Draw me while I’m working, Sebastian.”
He frowned at her. “Charlie.”
“Please.”
“I have work up at the house.”
She worked to bite back her frustration. Frustration that had grown monumentally with every day that passed, because he simply wouldn’t trust her when she told him he was a great artist. “You own the company, which means that while you might have work to do at the house, you can probably shift the timing of it around if you really need to.” She pressed into him. Using their attraction to get him to concede might not be fair, but... All’s fair in love, she decided. “Pretty please.”
“You know I prefer to draw when I’m by myself.”
She wanted to kick something, not him, just something. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“I know.” She could almost hear his teeth grinding when he said it.
Should she push? She knew his past was painful, and she hated bringing it back. But how was she supposed to do anything for him when she didn’t know exactly what had happened?
“Who taught you that you had to be perfect?” she asked gently, as though the more softly she spoke, the easier it would be for him to answer.
“No one taught me anything. I just like drawing for myself.” His knuckles cracked as his fist bunched. Watching him broke her heart into ragged halves. And she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. He hadn’t been ready the last time she’d asked, and he wasn’t ready now.
She was afraid he never would be.
She pretended she’d never brought up the subject, adopting a teasing tone. “All right, then I won’t look at you while you’re sketching. I’ll pretend you’re not even here.” She licked her lips and fluttered her eyelashes. “But you can look at me all you want.”
She was surprised by his sudden kiss—rough, raw, and so passionate that her head was spinning by the time he drew back.
“That was way better than just looking,” she murmured, her voice breathless. She put her hand over his chest, felt his heart pounding hard and fast beneath her palm. And she understood that his kiss was a way of deflecting the question he didn’t want to answer. “Is that a yes to sketching me?”
He breathed in, held it, then finally exhaled on a sigh. “We’re different. You go into yourself as if you’re not even aware of me while you’re working. But for me—it’s a hell of a lot harder to know you’re watching me make one mistake after another.” His explanation was actually a concession, giving her a piece of what she so desperately wanted to know.
She wanted to make him see it didn’t have to be like that. “Can’t it just be for fun? You don’t have to figure me out. It doesn’t have to be good.” Pressing her lips to the side of his neck, she licked his deliciously warm skin. “Come on, for me?”
“I don’t have a sketchbook.”
He was finally bending. She could feel it, and she nearly shouted with glee, but managed to contain the victory. This was a start. All the rest would come eventually—at least, she prayed it would. “I’ve got a clipboard with some paper.” Instead of getting them, she pushed against him, his scent and his heat wrapping around her. “I’ll give you a reward later.”
Looking down at her, his eyes were suddenly deep. “What kind of reward?”
“Whatever you want,” she whispered.
“Anything?”
“Anything.” Heck, she was almost ready to give him the reward right now, before he’d so much as made a mark on the paper.
He lifted her wrists, circling them with his hands. “Have I mentioned that I have some brand new leather wrist ties at the house that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately?” She was nearly panting as he added, “Looks like they’ll be just the right size.”
“So it’s a deal?”
He sealed his mouth to hers, stealing all her thought, her breath, before he whispered, “It’s a deal.”
She danced away to get him the clipboard and pencil, suddenly energized from the gourmet breakfast. From Sebastian all predatory and sexual. From knowing he’d sketch her while she worked. And then there’d be lusciously hot nookie afterward.
Turning to her stallions, the vision suddenly burst to the surface, the shot of energy Sebastian had given her starting her creative juices flowing again. All at once, she could see why the horses looked skeletal. Because they were—just bare metal rods stuffed into pipe fittings. The rods needed filling out so that they emulated the curve of muscle and the suppleness of sinew. Somehow over the past weeks, she’d forgotten the brass pipes she’d found at the construction sale. They’d be a perfect fit.
She dove in to create the effect she wanted. But she didn’t forget Sebastian, not for one single second. Seated in one of the deck chairs he’d brought in weeks ago, he balanced the clipboard on his legs, his hands gliding over the page. After a while, he started asking questions, and she was happy to answer them, especially if it meant he would keep drawing.
“You’re doubling up on the rods?”
“I’m going to augment what’s there with the pipes. The brass will look like sinew and that will flesh out the muscles.”
He drew as he spoke, his fingers flying. He looked up, down, tipped his head one way, then the other. He talked, she answered and explained as she manipulated the metal and tack-soldered the pieces into place.
When she got to the welding itself, however, there was just her, the metal, and her torch for long enough that at some point Sebastian got up to leave. Immersed in her work, she hadn’t wanted to shut down and pull off her mask to ask where he was going. Not until he waved a ham sandwich under her nose, the aroma so tantalizing that her stomach growled raucously.
“You’re a life saver.”
Throwing off her gear, she slid down into the deck chair next to his as a new wave of exhaustion hit her. Hard. The work had sustained the flow of energy through her body until the moment she’d stopped. Now she honestly wasn’t sure she could get out of the chair.
Seating himself next to her, Sebastian jutted his chin at the stallions. “You were right, they needed filling out. Now you can see they’re racing like the wind.”
“Before, they were stick figures.” She took a bite of the simple sandwich, then closed her eyes and sighed. Sitting down was as delicious as the honey-roasted ham. “This gives them depth.”
“You never cease to amaze me. The way you envision your art and how you work. You try this thing, then that thing, changing it until finally the work perfectly matches your vision.”
“Isn’t that what every artist does?” She spoke without thinking as she drank thirstily from the frosty mug he’d brought.
“No.”
The simple word said it all. By this point she was too tired—literally a million miles past exhausted, all the way down to her bones—to keep pussyfooting around the issue. She was going to help him, damn it, whether he wanted her to or not!
“Can I see the drawings you did of me?”
* * *
Charlie’s tone was different. Not harder exactly. Not frustrated, either. But no longer the gentle persuasion she’d used before.
Her love for him still laced every word, but Sebastian instinctively knew that didn’t mean she’d back down any time soon. Just as he’d wanted to facilitate her career by finding her all the new commissions, she wanted to return the favor. The difference, however, was huge. She was a brilliant artist who deserved every accolade. He was little more than a hobbyist. Still, he wouldn’t hide the sketches from her. He’d made that mistake once, and he wouldn’t make it again.
He handed her the clipboard.
“Oh my God, Sebastian.” He’d caught her down on her haunches scrutinizing the weld on a horseshoe as if she were a vet examining a hoof for an abscess. “They’re fabulous.”
Of course she’d say that. She probably even half believed it. “They’re okay,” he said as mildly as possible. And by okay he meant crap.
Holding up the clipboard, she tapped the picture. “Tell me what could possibly be wrong with it? You’ve caught my concentration, even the squint while I’m studying that weld. Your drawings make me actually feel how hot it is in the room. And I swear the horses are going to fly off the pages. You really can’t see how brilliant your drawings are?”
“You have a vision, Charlie. You pound your work into submission, work and rework metal and parts until it perfectly meets your vision.” His gut felt completely wrenched as he admitted, “I don’t know what my vision is. I never have.”
“You keep talking about this vision thing as if it’s a big deal. Keep saying it’s perfect. But half the time I hardly know what I’m going to do with something until I stick it on somewhere and finally see its true purpose. And we both know my work isn’t perfect—how can it be, when I’m slapping together disparate pieces of junk all day? It can’t be perfect, but it can make people feel.”
“You don’t think I wish I could make people feel what I want them to feel when they look at my drawings?” A massive wave of frustration rushed through his veins, and he stabbed so hard, his finger nearly sliced through the paper. “All I wanted was to show your concentration, your focus, your drive. But I can’t get down what’s in my head. I never could.”
“Maybe that’s it,” she said slowly. “Maybe you should stop trying to make people feel one way or another. Stop trying to control other people’s emotions through your art and just trust that they will feel something, whether you intended it or not.” Carefully, she smoothed out the drawing. “You might have been trying to show my drive and focus, but I’d much rather you did what’s on the page instead—you showed my heart, Sebastian. And I’ve never felt more beautiful or more appreciated than when I look at this drawing.”
But if he’d truly drawn her heart, then why couldn’t he understand what she really wanted? Half the time he thought she was doing everything for her mother. Sometimes he even thought she was doing it for him. Lord knew she had enough commissions to take her into next year. Her bank account would be full and her mother cared for.
Yet he sensed Charlie wasn’t happy—and was becoming less and less happy by the day. He had no clue how to fix that. Was she focusing on his sketches simply as a way to get him to slow down the pace of everything else?
“All I want is to understand you, Charlie. And to make you happy.” She’d be done with the sculpture in three weeks. Twenty-one days that felt like a ticking time bomb. Despite knowing that they loved each other, he was beyond frustrated that they hadn’t figured out anything else. “Tell me how to do it. Tell me what I can’t see or fully understand.” Because he didn’t want to screw things up again.
“Do you really want to know what would make me happy?” She smoothed a hand over the four sketches in her lap. “That reporter from the big magazine you got in touch with—she’s coming next week and she wants to show the artist at work. Your drawings are good enough for that article.”
He didn’t equivocate, just gave her a flat, “No.”
But she was just as stubborn as he. More, maybe. “It would be awesome, Sebastian. Your art and mine on the same page. This is a perfect opportunity for us to do something together.”
“No,” he said again, his voice harsh this time. “Drawing is just for myself. I already have a career.”
“I know you do. But I see the way your hand flies over the paper when you draw. And how, despite your fears, you’re totally alive in the moment. You have to know you’re not alone—every artist who lives a creative life deals with fear and uncertainty. None of us have any idea how things are going to turn out—but that’s part of the magic. And that’s why I’m here. To tell you that I trust you, that I’ll be right here, right beside you every step of the way, believing in you until you can believe in yourself.” She balanced on the edge of her seat, gesturing in the air, her sentences a rapid-fire burst. “You just asked me what I want you to see. What I want you to understand. This is what you need to know, how amazing your art is. I know it would be exposing yourself, but I do it all the time and I can tell you that—”
“You’re not exposing yourself, you’re exposing your art. It’s not the same as what you’re asking of me.”
“I am exposing myself every night.” She clenched her hands together, so hard her knuckles turned white. “At those parties we’re always going to. I always have to be on.”
His gut was torqued so tight he could hardly breathe. In the back of his mind, he knew he should pause, take a breath, step back and look at things objectively. But he was already way past any of those choices.
“Those parties are about introducing people to your art. They’re about creating massive anticipation for the chariot and stallions. Once you’re huge, once you’re at the top, you can call all the shots, Charlie.” He reached for her hand. “Soon. It will happen soon, I know it will, and then it won’t all seem so crazy and nonstop.”
“If it’s all about my art and not about me, then we should just wheel one of my sculptures from party to party.” She tugged her hand from his and ran it over her face. “Dressing up, schmoozing every night for endless hours. I’m so tired I can’t even create anymore.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears. “I don’t even know if I can finish the stallions or the chariot, Sebastian. I’m burned out.”
He reached for her, but she almost seemed to shrink from him. Jesus, what had he done?
“We’ll take the whole week off if you want. Or I can attend the parties by myself and talk you up. I’ll stall any other projects you get until after the chariot is done.”
But she was no longer focusing on him. She looked at the stallions, then her hands. “And there’s my classes. If I want to teach in the fall, I need to put my syllabus together.”
God, he was such a fool. Last night she’d fallen asleep in the car on the way back from another event. She hadn’t woken even as he carried her into the house, not when he undressed her, not when he whispered to her and kissed her good night.
How could he have done this to her?
“Maybe you should take a few months off school.” It was the first thing that sprang to mind, a surefire way to stem the flow of lost hours. “You can go back in the spring.”
In an instant, she blinked back into total focus. “That’s your solution? I need to give up teaching?”
“Not give it up.” He felt as though he were watching himself from a distance, shovel in hand, digging the hole deeper and deeper. And yet, he still couldn’t figure out how to drop the handle and call for a time-out. “Just take a quarter or two off while you see how things go and how much time you have in the future. I can’t stand the thought of you burning yourself out and losing even an ounce of your brilliant artistic vision. Anything but that. Tell me what I need to do to fix this, Charlie, and I swear I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy.”
* * *
“You’ve already done so much. And I appreciate all of it, all the doors you’ve opened.”
“Charlie—”
She held up a hand to stop him, both from saying more or coming closer. She was going to break if he didn’t stop. She might break anyway. She was this close to crying. To exploding into a million pieces and gushing until she could fall asleep. That’s all she wanted to do—sleep. Until she stopped feeling like she was a hundred years old.
“I am grateful. But you expect me to slather on all the glitter and let you parade me around among all those people. Night after night, putting on a mask that I’m having trouble fitting over my face. I’m not the glittery celebrity type, and I’m tired of trying to pretend I am.” How could he not see how much of herself she’d exposed for him? “Why can’t you see that I don’t fit into your world?”
“Of course you fit. Everyone loves you. They love your art.” He stretched out his hands to her, and the pain on his face and in his beautiful eyes cut her in two. Worse were his two whispered words: “You’re perfect.”
“No! I’m not perfect.” God, she hated that word! “No one and nothing is. Not even the priceless pieces of art hanging on your walls.” The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. But she couldn’t go on like this. Couldn’t keep pretending when it was ripping her to pieces. “I’m just like a Zanti Misfit, Sebastian. I sneaked into your world and pretended I was like all of you.” She couldn’t bear hurting him, but everything she said was true, and it broke her heart. “The truth is that I don’t want to fit in anymore. I miss my students. I miss working on whatever I feel like working on without worrying about getting paid for it. I love the stallions, but all the other commissions are just busy work. I never thought it could happen, but I’m losing all my joy in this. And do you know what I miss most of all?” Two tears slid down her cheek. “You. I miss spending time with you. Just the two of us getting closer. Sometimes lately, it feels like you’re so far away.”
“I’m right here, sweetheart. Right here.” Before she could stop him, he cupped her face so gently, so sweetly. “I just wanted to make sure you had the money to take care of your mom. Because you wouldn’t take mine. I don’t want you to ever have to worry about anything. Why do you think I’ve done a thousand drawings of you? I needed to figure out a way to get you there, to keep you safe. But I couldn’t do it, couldn’t figure you out.”
It was like the kids at the group home. His heart was in the right place even as he micromanaged, finding solutions instead of letting them make their mistakes and figure it out for themselves. He wanted all the lines straight—was so intent on everything being perfect, that he forgot magical things happened all the time if only you just stopped trying so hard.
She folded her hands over his and held them tightly. “Do you remember telling me right after we met that you were keeping your eyes open and visualizing what you wanted for me?” Before he could respond, she went on, “I know all you want is the best for me, because that’s exactly what I want for you. But it took me this long to realize that I can’t live the life you visualize for me, no matter how good it might be. I’ll only be happy, truly happy, if I take care of my mother my own way, not your way. And I have to manage my art my way, not yours. I love teaching too, and I hate the thought of not having students to work with this fall.”
She’d been trying to make up her mind all these weeks, but suddenly it was crystal clear. Giving up teaching would be losing an important part of herself. One that was a crucial piece of what made her whole.
“If something else has to go, then it will, because I’m not giving up my classes.”
“I’m sorry.” A tremor ran through him, and she hated feeling as though she’d just ripped his heart to shreds. “I’m so damned sorry,” he whispered.
“No,” she told him. “Don’t be sorry. Not for one single thing. Not for one single moment. I know I’m not.”
He breathed in deeply, flexing his fingers under hers. He was a helper. He fixed things. He took care of people. When he couldn’t do that, he was lost. But knowing that didn’t make the desolation on his face any easier to take. His pain ground her insides to mincemeat.
But she knew what they both needed. Time. To take a breath. To think clearly again. “I need to see my mom. Alone this time. And I think it would be a good idea if I spent tonight at my place. That way I can focus on my class syllabus.”
An ache that came from deep inside threatened to pull her apart...but she still made herself walk away, out of the workshop, on legs that felt like they’d collapse with every step. She wasn’t walking away because he’d done anything wrong. On the contrary, when the dark clouds appeared, when the shadows crept closer, she hadn’t put the brakes on. Instead, she’d let that first bit of adoration and celebrity turn her head. She’d let the promise of financial security turn her work in a direction in which she should never have let it go.
She had a lot of things to unravel. Maybe she couldn’t sort them all out tonight. But she could at least make a start. Tomorrow, she hoped she would be one step closer to being the real Charlie Ballard again.
But would Sebastian be able to love that woman, without all the glitter and all the fame to go along with her?
