Текст книги "Reckless In Love"
Автор книги: Bella Andre
Соавторы: Jennifer Skully
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charlie’s ability to amaze him never ceased. She found fantastical mysteries in other people’s cast-offs. A dirt-encrusted gate could open the door to another world. A length of copper wire transmuted itself into the flapping reins of runaway stallions. He had no doubt she could do it. She saw inspiration in everything.
And Sebastian found inspiration in her.
She came alive when she was working, planning, visualizing. He’d given up on the drawing app and had continued to fill sketchbooks with images of her just like this—her eyes bright, her face shining, her lips smiling. Yet none of the drawings brought him closer to discovering why her work wasn’t already world famous. Why she wasn’t already a huge, glittering star in the art world. With her talent, beauty, and charm, she could easily command that world, the shining star on top of it all. By now anyone else would have been using his contacts to network, taking anything she could from him to advance her career. But not Charlie. No matter how many sketches he drew of her, he couldn’t put his finger on the reason. But he would. Soon. Because Sebastian had long ago vowed never to give up on somebody with potential. Especially when that somebody had come to mean as much to him as Charlie already did.
Since she wouldn’t take the money for her mother’s care from him—he’d gently offered a few times more to help pay for Magnolia Gardens and she’d just as gently turned him down—that meant the only other way to help her pay for her mother’s needs was to find buyers for the rest of her sculptures. He’d already made several phone calls to that end, but he wouldn’t say anything to Charlie until he had a solid bite from a prospect.
“We didn’t even spend a hundred dollars,” he said as he pulled the truck in front of the workshop and began to unload the full bed. Even lunch had been a quick but excellent burrito off a taco truck. He’d never eaten from a food truck before—why would he, when he had the best private chefs in the world on speed dial?—but with her it had been both fun and delicious.
Charlie laughed as she set the gate she’d found against the studio wall. Admiring her strength—and knowing that she prided herself on her independence—he’d made himself stop offering to carry the heavy stuff all the time. “Why do you think I chose to work in the junk medium rather than expensive canvases or paints or marble statues?”
“Smart woman.” He put the delicate and considerably lighter box of china cups and saucers on the workbench. Beautiful woman too.
She’d worn her steel-toed boots in deference to the junkyard terrain and a sexy sundress with minuscule straps in deference to the heat. He’d driven himself nuts the whole day, touching her hair, her face, her shoulders, her neck, anything he could flutter his fingertips across. He hoped he’d driven her nuts too.
“Guess what it’s time for?” she asked, with a wicked arch of her brow.
He had a good dozen ideas of his own...all of which involved Charlie naked and gasping with pleasure beneath him. But she wasn’t taking off her clothes; she was flicking the lid of the box with her fingernail.
“Smashing up the china for the base of the chariot. It’ll be like aggression therapy,” she said, a sexy come-hither sparkle in her eye.
“I don’t need aggression therapy.” No, he needed therapy of a completely different nature, on satin sheets with the night breeze cooling their sweaty, naked bodies. He wanted her badly enough by now to throw all his caution against the wall.
“Sure you do,” she murmured in a slightly husky voice as she took a step closer. The spicy, sexy scent of her skin beckoned him, and his fingers flexed, his muscles bunched, ready to pounce like a mountain lion. “Everyone has some anger they need to let out.”
“Even you?”
“I’m angry as hell that my mother is always in pain. What are you angry about?”
My father for being a selfish asshole. The words landed in his brain before he even knew they were coming.
As if she knew he wasn’t able to say the words aloud, she simply handed him a cup and whispered, “Toss it.”
Her words were so low, so seductive, that she could have been begging him to touch her, taste her, take her. He leaned into an overhand throw against the far wall. And the cup shattered.
“What an arm,” she cheered, punching the air. “But we might need a little less exuberance. Or we won’t get any pieces at all.”
“Your turn.” He shoved a saucer into her hand. She’d been right—the act of smashing the cup felt like it had smashed some of the anger boiling away in places he’d thought had gone cold a long time ago.
She narrowed her gaze and he could see her focusing on her anger about her mother’s illness a beat before she executed an underhand toss like a dancer, arm out, up, rising on her toes, letting the delicate porcelain sail and drop.
It broke into solid lines on the concrete. One half remained intact, lying upside down.
“Your turn again,” she drawled, then gave him a flirty smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. He felt the heat of her skin, caught the breathy exhalation. And suddenly this wasn’t only about unleashing anger.
It was also about seduction.
He tossed the cup. She chose another saucer and threw it right after his. Everything broke with a tinkle of china. The intact half of the saucer snapped as they piled on.
“More,” she said, grabbing, tossing, breaking, faster, one on top of the other.
Her breath came harder, her cheeks were flushed, her lips red, wet, inviting. He wanted to sink into her while he stroked her tongue with his, tasted her lips, feasted on her, the breaking glass ringing in their ears.
“Another,” she urged him. One after the other, saucers and cups sailed through the air, crashing hard against the wall, until the box was empty and the concrete in the center of the barn was a rainbow of colored chips. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of perspiration, and all he could think about was licking off the salt, reveling in it.
He didn’t think, didn’t blink, before hauling her up against him and taking her mouth. She was all spice, sweet and hot. As strong as she was, in his arms she felt as petite and delicate as the china. She devoured him even as he consumed her. Her body heat singed his fingertips as he molded his hands to her waist.
No other woman made him lose himself so completely. The workshop doors stood wide, yet he didn’t care. And he couldn’t bring himself to heed the cautionary thought that it would be better to wait, to make sure that they weren’t toxic to each other before they took this next step. There was only a hard ache inside him, an overwhelming desire to fit himself inside her.
He yanked a spaghetti strap down her arm, then molded her breast in his hand, roughly teasing the tip to a hard peak. She moaned into his mouth, a heady sound that played every chord in his body, vibrating through him.
Until today, he’d made himself take it slow. Made himself take care not to fall too far, too fast, too hard before he was totally sure their feelings for each other wouldn’t be their mutual destruction.
But slow was completely impossible now.
His hand slid over her hip, his fingers tugged up the thin material of her dress, and her bare thigh singed his palm. Her kisses stole his breath and fogged his mind, while the heat of her skin made him completely crazy.
“Sebastian.” Her eyes were drugged, her lips swollen, her hair framing her gorgeous face. If she’d stepped out of his arms, he’d have made himself let her go. But she molded her hand tightly over his on her breast, then dragged his head down for another intoxicating kiss. He stroked her tongue with his, caressed the hard nub beneath his fingers, and tested the flesh along the line of her barely-there thong, the temperature rising to steamy.
He needed more. More. And he couldn’t wait for it, knew he’d die if he didn’t touch her. When she pushed the back of his head until his lips found her nipple, he knew she felt exactly the same way.
He kissed her, licked, sucked, savored. Her body vibrated with hot, sweaty need, and she moaned, her legs tight around him, her body arching along the ridge of his erection. One after the other, his brain fired off orders he was beyond desperate to obey.
Touch her.
Taste her.
Pleasure her.
He flipped up the hem of her enticing sundress and put his palm on her center, letting her heat seep into him. “Here.” The one word was a whisper of need, a rasp of desire. “Now. I need to touch you, Charlie.”
He had never needed before, not like this, beyond the physical, deep into emotional territory. He truly felt as though he would die if he lost her. He’d never had such a thought about another woman, only Charlie. She was to die for.
Before the semi-destructive thought could paralyze him, she put her lips to his and hummed a hot little pleasure sound deep in her throat. “Here. Now. Touch me.”
Less than a heartbeat later, he was sinking his finger into her wet heat. She was so ready, her body quivering. He took her lips again, kissing her hard, delving deep, while he played over her arousal. Her hands roamed up and down his arms, cupping his face, into his hair, while her boots scraped the backs of his thighs restlessly. Panting, biting her lip, she looked up at him and he saw that a flush had turned her cheeks pink and her pupils were dilated.
He leaned closer, his reflection in her gaze, and filled her with his fingers. Hard, fast, he took her until her head fell back, her hair cascading across the bench. She gasped twice, then cried out, her body tightening, releasing. The perfume of her climax enveloped him as a full body flush turned her skin hot.
“Oh, God. Sebastian.”
Sweet Lord, he wanted to thrust so deep and high inside her that they became a part of each other. Wanted to wrap himself all around her and never let go.
Yet he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when making love to her would only bring them closer...and he still didn’t understand what made her tick at her very core. And while Charlie had made it clear that she wanted him, it was obvious that she was still afraid to trust him, still afraid that any help he offered had strings attached.
Though he ached with unrelenting need, all he could do now was hold her close for another few precious seconds and allow himself the pleasure of breathing in her luscious scent.
“Soon.”
She reached out, her hand fluttering, lighting on his arm, his throat, his cheek, and finally her fingers on his lips. He knew he was right to draw back when she nodded and echoed the word back to him. “Soon. Although,” she said as she licked her lips, “I’m dying to touch you too. Here. Now.”
He couldn’t hold back his groan of need, even as he said, “If you put your hands on me—” He closed his eyes a moment to let himself soak in the sexy vision before brutally shoving it away. “I won’t be able to stop.”
She stared at him for a long moment, one that had him wondering if she was going to reach for his belt despite all their well-intentioned reasons for waiting. But in the end, she simply sat up and said, “If you’re not going to let me touch you—” She huffed out a long breath of regret that he felt down to his very marrow. “—then we should get back to finding the best pieces for our mosaic.”
We. Our. He loved that, how even after he’d worked like hell to put the brakes on, she was not only in agreement, but wasn’t holding anything against him out of sheer frustration.
Oh yeah, every sign pointed to Charlie Ballard being special. Being the one. Soon he would know for sure—whether it was through his sketches or simply by spending more time with her. Once he was absolutely convinced they wouldn’t hurt each other the way his parents had, he’d make damn sure they got their fill of each other, morning, noon and night, with no brakes anywhere in sight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A few days later, Sebastian needed to fly back East. He usually enjoyed his business trips, different sights, a change of pace—but this time, he didn’t want to leave Charlie. This meeting had been scheduled a month ago, before everything started changing inside him. He’d invited her to come, but just as he’d expected, she wouldn’t desert the chariot.
So he went alone to New York and had a good meeting with the TV network that wanted to carry his series of motivational programs on creating success in everyday life. Even better, over drinks he met with a friend who mentioned a new hotel back in Northern California where they were looking for a big, impressive garden centerpiece. In an instant, Sebastian knew that Charlie’s work was meant to be there. One quick phone call got Sebastian an appointment for the day he returned.
He would have headed home that night, but he’d promised Susan and Bob he’d stop in to see them in Chicago. If not for them, he’d never go back there. None of the Mavericks would. The bad memories of Chicago overshadowed the good, even though they’d long since moved Susan and Bob out of the seedy neighborhood and into a big house on a tree-lined street.
“Honey, we’re so glad you came.”
Susan had prepared his favorite dish, beef bourguignon, which had been simmering all day in the slow cooker despite the Illinois summer heat. The house smelled like ambrosia, and now they were sitting outside on the deck enjoying a slightly cooler evening. A light breeze washed over him, reminding him of Charlie’s fingers in his hair.
Susan looked younger every day, if that could be believed. Life was treating her well. She was slender and healthy, walking five miles every day, at least in summer. “You look great. Have you done something new with your hair?”
She patted her silver locks and smiled. “Just a different rinse.”
She was only fifty-five, but most of those years hadn’t been kind. She’d been a waitress at a diner, and Bob had been a baggage handler at O’Hare. They’d started their family young, Daniel coming along when they were only twenty, and their daughter Lyssa ten years later. Then there were the Mavericks, the rough-and-tumble teenage boys they’d taken in and raised. Bob and Susan were givers, even when they hadn’t had enough to give. Sebastian was inspired by them every day.
Bob pointed to the top of his bald head. “Hey, what about me?”
“Oh, honey, I love your bald head.” Susan reached over to stroke the shiny skin.
Sebastian loved the way they were with each other. He couldn’t remember them fighting, not like his parents. His parents had loved hard, drunk hard, fought hard. Whereas Susan had always told Sebastian that in any argument, you had to stop, think, and then speak. It was advice that had served him well in business negotiations over the years.
Bob rose from his chair. “I’m going to water the rose bushes. They look a little parched.”
“Thanks, honey.” She gave him an affectionate swat on the behind as he passed, then he practically jogged down the steps. “He’s got a whole new lease on life after his back surgery. I’m so glad you boys talked him into it.”
No matter how much money the Mavericks earned, Bob and Susan never took anything for granted. It was only when the pain from an old work injury had become debilitating that Bob allowed Daniel and the rest of them to pay for the surgery. Of course they’d gotten him the best, flying in a surgeon from London.
He could do the same for Charlie’s mom. She might not ever jog down a flight of stairs, but if she could live without pain, it would be worth it.
Susan put her hand over his on the arm of his chair. “You’ve got a different look about you too. Let me guess...you’ve found someone special, haven’t you?”
He didn’t even try to play it cool, not when Susan was the heart-and-soul guru for all the Mavericks. She saw all, knew all, understood all.
“Her name’s Charlie.”
“Charlie.” There was a smile in Susan’s voice. “I like her name.”
“It’s short for Charlotte. But Charlie suits her so much better.” Anticipating her next question, he said, “I hired her to create the sculpture for the lobby.” He didn’t have to explain which lobby. He talked with Susan at least once a week, but he hadn’t yet mentioned Charlie because he’d hoped to have her figured out before being peppered with questions.
“An artist. Like you. That’s wonderful.” Susan was always so generous with her praise, even though she knew he’d never think of himself as an artist. “She’s made her way into your sketchbook already, hasn’t she?”
“You always know way too much.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re my boys.”
He’d always been amazed that Susan had never made a distinction between the children she’d given birth to and the rest of the Mavericks. She loved them all equally. In many ways, he believed the Mavericks had needed her more even than the children she had carried inside her.
Daniel and Lyssa understood from the beginning that they were loved. Whereas the rest of them had to learn to believe in it.
Sebastian knew his parents had loved each other—and him too, as much as they were able. But that love had destroyed them. And it might have destroyed him too, if he hadn’t found Susan and Bob and the Mavericks.
“I’ve filled a couple of pads so far.”
“That tells me she must be very special.” She pinned him with an undodgeable look. “And also that you’re still trying to figure out something about her.”
Yep, Susan knew him through and through. “She’s gorgeous, she’s talented, she’s smart. She teaches classes at the local college in addition to making her own art.”
“She sounds fascinating. So where’s the but?”
“She’s gotten nowhere with her career even though her work is amazing.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Maybe there’s nothing to get.”
He didn’t get that either. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe she’s already happy with her life.”
Susan said it as though it were the simplest thing in the world. But Sebastian had spent his life motivating people to embrace their greatness and fulfill their potential to the utmost, so he knew there had to be more going on for Charlie. “She’s certainly not unhappy, but she’s told me she’d love to see her pieces displayed for everyone to enjoy.”
“Still, I wonder if you should be careful how hard you push her.”
“Push?” He frowned. “I’m helping her.” Though he had to admit he was pushing about Francine. “Her mom’s got arthritis. Really bad stuff. Charlie’s letting me bring in a new doctor, but she won’t allow me to pay for a better home for her mother to live in.”
“Charlie sounds independent. That’s a big part of what you like about her, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He loved Charlie’s strength, her ability to take care of herself, her loyalty to her mother, and her passion for her art, for life itself. He also loved the femininity she usually hid under her face shield and safety apron, and couldn’t wait to keep drawing it out of her. “She’s starting to be okay with me helping her mother, which is great. But I’m still determined to work out what’s holding her back.”
“Her? Or you?” At his raised eyebrows, she said, “You’ve made your life about helping other people let go of their walls, their barriers. But what about your walls? Your barriers?”
No one but Bob, Susan, and the other Mavericks ever talked this straight to him. And Charlie too, who never couched her thoughts in smoke and mirrors.
Still, it was reflex to say, “I don’t have walls.”
Susan had the grace not to laugh out loud at his lame protest. But she did shake her head. And perhaps give a small eyeroll.
“Okay,” he said in a grudging voice, “I might have a wall or two.”
This time she did laugh, but she also reached for his hand. “All of you have done a marvelous job of transcending your childhoods. But some things are hard to shake, Sebastian. You watched two people who loved each other destroy the very person they loved most.” Susan had spent twenty years trying to get him to accept that he couldn’t have fixed his parents, but now her mouth turned down at the corners. “Love doesn’t have to be like that.”
“I see you and Bob. Will and Harper. I get that love can work. But for me...” He looked into the garden, where Bob was still spraying the roses. “Charlie’s different. Special. I don’t want things to go wrong, to turn toxic. That’s why I’m being careful. Taking things slow.” And working like hell to try to figure her out through his sketches.
“The thing is, honey, you don’t always know when it’s safe to take a risk until you’ve already taken it. Until you’re already all in. Even if you haven’t figured everything out yet.” She paused as if to get the rest of her thoughts completely in order before she spoke. “It’s nice to think that we can control whether or not we fall in love with someone, but when love is big enough—when it’s truly meant to be—it happens whether you’re ready for it or not, even if you haven’t yet switched from red to green.”
He was trying to take in what Susan was saying, knew she and Bob and Will were the lucky ones and that he should listen to their advice. But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “What about Evan and Whitney?” Now there was a marriage not made in heaven. Hell, if you looked up the term toxic relationship, you’d find a picture of Whitney right beside it. “Evan took a risk with her, but wouldn’t it have been better if he had taken things slow and looked at her personality and their relationship from every angle first before marrying her?”
“Honey,” Susan chided, “she’s had three miscarriages.”
Sebastian turned fully in his seat. “I feel sorry for her and Evan. Of course I do. But that doesn’t give her a license to be a horrible person the rest of the time. She’s a lost cause and Evan should get out. Now.”
“He’s caring for her for the sake of the baby that could be—and the mother that he believes she’ll turn into.”
He filled his lungs, then let the breath out on a deep sigh. “I just hope he can figure things out. And be happy. Because we all know she isn’t making him happy, no matter how hard he tries to make her happy.”
“It will work out for him. I know it will.” Susan gave him a big smile, which lit up her whole face. “And I can’t tell you how happy I am to know you’ve met someone special.”
He leaned over and was kissing her soft cheek, when Bob stepped back on the porch and asked, “What am I missing?”
“We’re talking about true love,” Susan told her husband.
“Don’t push,” Sebastian said in an undertone.
“I meant Will and Harper.”
“Liar.”
She laughed. “Now, how can you say that about an old lady?”
“Because you’re not old.”
“He’s right,” Bob said with a grin. “You’re my spring chicken.”
Bob and Susan were meant for each other. So were Will and Harper.
Was it possible that he and Charlie were too?
Or was he doomed to follow his parents’ and Evan and Whitney’s examples?
All Sebastian knew for sure was that he’d never felt like this about anyone or anything. Only Charlie. And that had to mean something.
Something big.
