by Bella Andre
Okay, Charlie, focus, she told herself with the first introduction.
Daniel Spencer, owner of the Top-Notch DIY chain of home improvement stores, was a dark-haired Tahoe mountain guy. He shook her hand, his grip warm and his tone sincere. “You have an incredible talent.”
“Thank you.” She’d seen how good the rams looked in front of the hotel, but it was still fabulous to hear that someone besides Sebastian agreed with her.
Next, Sebastian introduced her to Will Franconi and she immediately said, “Thank you so much for the china you sent over for my mother. She loved it. It was so kind of you.”
A dark Italian type as befitting his name, Will smiled with twinkling blue eyes. “You’re welcome. Although Harper picked them out.”
Charlie turned to the pretty blond woman on his arm. “Drinking out of those china mugs is one of my mother’s favorite parts of the day. Thank you for choosing such a lovely set.”
Harper smiled sweetly. “Sipping tea out of hand-painted bone china has now become a favorite part of my day too.”
Charlie made what she hoped was a normal sound in response. That, however, was becoming harder to do as Sebastian trailed a hand over her shoulder blade and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.
“Those cups are probably too fragile for Noah to use for an imaginary party, aren’t they?” asked a big, handsome man who she easily guessed was Matt Tremont, the father of five-year-old Noah.
Boy, the Mavericks were definitely a good-looking lot, though she couldn’t help but think that Sebastian was the best of an incredible bunch. Whether he was running his hands over her body or not. Right now, given that he was turning her positively liquid inside, all she wanted to do was turn around in his arms and press her lips to—
Concentrate, Charlie.
“Tea party?” Daniel said. “Didn’t I give him a kid-size tool belt for his last birthday?”
Matt laughed, his mouth wide, his eyes probably as bright as Noah’s would be. “He lost the hammer and the screwdriver and the—”
Daniel cut him off with an eye roll, and Sebastian said, “Maybe he needs a Zanti Misfit.”
Charlie thought of the pruning-shear claws and put her hand on his arm. “We probably need to make something else for your son,” she told Matt. “How about a lizard? Or better yet, a T-Rex.”
“The T-Rex?” Sebastian looked mildly horrified at the thought of her dinosaur sculpture becoming a five-year-old’s toy.
“I could make a scaled-down version. Or maybe a stegosaurus would be even better for him?”
“That sounds awesome. Just as long as it’s not a velociraptor.” Matt made a rueful face. “I made the mistake of taking him to see Jurassic World. What was I thinking?”
“Your son definitely needs a kinder, gentler dinosaur.” She immediately began to envision a child-friendly dinosaur garden filled with plant-eating dinos. What if she used rocks to build the smaller set of dinosaurs? She could encircle different sized stones in metal and weld the individual pieces together like Legos.
“Earth to Charlie,” Sebastian whispered in her ear, sending another delicious shiver through her.
“Sorry, I was thinking about little dinosaurs. Lots and lots of them.” Was it bad that she wished she were back in her workshop already, getting started on those dinosaurs? Not that she didn’t enjoy meeting Sebastian’s closest friends. They alone made the party worth it.
In the midst of all the dinosaur planning, an older gentleman entered their circle and Sebastian put his hand on the small of Charlie’s back as if to move her closer. “Walter, this is Charlie Ballard.”
Walter Braedon could have been fifty, or five years either way. Though he was surrounded by Mavericks he could never overshadow, he had the presence of an older man who was completely comfortable in his own skin. His dark blond hair was thick and going white at the temples, his features strong, and his waistline as trim as that of someone twenty years younger.
She might have felt slightly nervous if Sebastian hadn’t still been at her side. With his hand warming her through the fabric of her dress, he made her feel as if he’d battle anything for her. Even her own fear.
“Your rams are a hit, Miss Ballard,” Walter said, vigorously pumping her hand. “Everyone’s been asking for you.”
“Thank you, I’m so glad to hear that. And please, call me Charlie. Even though I teach over at the college, Miss Ballard makes me feel like a little old lady schoolteacher.”
“You’re certainly not that.” Dimples appeared when he smiled. “Charlie it is. And you all must call me Walt. I trust the suite is to your liking?”
“It’s fabulous, thank you.”
“We appreciate not having to make the trek back across the Bay, Walt,” Sebastian added.
She didn’t want to stiffen at Sebastian’s gracious words—and would have stopped herself if she could. But a fairly large crowd had gathered around the Mavericks and Walter Braedon, and she was well aware of the assumptions that the gossipmongers were bound to make about the artist who was not only living on Sebastian’s property, but also staying in a suite with him right here at the hotel.
Everyone would assume they were sleeping together.
Charlie had never given a hoot about anyone pondering her sex life. What she and Sebastian did was their own business, and while she’d never regret being with him, she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone assuming she’d traded her art for sex.
Her gaze flew to Walt. Was that what he thought?
Clearly able to read her inside and out, Sebastian curled his arm around her waist, but that only made her spiral down. Everyone would see the blush he brought to her cheeks, the way he made her bones melt, how he put stars in her eyes...and they’d know she was completely, recklessly smitten with the beautiful billionaire. It had nothing to do with being in his league. Charlie didn’t believe in that kind of stuff, but she did recognize that they were from different worlds. Until tonight, she and Sebastian had been together only in her world, full of junk and metal and welding tools. Now, she was smack in the middle of his glittering world.
She pulled off that feat with her own brand of glitter, but she couldn’t help feeling like an impostor, because in the morning, all her glitter would wash down the drain.
“Come, we must introduce you around.” Walt turned to the side and waved a hand. “Have you met Evan and Whitney Collins?”
Evan Collins was the fifth Maverick. As handsome and fit as the rest, he was their finance guy and the only married Maverick. “It’s great to meet you, Charlie. This is my wife, Whitney.”
Draped in a floor-length red dress with a slit up the side—one of the dresses that Charlie had rejected, in fact—Whitney Collins had a figure that made men drool. With auburn hair, she was polished, perfect, and obviously bored out of her mind by everyone and everything around her. Her handshake was limp, and the once-over she gave Charlie clearly rated the brocade skirt, camisole, shoes, and beaded clutch as horribly unfashionable.
“Hmm,” was all she said, the taut skin on her face hardly moving around the small sound.
Thankfully, Walt quickly moved them on through the sea of faces. It was more than a little exhausting for Charlie to chitchat with so many new people, trying to remember as many names as possible, but Sebastian was clearly in his element. What’s more, he seemed to know everyone, asking about their latest project or triumph, about their kids. She was continually amazed at his skill in turning people’s compliments back around to their achievements rather than his own.
Even more amazing? Between Sebastian and Walt talking up her artwork, people were literally throwing commissions at her. A garden in Woodside, a fountain in Atherton, a gazebo on Nob Hill, a condo in Palm Springs, all of which desperately needed a piece by Charlie Ballard.
It was thrilling. At least, it should have been, because taking all these jobs meant she’d never have to worry about her mother again. But twenty-four hours a day wouldn’t be enough time to crea
te all of these designs. Already she was doing rapid-fire calculations in her head to figure out what she could give up to make it work.
Worse, she couldn’t shake the thought that Sebastian’s peers were offering her commissions simply to make points with him.
“Are you okay?” Sebastian asked when they finally had a few seconds to themselves.
She couldn’t admit she was panicking again. Not when he’d handed her everything on a silver platter. She couldn’t fathom how he did it—be on like this for hours, schmoozing, prowling, moving, talking, constantly at attention. It seemed to energize him. But it would drive her insane.
“Everyone is being so complimentary and friendly.” She lifted one foot to take the pressure off for one precious moment. “I’m just not used to wearing heels.”
He tangled his fingers in the hair at her nape. “I should have been paying better attention to you.”
“You have been.” She smiled at him. “No one has ever been so attentive.”
“I can do even better,” he promised as he slid a finger seductively along the waist of her skirt, sliding down to caress the sensitive skin of her lower back as they slipped away from the group. “Let’s start by getting you another glass of champagne and some food.” Sebastian picked up a plate, his lips close to her ear as he whispered, “Tell me what you want.”
His arms molded her tightly to his body, and she felt every muscle, every ridge against her more delicate frame. She was hot, liquid, and crazy for him. And one desire after another whizzed through her head.
A great big bite of you.
A long sip of your lips.
Your heat against me.
Inside of me.
She’d worried earlier about people thinking their attraction was the reason Sebastian supported her art. Now, though she heard voices, the clink of plates, the splash of drinks into glasses, she simply didn’t care what anyone else thought. In this moment, there was only Sebastian’s arms around her, his sweet breath in her ear, his soft hair beneath her fingers.
She knew him in ways the people at this party never would, saw things in him other people could never understand. They felt his charisma, but she recognized his inner beauty, the man who cared, the little boy who still needed to help in any way he could.
Charlie had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted Sebastian. More than teaching. More than the money for her mother. More than her art. She wanted all of him. Now. Tonight. No matter what happened after she finished work on the chariot and they went back to their normal lives. Even if it turned out that he preferred the shiny, glittering Charlie she’d unearthed tonight to the dusty, junkyard woman she’d been until this moment.
Tonight, it was time to give in to the recklessness. Time to finally look into his eyes and say, “You. All I want is you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sebastian grabbed Charlie’s hand and all but dragged her to the elevators. The moment the doors closed behind them, he pushed her up against the wall. Imprisoning her wrists above her head in one hand, he took her lips hungrily, devouring her until she moaned and wrapped her leg around his calf.
“I’ve been dreaming about doing this all night.” He roamed her body with his free hand, stroking her smooth, warm skin. Then he dipped his head to lick along her collarbone. “Tasting you. Touching you.”
“Kiss me again. I love how you kiss me.”
God, he was dying to kiss her. Every inch of her skin. But first he needed to know— “Do you believe?” His mouth was drawn to hers like a magnet and he had to taste her even though he hadn’t finished his question. “Do you believe I want you as much—no, a hell of a lot more than I want your art?”
“Yes.” The word came out more breath than sound. “Yes.”
Then her mouth crushed his and, sweet Lord, how he loved the taste of her and the soft purr in her throat as she consumed him with a ferocity equaling his own.
Love. The word he’d always been so wary of. Now it rolled around in his mind as though it belonged. Charlie made him believe that love didn’t have to be the way it had been for his parents.
Love could be like this. Love could fill him up from the inside out. Love could make him crazy with need and crazy with awe.
Tonight had been everything he’d wanted for Charlie—the crowd fawning over her, acknowledging her work as brilliant. She’d stepped into his world, conquered it completely, and was the toast of Silicon Valley.
Best of all? Now she would finally be his.
The elevator doors opened to the penthouse and they spilled out together, lips locked, arms tangled.
Charlie fumbled with the buttons of his tux jacket. “I want you, Sebastian. All of you. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
“No more waiting,” he agreed in a voice made raw with both need and emotion. “Considering that I wanted you from the first moment I saw you in your face shield...it’s been a hell of a wait.”
She laughed, and he drank in the sexy, throaty sound. He loved her humor. Loved her independence. Loved her art. Hell, he loved her everything.
“My face shield and those thick welding gloves weren’t sexy,” she scoffed.
He framed her face in his hands. “Whatever you’ve got on, it all drives me crazy. Especially—” He reached behind to undo the slippery zipper on her top. “—this dress.”
He pulled the spaghetti straps of her bodice down her arms at the same time as she tugged off his cummerbund and tore at the fastenings of his shirt. Buttons popped and rolled across the marble entry floor. Then she twined her arms around his neck, and he hauled her up, his hands cupping her hips as she locked her ankles behind him. Bare chest to bare chest, her lips on his, her mouth, her tongue, he held her tightly as he strode across the suite’s thick carpet to the bedroom, and fell onto the bed with her.
Her hair lay in ringlets on the gold comforter, red and gold like the sun. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her nipples were a dusky rose that beckoned to him. He drank in her beauty, his heart beating hard. Beating true. Beating as if it were finally full for the very first time in his life.
“I’ve never seen anything as magnificent as you, Charlie.”
She flushed beneath him, her skin drawing his mouth and hands to her body’s beautiful contours. “I thought you said my dragon was magnificent,” she teased.
“There are levels of magnificence,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to the curve of one breast. “And you are way above the dragon.”
Her laughter got lost in a pleasured gasp as he laved one taut peak slowly with his tongue. “Sebastian.”
The sound of his name falling from her lips notched up his need to an epic ache. “I’ve waited so long for you, Charlie.”
It wasn’t just the weeks since he’d first walked into her yard. It wasn’t even since the moment he’d seen her dragon and felt a kinship with her as an artist.
No, the truth was that he’d been waiting forever to find her. He’d never thought there would be someone like Charlie—a woman he wanted so badly that his insides felt like they were coming apart even as he was filled with pure emotion for her.
“I’ve waited for you too.” She put her hand to the back of his head and pulled his lips to hers. “Kiss me again. Kiss me everywhere,” she whispered before she took him to heaven with her mouth.
She toyed with him, sipped his lips, took his tongue, kissed him hard, then soft, twisted her head to come at him from a different angle. Playing. Tormenting. Seducing. They rolled together until she drew up her knees and straddled him. Leaning over, she licked his skin, ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, tugged gently. Then she sucked his nipple between her lips. She licked, suckled, teased, and finally bit him, just enough to send a shaft of pleasure-pain straight to his core.
He grabbed her hips as his body surged against hers. He was hard enough to burst, desperate to possess. He shoved his hands beneath the folds of her skirt and along her thighs until he found the elastic of her thong, and ri
pped it off her. She tore at his pants the way she’d gone at his shirt, and when they were both naked, he pinned her to the bed and took her mouth again. The kiss was primitive. Insatiable. Not just for him, but for both of them. And though he already knew he’d never have enough of her, never be able to get his fill, all the weeks of waiting had made him greedy for more than just a taste.
Tonight he needed absolutely everything, wouldn’t stop until he’d kissed her everywhere.
His face at her apex, he breathed in the heady scent of her arousal. He tested her with the tip of his tongue, finding her sweetness, then slid off the bed to his knees in front of her, and nuzzled her. “You’re so pretty down here too. Everywhere.” He took his first erotic taste, delving with his tongue.
“Oh.” It was a gasp. “Oh, God.”
She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails pricking his flesh, and it was so damned good. She was like a sweet wine whose grapes had stayed on the vine until they exploded with flavor. Her hot little sounds—a cry, a moan, a hoarse groan—drove him deeper. Flicking his tongue over her, he had to have more of her, had to slide one finger inside.
“Please, please, please,” she begged.
She quivered and quaked, and he forced her higher. There was only one thing he wanted, needed, and craved in this moment—her sweet release against his tongue.
Her breath hitched, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulled at the roots, until her body clenched around his fingers, released, tightened again. Then she cried out, shaking as she rode out her pleasure.
He didn’t let her senses quiet. Instead he moved back over her so that his chest was flush with hers. “Can you feel how much I want you?” he said against her throat, layering her skin with kisses, licks, little bites as she wrapped her fingers around his erection.
She finally opened her eyes and, instead of answering his question, said, “You should have done that to me weeks ago.”
He laughed—she would always be able to make him laugh, even when they were making love—and he swelled even bigger in her hand. “I should have done this to you the very first day.” He nudged her legs apart and rolled between them. “Taken you in the sunlight.” Her fingers tightened around him, stroking him, and he shuddered, pushing hard into her palm. “No, on your workbench. The first time I had my hands on you.” The first time he’d made her tremble. The first time he’d felt her come and fantasized about how much more she had to give—and how he wanted every last ounce of her pleasure to be his.
