by Bella Andre
Charlie’s heart did a somersault as his eyes found and held hers for a split second.
“Francine is the sweetest thing. Tiny.” He held out his palm to demonstrate her height against his chest. “She’s friendly, upbeat, always with a smile or a laugh even though she has severe arthritis and uses a walker to get around. Most people would be in a wheelchair or bedridden. All her finger joints have been replaced.” He held up the tumbler. “Imagine not being able to hold this glass in one hand. Imagine that even two-handed, this glass would slip out of your fingers.” He let it slide until it almost fell, catching it at the last second. “Imagine you couldn’t jog down the stairs, that your ankle bones had disintegrated and the only thing holding each foot together was a steel bolt and some staples. Imagine your vertebrae had to be fused just so you could hold your head up. Imagine the shocking pain. And yet—” He held up the glass again, pausing. There was complete silence, unbroken by even the whisper of fifty thousand breaths. “And yet, every single day you get up and you walk a mile. No matter what.” As Sebastian set down the glass, he said, “Do you know how much farther a mile is for her than for you and me?”
Charlie knew. Sebastian obviously did as well. Though he was a good thirty feet away on the stage, she could feel his anguish at not being able to help as if it were her own. Which it always had been. Until he walked into their lives and tried to help in any way he could.
“Francine tells me that if she didn’t walk, she’d be in a wheelchair or a bed. Use it or lose it.” He made air quotes to show that they were Francine’s words. “There are days she doesn’t want to. Days when she can barely move because the pain is too great.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper that echoed in the auditorium. “But then she gets up, aims her walker, and starts that mile.”
Emotion squeezed Charlie’s chest as he said, “So I ask you, can you walk a mile? Every day, rain or shine, pain or gain, because you know you have to just to stay alive, just to breathe. Can you walk that mile?”
And Charlie began to cry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Charlie couldn’t hear Sebastian’s closing words as everyone in the auditorium rose to their feet with thunderous applause, their unspoken answer to his question perfectly clear: Yes, they would all walk that mile. Simply because Sebastian Montgomery believed they could.
On the way out, he grabbed Charlie’s hand and they were propelled down the aisle to a small reception in the green room. Everyone wanted to touch him, as though something magical might rub off. He was polite, friendly, and accepted compliments with humility.
The most amazing thing of all was that he acted no differently at the reception than he had on stage. He was the same man who’d walked into her studio and said her art was magnificent. The same man who’d told her all about his parents and upbringing after dinner at his house. The same man who’d driven her wild with need every second of every day since they’d met.
He had power no matter where he was, but it didn’t come from arrogance. It had come from walking many long miles, the way her mother continued to do every single day.
Two hours later they were ushered out and into a waiting helicopter that flew them to the airport. In the VIP lounge, finally alone with Sebastian for a few moments, she said, “Thank you for letting me see you in action.”
“It was my pleasure.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “I’ve been privileged to see what you do. I was hoping you would enjoy this.”
She shook her head, knowing he shouldn’t be comparing the two of them. “I make art. But you—” There was no other way to put it. “You inspire the world.”
“You inspire too, Charlie. More than you know. Especially now that everyone will see your sculptures once you take your rightful place at the top of the field.”
As always, when he talked about her impending ascent to the top of the art world, her stomach twisted. Frustration bubbled up in her for a split second before she could shove it away, along with the question she’d been asking herself for weeks: Why do I keep having these doubts?
But today of all days wasn’t a time for doubts. Not when Sebastian’s tribute to her mother had been beyond beautiful. It had never been clearer that compared to the struggles other people went through, Charlie had absolutely nothing to complain about. So what if she was worried about her life changing—and about whether or not she could fit into Sebastian’s world the way he obviously wanted her to? She’d have to get over her doubts.
“My mother will love that you told her story.” She touched his arm, admiring the play of strong muscles beneath her fingers nearly as much as she’d admired him on that stage. “It means a lot to me to know you understand.”
“I didn’t plan what I said, but with you watching me, all I could think about was how much you give to her, and how completely deserving she is. Both of you possess an indomitable spirit.”
“If I’m indomitable, then why am I so nervous about the grand opening gala at the hotel?” The words were out of her mouth, with more already falling before she could stop them. “Why am I so terrified that everyone will see my rams, and then they’ll look at me and I’ll be cursing myself for not wearing the right dress?”
Pulling her to her feet, he said, “You’re gorgeous just the way you are.”
His words made her belly flutter. They both knew better. “I can’t wear jeans to a gala.”
“Then we’ll go shopping.”
He was sweet, but like a typical guy, he still clearly didn’t get it. “The other women will all be salon-prepped and wearing designer outfits that cost as much as a condo on Maui.”
“I have a condo on Maui,” he said as the corners of his lips twitched, “and I can confirm that some of those dresses cost even more.” She was glad that the laughter bubbling up helped to untwist the knots in her stomach. “So let me take you shopping,” he said softly, as persuasive as he’d been on stage.
“You’ve already paid for the chariot.” For an amount she still had trouble wrapping her mind around. When she threw in the money he’d negotiated for her rams... Honestly, her head was still spinning. “A dress isn’t part of the deal.”
He circled her slowly, trailing his fingers across her neck until he’d pulled her hair back at her nape. “Think of dressing up as part of your job. Showmanship. Salesmanship.” His warm breath in her hair made her legs weak. The kiss on the tender flesh of her neck made her knees tremble. “You’ll amaze them,” he whispered as he pushed her hair to the other side and kissed her just below her ear, then licked her. “Soft velvet,” he murmured, circling her waist with his arms. “Silky lace.”
Suddenly, she couldn’t think straight, especially when he drew her back against him and all she could feel was hard, sexy male.
“Let them see you in all your glory, Charlie.”
His hands skimmed her flesh, his mouth crumbling her will and his honeyed words seducing her. She succumbed to the reckless urge, spinning around to kiss him breathless, not breaking apart until Sebastian’s private pilot cleared his throat and let them know he was ready for them to board the plane.
* * *
“I’ve got so much work to do on the chariot. But you seem to be able to talk me into anything.” Charlie mock-scowled as she stood in front of him in the designer showroom wearing a red floor-length gown with a slit up the leg. “Except this dress. It clashes with my hair.”
Sweet Lord, Sebastian was hot for her. He’d watched her dress and undress for forty-five minutes, zipped her into six different outfits, four of which he’d liked, none of which Charlie would consider. Now he was a heartbeat from throwing her over his shoulder, locking them together inside the nearest storeroom, and ripping the dress off her so he could finally do everything he’d been fantasizing about for weeks. Touching her, Tasting her. Taking her.
It had taken him four days since their L.A. trip to arrange a shopping expedition. Not because of his crazy schedule, but because Charlie had thrown herself back into the chariot
and horses, working with total focus around the clock. What amazed him wasn’t her work ethic, but the way she dealt with screwups. When something wasn’t going right, she simply laughed at herself, then moved to another piece to clear her head. Whereas Sebastian had never been able to go back to a drawing once it had gone wrong. To date, he had four sketchbooks stocked with the woman he still couldn’t bring into complete focus or total understanding.
He hated that she wouldn’t accept just how extraordinary she was. Up on that stage, he’d spoken directly to her, told her everything he believed she was capable of, that she could do anything.
But he wasn’t sure she’d heard him.
Right now, however, he had to agree that despite the display of elegant leg, the red dress just wasn’t Charlie. “Try something short and sexy.” He gave in to the urge to run his hand down the outside of her thigh. “To show off your incredible legs.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow as she sauntered to the rack of designer dresses. “Now I know why you brought me here,” she teased before riffling through the dresses.
Because you mean everything to me.
The words knocked around in his head. His heart too. And they might have spilled from his lips if she hadn’t said, “How about this one?” She held up a black silk-velvet dress with three-quarter sleeves and a short, flared skirt. “It has pearls across the front. No, wait, that’s the back.” She frowned. “How the heck do you get into this thing?”
“I’d be more than happy to help you figure it out,” Sebastian said in a low tone ripe with desire as he rose from his chair. “Got to get you out of this one first, though.”
He trailed his fingers across her back, and nuzzled her hair, impossibly hungry for her. The zipper slid down, and he followed its path with his mouth, the taste of her skin filling him up. The dress slid to Charlie’s feet and she stepped out of it, leaning down, clad only in minuscule panties, to swipe it up and place it on a hanger. Then she looked at him over her shoulder, a sexy, flirty smile on her lips and her brilliant green eyes traveling his length.
His heart stuttered at her elegance and beauty. She wasn’t a model or a celebrity. She had no artifice. She was simply real, utterly perfect without any help from makeup or fancy clothes, and she made him crazy hot, hard, and reckless. When they finally came together, he knew worlds would collide. Oceans would overflow. Hell, volcanoes would probably erupt.
His mind whirling with images of her, he couldn’t find the clasp on the pearls slung across the plunging back of the black dress.
“I see how it works now.” She took the dress from him, standing so close that her all-Charlie, all-woman scent short-circuited his brain. “It unzips down here, then goes over my head.”
His heart started again, beating harder, faster as she pulled it on, all that beautiful, creamy skin disappearing from view. She presented her back for him to do up the short zipper until the velvet material hugged her figure, and his fingers trembled. When she stepped up on the dais again and slowly spun in a circle for him, he was unable to tear his eyes away from her.
She was dazzling, as if the dress had been made for her and no one else. The neckline scooped down to edge her cleavage and almost bared her shoulders. The bodice hugged her breasts, her waist, and the skirt flared gracefully as she twirled for him. But it was the rear view that did him in. Three strands of pearls draped the flawless skin of her back and the velvet plunged low, making him ache to put his hands and his mouth all over her.
“That’s the one.” He wanted her, needed her, in that dress, then out of it, the velvet lying on the plush carpet of his bedroom with Charlie spread out on his bed as the delicious main course.
She smoothed her fingers down the fabric, surveying herself in the mirror. Did she have any idea how badly he wanted the hands running over her body to be his? He might go completely insane if he had to wait another moment. He was certifiable for her.
And yet the waiting made his desire for her electric. It sizzled in the air around them.
“I like it too,” she said softly.
“Then it’s done.” He pushed a buzzer on the side table and the designer appeared so quickly she must have been standing right outside the dressing room. Her momentum swung her reading glasses on the end of their lanyard across her ample breasts.
“We’ll take it.” He needed to move quickly before the woman said anything about the price. “Can you wrap it up?”
“Certainly. Would you like an accompanying wrap or—”
“Wait.” Charlie cut her off. “How much is the dress?”
“Twenty-five.”
Charlie’s eyes bugged. “Twenty-five hundred?”
“Thousand,” the woman answered.
Charlie fumbled with the back zip, unable to get the dress off fast enough. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t buy this,” she said emphatically. “And you can’t buy this for me, Sebastian.”
“Charlie.” He had to have her in that dress. In every single possible meaning that statement contained. “Please, it was made for you and you alone.”
But she was already stepping off the dais, tugging the dress up and over. Women had never said no to Sebastian. Hell, no one said no to Sebastian for any reason. They always happily took whatever he wanted to give them.
“I can’t.” She put the dress back on the hanger. “I’ll come up with something else.” She fastened her jeans, pulled on her T-shirt.
He would have continued to argue his point about the dress, but just as he opened his mouth, Susan’s words rang in his head. Don’t push was what she’d said. But he knew her real meaning: Be careful not to push Charlie away.
“I promise I won’t embarrass you,” she said softly.
He couldn’t keep his hands off her, holding her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. “You could never embarrass me. No matter what you do. Do you understand that?”
He counted five beats before she nodded. Before he could give her a kiss, before he could do one single thing to fix whatever it was he’d just broken, she said, “I need to get back to the workshop. Have a good meeting.” And then she was gone.
* * *
“I just couldn’t take the dress, Mom.” Charlie threaded the needle and stuck it into the pincushion.
“I understand, dear. But you do realize he probably earns that much in half an hour?”
“I know.” She’d wanted to wear the velvet and pearls for him so badly, wanted him to tear it off her too. But even as she’d felt the gorgeous fabric like a caress against her skin and his gaze heating her from the inside out, she couldn’t let him spend that much money on it. On her. Even if she could look beyond the price of the dress, the woman who’d gazed back at her from the mirror hadn’t been anyone she recognized.
All these years of dating, she’d been so determined to remain true to herself, even when the men had hoped she’d change to please them. Sebastian had repeatedly told her how much he loved the way she looked in jeans and boots, but at the same time, it was clear he wanted her to shine in his social circles.
Was there a way for Charlie to shine while remaining true to herself? She didn’t know the answer, but she could only hope that it would end up being yes. The thought of things falling apart with Sebastian made her stomach twist even tighter than hearing the price of that dress.
She and her mom sat in Shady Lane’s lounge, as usual, but only for another two weeks. Magnolia Gardens had called yesterday. They finally had a room available. It needed fresh paint, new carpet, and new furniture, and then it would be Mom’s. Charlie’s fingers had trembled as she’d written the check for the remainder of the entry fee. She still felt slightly sick about it, especially with the monthly charges looming. She hadn’t even told Sebastian the news yet, as though not saying the words aloud meant she wouldn’t be on the hook for such a huge amount every single month from now on.
“This dress is lovely,” her mother said, blissfully unaware of all the thoughts making Charlie’s stomach roil. Charlie ha
d taken a short break from working on the chariot yesterday and had been lucky enough to find a dress she thought might work. Her mother held up the garment in her gnarled fingers. “We can certainly do something with it.”
But it wouldn’t be we. Mom’s fingers had flown with a needle and thread, creating beauty from scraps, but she’d had to give up sewing long ago. Fortunately, she’d taught Charlie to sew, both by hand and by machine.
“What we’re going to do,” her mother said in her usual upbeat way—indomitable was the word Sebastian had used, “is take in a couple of darts to mold the bodice of the camisole to your chest.” She pinched the material, demonstrating. “Think an Anne Boleyn style. Almost a bustier.”
“I like that.”
Her mom pointed to the matching skirt. “We’ll take a little nip here, a little tuck there, and size the waistband down.”
Charlie tried not to wince that it had come to this, her mother verbally directing her on how not to screw up the inexpensive outfit she’d bought at a consignment store. She’d found a pair of high-heeled sandals too, and a clutch with some of its beads ready to fall off. She’d told Sebastian she wouldn’t embarrass him. Her mother was her only hope of keeping that promise.
“Put the camisole on over your T-shirt and pin it.” Mom held up the pincushion. Her fingers were no longer nimble enough to hold a pin without dropping it.
Charlie finished pinning. “What do you think?”
“Perfect.” The smile on her mother’s face was as big as if she were viewing a model at a fashion show rather than the daughter who had always been far more comfortable in steel-toed boots than she would ever be in heels and dresses.
Her mother had adored sewing. She’d loved baking. There were so many things she’d had to give up. It was like losing a piece of herself every time another thing she loved was taken away.
But she still walked that mile every day. And she always did it with a smile.
Charlie undid the short zipper at the back and shrugged out of the camisole. “Sebastian made you famous the other day.”