by Bella Andre
When he finally let her up for air, he needed her to know how he felt. “I love you, Charlie Ballard.”
“I know you do. I could hear you saying the words when you were holding my mother’s hand, telling her all you wanted to do was help her.” Her eyes were slightly dilated as she looked up at him, her lips still gorgeously damp from his tongue. “And I could also hear it in your kiss.”
“Then get ready to hear me say it all night long,” he murmured before he took her mouth again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Three little words. They changed everything. Because Charlie had said them. To him.
Sebastian had wanted her right there against the door of the car, was already half crazy with desire and need. Those words. Her kiss.
He was head over heels.
The moment he got her home, he scooped her up in his arms.
She laughed. Her sexy, throaty laughter always turned up the heat inside him. “What are you doing, you crazy man?”
“Crazy for you.” He carried her off to his bedroom, her body soft, warm, and yielding against his.
He needed her lips, now, her mouth under his. Her kiss seared him, burning straight to his heart. In the bedroom, he let her feet slip to the carpet as he buried his fingers in her lush curves and steeped his senses in her taste.
“Charlie,” he whispered. “I need you.” He needed her skin branding his flesh, her taste on his lips, her scent filling his head.
“I’m right here,” she promised.
Desperate to get to her skin, he tugged on her blouse and the buttons seemed to pop off. “Too many clothes,” he growled.
“Tear them off.”
He went wild. Crazy. Totally reckless. The cloth tore, fabric flew across the room, hitting a wall, falling into a corner. Until he could worship her gorgeous, naked skin.
This was what he wanted—to worship her, to give her everything, to be the man who made all her dreams come true.
She wore the laciest of lingerie, her bra almost see-through, her panties a mere wisp. And she stole his breath. He couldn’t move. He could only trace her body with his gaze, the sweet pearls of her nipples dusky through the lace, the strong muscles of her arms that could hold him so tightly, the smooth belly he’d kissed.
“You are so beautiful.” He felt like a caveman kneeling before a princess.
And she’d said she was his. I love you. The beautiful princess was all his. He would never believe it, never truly accept it. He was terrified he’d wake up and find her gone. Terrified he’d screw up with her one too many times. And yet she’d said she loved him right after his biggest failure. She’d forgiven him. She was so damned unique and special.
“You have too many clothes on,” she whispered. And with seductive sweeps of her hand, she unbuttoned his shirt, his pants. The fleeting touch of her fingers was electric. She stripped him down and set his skin on fire, made his body burn for her.
Saturday at the Regent had been momentous, but this was beyond anything. This was Charlie loving him.
“Come here.” Taking his hand, she backed up to the bed, pulling him with her.
The balcony doors were open, the evening breeze fluttering like fingers through her hair. Her skin was bathed in the last golden rays of the sun before it fell behind the distant coastal mountains, and her hair was lit by fire, a red-gold halo.
She pushed him down on the cool sheets. Moments before, he’d been desperate with need, dying to be inside her. Now he craved her slow seduction.
“You’re the beautiful one.” Her lips curved in a sensuous smile. She climbed on top of him, straddling him, the feel of her so sweet, so good, so hot that his body rose, tensed, caressed her. His hands on her hips, he held her tightly to him, exulting in the slip-slide of their bodies. She was so soft, so wet already, and he was so hard, he could have rolled her over and taken everything right now.
The fever in his blood begged for it.
But Charlie bit her lip and smiled. She rocked, driving him mad, then slowly she sidled down his body, leaning to kiss her way over his chest. “Not so fast,” she said, licking his nipple, then biting it lightly. “I’ve got plans before that.” She slipped a hand between them, wrapped him in her palm, and squeezed until he groaned.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes.” He loved everything she did, loved that she dressed herself up like a princess, held court with her subjects, then brought them all, including him, to their knees. Yet in his bed, she was also the sexy, gorgeous, seductive tomboy, her hands all over him, driving him crazy.
“I want to taste you again,” she whispered.
He was seduced. Completely. In love. Irrevocably. There was only Charlie. There would only ever be Charlie. She was his gift. How or why he deserved her, he had no clue. But he would give her anything she wanted.
“Taste me,” he begged.
She drove him wild with licks and kisses before she took all of him, so deeply that his body arched and he threw his head back against the mattress, crying out her name.
“Charlie.” Always Charlie. Only Charlie. Forever Charlie. There’d never been a woman like her, and there would never be another.
She took his pleasure, took the thick growl in his throat, pushed him higher with her mouth, her lips, her tongue, her hands. She set his blood on fire, a conflagration burning through his veins.
“I need you. Inside you. Please. Love. I love you.” The words fell from his lips. He had no control.
The effort was Herculean, but he pulled her up, rolled with her, flattened her to his bed, all her curves a perfect match for his, her skin a fiery brand against his. He held her face framed in his hands for one long moment, her eyes pulling him into their depths, as if he were a part of her and she him.
“I love you.” The words were just a breath on her lips and yet they reached up inside him all over again. This beautiful, incredible woman loved him.
He slipped his hand down between the softness of her thighs and she moaned, low and sweet. Her pleasure was all that existed. Her breath fanned his cheek, her gasps and her little moans fueling him. He found every hollow, every sensitive spot, learned her curves inside and out, until finally she cried his name. Her body shivered and shimmied, then she wrapped him tightly with her limbs, riding out her storm.
A heartbeat later he had on protection and entered her before she came out the other side. “God, I love you.” His voice was hoarse, his words harsh with his emotion.
One arm around his shoulder, she shoved a hand into his hair and pulled his head down. She kissed him with her heart, with her soul, her cheeks wet with her pleasure.
Then she let him go, just to breathe, to whisper his name. And one little demand. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
She drew him in, fit him as though her body had been tailored for him, only him. He’d wanted to keep it slow, drive her crazy with short, sweet strokes over all her special, sensitive places. But with Charlie, there was no holding back.
“Jesus.” He moaned into the sweet, hot pleasure of her body around him. “I love you.”
He could never say it enough, never hear it enough.
She said his name, and he went deep and high inside her. Harder, faster, deeper, until there was just her skin against his, her sweet and sexy scent floating in the air around him, her luscious taste on his lips, her body convulsing around him, pushing him to the edge right along with her.
All his emotions broke free. All his pleasure. All his love as he tumbled with her right into the eye of the hurricane. “I love you, Charlie. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Never knew I could love like this.”
“I did.” Her whispered words came on a gasp of pleasure a beat before bliss took them over completely. “I knew.”
* * *
The full moon shining through the balcony doors lit up the room, and a cool wind blew in off the Bay, but Charlie was wrapped in the sweet, warm cocoon of Sebastian’s arms in the king-sized bed. She lo
ved curling up next to him, loved falling asleep to the sound of his breathing, loved waking to the feel of his hands doing delicious things to her.
Loved him.
And he loved her too.
Sharing those words had been earth-shattering, making her dream of a different future than she’d ever imagined for herself. Especially with the way he’d been so kind to her mother today. Her heart was still touched each time she remembered him at her mother’s feet, holding her hands, his emotion spilling over.
She didn’t want to move. She wanted to drench herself in his scent, snuggle into all his hard muscles, and sleep beneath the comforting weight of his arm over her. But she hadn’t been in her workshop since the morning of the gala, hadn’t welded a single horse’s joint in three days. If she stayed in Sebastian’s house and his bed, she’d never finish anything.
She knew she should go. Work. At least think about work. Or be independent in some way about something. But, oh, it was difficult to even think of leaving Sebastian’s bed, to willingly give up all the pleasure that was only a kiss, only a caress away.
As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he stirred, then began to slowly slide his hand over her stomach. So slowly that by the time he reached the vee between her legs, she was arching into his touch.
“I know I’ve taken you too many times already—”
She rolled to face him, her naked breasts pressed against his broad chest. “There could never be too many times.”
He kissed her hard and hot, devouring her. “Never,” he echoed against her mouth. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you.”
She wound her arms around his neck and rubbed sinuously against him. “You said you like it when I’m greedy, and right now, I want more.” More and more. Sebastian was right—there would never be enough.
He pulled her on top, and she nuzzled his chest as he slid his hand between them.
“I love the way you do that,” she said against his salty skin and the light fur of hair.
“What?” he murmured against her ear.
“The way you like to touch me. Always kissing me, putting your hands on me.” She sighed out her pleasure, gently rocking on him. “Making me crazy.”
“I love the silk of your hair against my skin.” Her hair was a mess, its tendrils all over him. And she loved that he loved it. “What do you want?” he whispered.
“You.” She rolled her face against his chest, her hips creating a rhythm against his hand. “Now,” she added, her voice a breathy plea.
He donned protection, then rolled with her almost lazily until they were wrapped around each other in the most beautiful way possible. “Mmm.” It was all she could manage.
He was slow and sweet, building the sensations, his body surrounding her, the covers warm against the chill of the night wind off the Bay. She could almost be dreaming, almost be asleep, her eyes fluttering their pleasure beneath heavy lids. The explosion when it came was pure bliss as they shuddered together, the pulse of their pleasure simultaneous.
And then she fell down into something like sleep, holding him inside a few moments longer. She would always want and need a few moments more, she thought dreamily. She would always want more of him...
* * *
An idea for the horses came to Charlie in the middle of the night. One so vivid that it woke her up.
She used to make the mistake of thinking she’d remember her middle-of-the-night thoughts, but come morning they were always lost to the darkness. Unless she wrote them down.
It had never been this difficult to get out of bed at three a.m. before. Given that she was sleeping with the most gorgeous man on the planet, curled in his strong arms, it was no wonder she hadn’t been able to rouse herself to do some work earlier. No one would have been able to resist Sebastian’s touch, his kisses.
Fully awake now—and he was dead asleep this time—she took care to slip soundlessly from the bed. She had no idea where he’d tossed any of her clothing in their mad rush to tumble into his bed earlier that evening, so she pulled his shirt over her bare skin. It smelled mouthwateringly of him, all male, all sexy, yummy... Stop dreaming, Charlie. She needed paper, a pencil. Not seeing any, she followed the moonlit path across the thick Persian rug to a small study. Stepping inside, she found a chair and a side table stacked with books and a bunch of sketchbooks.
She switched on the standing lamp beside the chair. Why would Sebastian have a mound of sketchbooks? Trying to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake him, she reached for the top one, but the pile wobbled and several fell to the floor before she could catch them.
Bending to retrieve them, she couldn’t help seeing a sketch that had fallen open on the carpet...and her jaw dropped in awe.
It was a pencil drawing of her face, one in which the artist had caught her intensity, as if she were far away in deep thought. He’d captured the frown line between her eyes so effectively that Charlie actually reached up to her face to smooth away the wrinkle. He’d added a beauty to her features that was almost otherworldly, but at the same time the stroke of his pencil made her a little pensive.
Her hands shaking as she picked up the sketchbook, she flipped to another page. Here, she was laughing. The artist had even created the sparkle in her eye.
She knew without a doubt the artist was Sebastian.
My God, he had startling talent. The sketches were so detailed, the drawings could have been black and white photographs. She could almost feel the texture of her hair, her eyelashes, the slope of her cheeks. He’d added the lines of concentration at her eyes, the marks of the face shield after she’d removed it, and caught her nose at that angle she hated, making it look bigger than she liked. Yet in his work, even those things were beautiful. Occasionally there was a line here or there that seemed slightly off, but that only made the drawings more poignant, as if he saw her flaws and didn’t care. There were drawings of her laughing, talking, eating, working, even one of her looking up at him from the hot tub’s bubbling waters. Sometimes she was frowning, sometimes a secret smile curved her lips.
He’d filled several pads, as if every night after she left, he came here to put her face on paper.
They were unbelievably good, the kind of drawings that should be framed and sold for thousands. Sebastian could have a show of his own, one where everything sold out immediately. He was brilliant.
Utterly magnificent.
Why hadn’t he told her about his art, his wonderful talent? Why did he hide it away in a room she would never have entered if she hadn’t been searching for a piece of paper? All of this was inside of him, and yet he’d only talked about her talent, her art, her commissions.
She’d trusted him enough to tell him about her mother’s illness, about Shady Lane and how badly she’d needed the money to pay for a better place. She’d even turned her mother’s welfare over to him, letting him bring in doctors. She’d told him she loved him, for God’s sake. Yet he hadn’t trusted her with his secret.
As an artist, she knew just how vital creation was to her soul. This was clearly a huge part of what made Sebastian the man he was, and they could have shared their love of art. No wonder he’d had so many helpful ideas for her chariot and horses. His interest in the drawing program suddenly made sense too. An iPad lay on the floor, as if he’d started playing with that as well. Creation was in his blood.
But he hadn’t told her.
Knowing he didn’t want to share his work wounded her deeply. It meant he didn’t trust her with this special piece of himself.
And yet...
When she looked at the drawings again, she saw all incarnations of herself, from the overalls and steel-toes to her descent of the Regent’s staircase in her consignment dress. There was even a sketch of her at the designer shop wearing the velvet and pearl dress.
She’d worried that he hadn’t actually seen her until the gala when she’d walked down the stairs and into his arms, that he hadn’t truly wanted her until she could fit into his glitt
ering Cinderella world. But these drawings showed that he’d seen the real Charlie all along—her independence, her commitment to her vision, even her playfulness.
Most of all, she saw his love for her. And knew that it had been there all along too.
None of that explained why he hadn’t shared his talent with her, but in the face of so much love, how could she possibly hold on to her hurt? As she moved her fingers over yet another superb drawing, she vowed to help him bring his art into the open.
He had done so much for her, again and again. Now, she would do the same for him. No matter what.
Perhaps she should have used a blank page to draw the now nearly forgotten vision from her dream, but she couldn’t resist looking through more of his sketches. And she saw that she wasn’t his only subject. She found sketch after sketch of a couple in their thirties. The similarity in the man’s jawline and mouth to Sebastian’s features tipped her off to their identities.
His parents.
Her heart raced as she studied the pictures carefully. Though obviously a good-looking man, there was also a weakness in his father’s face—a weakness there was no evidence of in Sebastian’s. His mother was pretty, but tired and worn. And yet, what came through was Sebastian’s love for them. It was in the details, the laugh lines at his mother’s mouth, the occasional hint of a smile in his father’s eyes and around his mouth despite the slightly slack skin.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian’s voice was like a slap out of the dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sketchbooks slid off Charlie’s lap in her surprise, one falling open to the drawing from the night of the gala. Sebastian marched into the small room, filling it, overwhelming it, his face shadowed and his eyes dark. He’d pulled a pair of sweats over his lean hips, leaving his chest bare and beautiful. Her mouth went dry, from the sight of him as much as from the knowledge that she’d been snooping through his private sketchbooks.