by Bella Andre
Taking the spoon from her fingers, he brought it to her lips. "Close your eyes and let the flavors meld."
His voice was low, seductive, and she almost groaned. Not just because of the rich, sweet taste on her tongue. It was because she wanted more.
So much more of him.
"Good, isn't it?"
So good.
His sexy smile heated everything above the table. His knee against hers heated everything below. But then he leaned back and said, "Tell me why a beautiful woman like you isn't attached."
While his compliment made her blush, the conversational shift was so abrupt that she almost laughed. They'd spent the meal talking about her teaching, her art, the seminars he gave, the Mavericks.
"That's a nosy question." And one she wasn't sure she was ready to delve into with him yet. She'd rather he just kept feeding her the trifle.
But when he grinned and agreed, "Very nosy," her heart did a triple-time dance. The man's grin was killer. As was his focus on wanting answers when he asked again, "So what's the reason?"
"I'm a busy woman with two careers, and men take a lot of work." She paused before deciding that two could play this game. "So I prefer not to keep them around for too long." Nothing she'd said had been a lie. She'd simply left out the part about why she hadn't kept any of the men around for very long--and how it might all have been different if she'd ever found anyone who appreciated her exactly the way she was, quirks, junkyard, and all.
"Your attitude is both refreshing and a little disturbing."
"I like refreshing," she said, although she'd heard that one plenty of times from the men she'd been with. They always found her refreshing at first. Until that became the problem. "But disturbing?"
"Well, if you're a guy who actually wants to stick around..." He wasn't teasing her anymore. In fact his gaze was surprisingly serious. "In any case, I hope you're not done with me yet tonight, because I have a surprise. If you'd like to stay a little longer."
Her heart already beating faster after the way he'd fed her the trifle, it now flipped completely. Stay? God yes, please, more than anything. But she needed to at least seem cool and collected. So she reached into her bag and retrieved a small box. "I have a little surprise for you too."
"A woman bearing gifts." Something about his comment made it seem as if he was usually the bearer of gifts, rather than the one receiving them. Setting the present on the table, he opened the flaps and reached inside, pulling out a small Zanti Misfit. Its eyes were made out of bolts and its pincers crafted of pruning shears. Sebastian lifted his gaze to hers for one intense moment before he rose from his chair to hunker at the edge of the terrace next to several terracotta pots filled with greenery. Placing the Zanti, he turned the creature slightly. "Perfect."
Yes, she thought as she let herself drink him in for a long moment, he really was. Cool and collected? Around Sebastian? Who was she kidding?
"I'll treasure it, Charlie. Always. Thank you."
She'd meant it simply as a small thank-you for all he was doing for her, but seeing how much he appreciated the miniature sculpture filled her with unexpected joy. "You're welcome."
He held out his hand. "Time for my surprise." As his fingers closed around hers, a thrill went through her, right down to her sandaled toes.
With nothing more than the touch of his hand, he made her feel reckless. Crazy. Yes, he was handsome, rich, and as mouthwatering in a suit as he was in jeans. He had a voice that strummed all her nerve endings, along with a touch that made her skin come alive and her body want to dance in age-old rhythms.
And yet, what she was feeling for him somehow went deeper than just his looks, his voice, or his touch. She'd never thought to give a man one of her Zanti Misfits before. And she was certain that no other man would have appreciated it as much as Sebastian did.
Her fingers tucked in his, he picked up their wineglasses in one hand, then led her through the formal part of the house, past his library, and into a smaller, more intimate room with a fully equipped entertainment center that rivaled the one in the bungalow. Black and white photos of forests and mountains and waterfalls adorned the walls. He splayed a hand toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable."
She had visions of not only taking off her shoes, but sliding out of her sundress and panties too. Oh boy, she had it bad.
With a remote on the heavy wood coffee table, Sebastian turned on the TV. Several pieces of equipment lit up as he pushed buttons.
"We're going to watch TV?" They were both exercising a great deal of self-control tonight, presumably to make sure the line between art and commerce didn't blur on her first night here. But while she hadn't thought he'd jump her right away, she hadn't expected him to turn on the TV either.
"I found something special for you." He sat down beside her, taking his half of the sofa out of the middle, her bare feet pressing against his thigh.
A movie began to stream. There were no opening credits, just a large, old-fashioned off-the-air symbol she hadn't seen in years. Then the voice told her to sit back, because she was no longer in control of her TV set.
"Oh my God." She gasped out a little laugh. "I can't believe you found 'The Zanti Misfits.'"
"I had to find out why you made an army of them. And I'm really glad I did, now that I have my very own."
She instinctively knew he was telling the truth--that he hadn't done it to impress her, but had simply wanted to know what inspired her. Which made perfect sense when she considered his career as a motivational speaker. He had to know people.
Still, it stunned her that he was so interested in knowing her.
"Popcorn," she said, to resist throwing herself at him. "We need popcorn."
Hitting Pause on the remote, he reached for a house phone on the side table and asked Rory if he could bring them popcorn. He seemed even closer, warmer, melting her all the way through as he sat back a moment later, pointed the remote, and the Zantis started their mischief.
*
The show delighted Charlie, though Sebastian was sure she'd seen it many times over. And he was delighted not only by the way she snuggled into him, but also by how natural she was. He couldn't imagine any of the women he'd dated in the past decade licking the salt and oil from her fingers as they shared a bowl of buttery popcorn. Although it was hell keeping himself from grabbing Charlie's hand and licking each finger clean, one slow swipe of his tongue at a time.
By the time the credits rolled--she had curled into him by then and her hair was soft against his skin--he was aching with need. He wanted to take her to his bed, wanted to spend the rest of the night learning every curve and hollow of her gorgeous body with his mouth, his hands.
But for the first time in his life, he knew he couldn't do that. Because Charlie already mattered. Mattered a hell of a lot. Which meant he needed to figure her out first. Needed to be sure that they were the right fit in every way, rather than merely in bed, where he already sensed no one would ever fit him better.
"So?" She shifted to look at him. "What did you think?"
"It had a lot more screaming than I thought it would." The way she'd spoken of the show had been so upbeat. "And it seemed like no matter how good a plan people made, things went wrong anyway. I kept looking for the happy ending."
"The happy ending is right there in front of you," she told him, her body swaying slightly as she leaned in to make her point. She was so warm, so sensual, that his blood heated even as he warned himself to cool it. "The screaming woman ended up figuring out her life and they all triumphed in the end."
Sebastian was amazed that Charlie saw positive messages in a plan gone totally wrong. Ever since his parents had gone completely off the rails, he'd spent the past two decades on constant alert for the ways things could go wrong. Then he devised the right fix before everything got sucked down the tubes. He was always moving, planning, doing, acting--and encouraging others to do the same. But Charlie soothed something inside him with her unselfconscious laughter a
nd relaxed sensuality. She inspired him too, with the way she approached her art so openly. So freely. Plus, she felt absolutely perfect against him.
"What were your favorite shows when you were a kid?"
In an instant, he went completely still inside, the relaxed feeling gone as if it had never been there at all. Sebastian didn't hide his history from people, but he'd learned how to talk about his childhood on stage and in interviews without getting upset about it. He used his past as an example, treating his story as an object lesson in his talks: You didn't have to be controlled by your past, but you did need to make sure you learned from it so that you wouldn't end up repeating those mistakes.
But he knew he couldn't do that with Charlie tonight. Not if he wanted her to know more about him than the billionaire facade right there on the surface.
"Are you okay, Sebastian?" she said softly, breaking through the fog he'd let descend around them.
He stroked her cheek, her soft, warm skin helping to bring him back to her. "Just thinking."
Thinking about how he hadn't watched TV as a kid because he'd been too busy looking after his parents. As far back as he could remember, they'd drunk too much and partied too hard. When they were drinking, they'd had huge fights, but they'd never hit each other or him. Mostly they'd just loved to party, staying out till all hours of the night until their bodies gave out, forcing them home to pass out in their bed. Or as close to their bed as they could manage. Once his mother had recovered from their latest binge, she'd always promised they'd change their ways. But then his father would reel her into another drink, another party, another great night out.
Until the day things went from great to deadly in the span of a heartbeat.
Sebastian had learned that you could love someone with all your heart and still be the worst thing for them. Like his dad had been for his mom. Each other's worst enemies. It was a lesson he'd never let himself forget--just how much love could hurt and how toxic it could be when two people were a bad fit for each other.
Finally, he told her, "I didn't watch much TV. I grew up in a seedy neighborhood of Chicago and my parents were alcoholics. TV wasn't a priority." Keeping them alive was. Until he couldn't even manage to do that anymore.
Her lips parted, then her gaze moved over his face like a caress. When she put her hand on his arm, her heat highlighted his cold skin and how easily she warmed him up again. "That must have been tough. That's why your friends mean so much to you, isn't it? Because they were there for you when you needed them?"
He not only appreciated her questions--none of the women he'd dated had wanted to know more about his past than they could read in an interview or hear him speak about from the stage--but how matter-of-fact she was about it. Concern without pity. Strength and support without anyone being considered weak.
Charlie Ballard was an extraordinary woman. So extraordinary that he understood less now than ever about what could possibly be holding her back from the glittering success she deserved. With her heat seeping into his bones, his marrow, his heart, he silently vowed to give her the world. Whether she was ready for it or not.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The words had rolled off Sebastian's tongue as if they were no big deal. I grew up in a seedy neighborhood of Chicago and my parents were alcoholics.
Maybe most people let him get away with that because they were so wowed or intimidated by the billionaire with the entire world at his feet. But the pain she'd heard--the pain he'd clearly been working so hard to hide--made Charlie desperately want to reach out to him, to help him in any way she could. Even if it was just by listening, she hoped he'd know he wasn't alone.
"You're right. If my friends hadn't been there..." There was little inflection in his voice, but from the way he played with the ends of her hair, curling it around his fingers in a repeated loop, she knew that what he was saying bothered him. "My parents were big partiers. My mom might have been able to make it on her own. But my father was always about the next party. Until he burned them both out."
"You took care of them, didn't you? Even though you were just a kid." She wished she could absorb the pain of his childhood and erase it, but for now, the stroke of her foot along his leg was a small connection he seemed to appreciate.
"I did my best." He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, obviously needing comfort. Comfort she so badly wanted to give him. "But when my parents couldn't hold down jobs anymore, I moved in with my friend Daniel's parents for good. I was about thirteen then."
Thirteen. Just a child. Anyone else who had grown up in Sebastian's shoes would have been filled with darkness. But even as he exposed his past to her, he was sweet, caressing, gentle.
"They must be wonderful people."
"Bob and Susan have greatness in them. Kindness. Caring. They had it tough too, but they still shared everything they had with us. Everything and more."
She recognized the love threaded through every word--not only when he spoke about Bob and Susan, but also about his parents. "What happened to your parents?" Something told her she should slide her hand into his before he answered.
"They fell off the wagon one too many times." The pain of their passing expressed itself in the slight tightening of his fingers around hers. "I was a senior in high school when Mom had a bad fall. She never recovered and died a couple of weeks later."
"Oh, Sebastian." Even bracing herself hadn't helped. She still felt the pain of his loss arcing through her...just as she knew he had to feel it himself.
"A few weeks later my dad died in a drunk-driving accident. Luckily he didn't hurt anyone else."
Heartache spread to her entire body. To have to use the word lucky while talking about his father's death?
It speared her, all the way to the core.
She slid her hand from his to take his face in her hands. "I'm sorry." Not that she'd asked, but that he'd had to live through it at all.
"I am too. They were good people. Good people who couldn't beat their addiction."
It was an amazingly kind way of looking at the situation. But even though kindness was great, so, Charlie knew from personal experience, was anger. At least in small doses, if only to purge it from your system.
Had Sebastian ever given his anger wings--or four wild horses to drag it on a chariot through the streets until the wind, and the rain, burned it out?
"How did you get from there to--" She paused and swept her hand in front of her to encompass the huge house and property. Even the helicopter now waiting for its next flight in the nearby hangar.
"I'm a big talker." Now that he was no longer telling her about his parents and his childhood, the tension began to leave his body. "I didn't go to college, but I always liked telling people what to do. I especially liked it when they listened." He grinned. "And, of course, when their lives got better as a result. A talk-show host who liked my shtick gave me my first big break."
"What you do isn't a shtick." She'd never seen him in action, but he couldn't have achieved all this--he owned a Monet, for God's sake--with mere magic tricks or smoke and mirrors.
"You're right, I should erase that word from my vocabulary." She swore she could see him silently do that. Erase erase erase. "I truly do believe every word I say, every piece of advice I give." He smiled at her. "And the rest is history."
"You make it sound so easy. As though anyone could build an empire and make billions."
Pulling her hands down, he held them and locked his gaze on her eyes. "You can. Believe in yourself. Push for what you want and deserve. It will manifest."
Her head spun at how quickly he'd twisted the focus around to her, making her feel slightly uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. Or maybe, if she was being totally honest with herself, she wasn't uncomfortable with Sebastian, but with all of the big changes she could see coming down the pike. His words from the first day he'd come to her workshop replayed in her head: We won't just unveil your work, we'll unveil you to the world too.
Her roo
f might sag, but her life had been comfortable. Of course she wasn't averse to being a big success, but was she ready for it?
"I'm already manifesting," she quipped in an effort to relax a bit about it all. "You saw my dragon in Chinatown and now here I am, poised to create something amazing."
"Definitely amazing," he murmured as he pulled her into him, his arm deliciously warm across her shoulders. "Tell me more about yourself. From the way you speak of your parents, I can tell they were good ones."
"They really were. My dad taught me everything about welding. My mom taught me everything about cooking." She grinned at him. "Only one of them succeeded at getting through to me, though."
Though he smiled back, by the way he slid his hand through hers as he asked, "Where's your dad now?" it was obvious that he already suspected the answer.
The familiar ache bloomed in her chest. "He died of cancer seven years ago. With Hospice help, Mom and I took care of him to the end. We let him die at home the way he wanted to."
Sebastian squeezed her hand and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You've very brave, Charlie."
If anyone should know about bravery, it was Sebastian. But their pasts weren't something to compare, so instead of saying that, she simply leaned into his comfort. "I loved my mother before that, but it brought us even closer." They'd created an unbreakable bond, weeks where they were everything to each other, offering support, one holding the other up when she would have fallen, sharing a glass of wine at the end of an exhausting day after her father had finally slipped into sleep. All that despite her mother's debilitating arthritis.
"And where's your mom?"
Sebastian had revealed his worst to her. Now it was her turn. "I had to put Mom in a home two years ago." The agony of that decision--and the overwhelming guilt--squeezed her heart inside her chest. "She has osteoarthritis, but hers is extremely severe and started in her forties. She's in constant pain." She winced at the memories of her deterioration, but her mother was stoic. What on a scale of one to ten would have been a nine for Charlie, Mom smiled right through. "I hate what the disease has done to her."