by Bella Andre
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 glittering 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.
"I woke up with an idea," she explained. "I wanted to get it down before I forgot." It was long forgotten now, and she didn't even care, not when she'd discovered something more precious than diamonds. "I couldn't find any paper in the bedroom, so I came in here."
His features were hard, immobile, like a piece of metal she hadn't yet welded into submission. "How long have you been looking through my things?" His voice was as hard as his face. It could break rocks.
Worse, it could break her. Right in two. Straight through the center of her heart. The heart she'd just given to him.
All the hurt she'd worked to push away rushed back. "I was only planning to take a blank piece to write some notes on, but then..." She waved a hand at the sketch still face-up on the floor. "I saw a drawing of myself. And I was--"
Before she could let him know how moved she was by his talent and the incredible emotion he'd captured in every single sketch, he grabbed the pads off the floor and the side table, then snatched the one she held right out of her hand.
"They're not for public consumption." He tossed the sketchbooks in the drawer of a small bureau against the wall.
"Public consumption?" The words burned her throat as they came out in a horrible echo.
"They're private."
It was pure instinct for Charlie to push past him and leave, to run as far and as fast as she could. Far enough for her to figure out how to weld the break in the heart he'd just ripped apart. But how could she forget what he'd said to her as they made love? I love you, Charlie. I've never loved anyone the way I love you. Never knew I could love like this. He'd told her he loved her. With his words, his body. Despite the way he'd lashed out at her, she truly believed his drawings revealed how much he loved her, over and over again with every single stroke of his pencil. But now, he was trying to push her away, trying to make sure she never asked him about these drawings.
Well, it was going to take a hell of a lot more than that to make her leave. She wouldn't walk away from him.
But she would get him to tell her why he hid his beautiful art in a tiny room where no one would ever see it.
*
"Private." Charlie spoke softly now, but her voice curled around his insides, her hurt tangible. "How would you feel if I never allowed anyone to see my work? If I refused to show it for public consumption?"
Sebastian clenched his fists on the dresser into which he'd thrown all his secret thoughts and feelings. He couldn't believe what he'd just said to her. Especially whe
n he knew firsthand how rough, angry words could hurt more than anything else.
"I'm sorry, Charlie." He straightened, turned, feeling like his bones were cracking. "So damned sorry. I didn't mean it. Not any of it." He'd screwed up again, despite the vow he'd made to himself only hours ago to do anything for her.
"I should have asked instead of prying." Her hand on his arm was so soft, so warm, so strong, the faint scent of his loving still clinging to her. "Your sketches are beautiful, Sebastian. I wish you'd shown them to me. You should be proud. They're not just drawings you do in your spare time. They're works of art."
"You're the work of art," he said to the carpet beneath his feet. He couldn't even gaze at the perfection in her face that he hadn't been able to capture.
She pressed her fingers into his arm, urging him to look at her. "Don't shrug me off." She held his gaze for a long moment, her eyes darkly serious. "You're a very talented artist. Very."
He respected her artistic vision more than that of anyone he'd ever met, yet somehow she had a blind spot for him, even after she'd seen all his imperfections. Not only in his drawing skills, but also in the way he'd failed her mother. He'd promised he would fix things and he hadn't. He wanted to shove the thoughts and feelings away, back inside the dark, secret place where he'd kept them for so long. But with Charlie...
Sebastian had never been able to hold back with her.
"I'm not an artist." The truth felt like razor blades on his tongue, but he made himself go on. "There are so many mistakes. I can't capture exactly what I see. I can't figure out how to make the drawings perfect no matter how hard I try."
"You made me beautiful even though I'm not perfect." She reached up to touch the tiny frown line between her eyes. "I suppose I could have a doctor stick a needle into me to get rid of this, but if you ask me, perfection doesn't have nearly as much character as real."
"God, no, don't ever let a doctor with a needle near your face." He gently slid a finger over the same mark. "I love that line. It shows your concentration, your dedication."
"And your drawings show so much about you, Sebastian. How you see people."
"They show the imperfection in my own abilities."
Closer now, her heat shot toward him like the pilot arc of one of her machines. He wanted to bury himself in her warmth.
"Sebastian." She ran her thumb over his lip as she said his name, her voice warm and husky. "Your drawings made me feel beautiful and cared for. And understood."
"Putting my pencil on the paper usually helps me figure people out. I'm simply analyzing people. I'm not an artist. Not like you."
"You are." She paused for a moment before adding, "The drawings of your parents are beautiful too. I feel as though I've met them now. Does drawing them help you remember them?"
He shook his head, fast, almost violently. "No, I'd remember everything, even without the sketches." Especially all his failures with them. "I guess I've never given up trying to figure out what I could have done for them."
An even deeper understanding lit her eyes. Then she pressed against him, rising on her toes to whisper, "Have all your drawings helped you figure me out?" She curled her arms around his neck.
"Not yet." His answer was muffled in her hair. "But I'm working on it."
"Maybe you just need to put a few more hours in, only this time instead of using pencil and paper, you could draw on my skin with your fingers."
His hands were already on her, burrowing beneath the shirt she'd borrowed, shoving it off her shoulders. "I can draw with my tongue as well."
"Draw with everything, Sebastian. Absolutely everything."
He picked her up, her body as light as a down pillow in his arms. He needed her love to banish the darkness of his thoughts and the things he'd so stupidly said to her. After laying her carefully on his bed, he stripped off the sweats he'd pulled on.
"Now, let's see," he murmured like a painter studying his canvas. "A line here." His tongue marked a streak from one beautiful, rose-tipped nipple to the other. "Geometric designs, I think."
She laughed, then shivered as he drew tongue circles around her nipple.
"We need more than one paintbrush." And his fingers joined the play. He traced her supple skin, her flesh quivering beneath his strokes.
"You make beautiful art--" She gasped as his touch painted a line straight down between her legs. "--but your work is also highly stimulating."
"It will take hours to cover every inch." Hours of bliss, hours of begging her forgiveness for his lapse into the anger and fear of the past, hours of loving her.
Her body was his sketchbook and he filled every inch until her body shuddered under his tongue, around his fingers. She tangled his hair, arched into him, and as she wrapped herself all around him, he prayed she felt his love for her in every kiss, every caress, every breath.
*
Charlie had long since fallen into an exhausted sleep in his arms and the sun was peeking over the horizon. Yet Sebastian still couldn't sleep.
She'd told him how beautiful his drawings were, how talented he was, that his sketches shouldn't be shoved in the back of a drawer like a dirty little secret. But if he truly had talent, then by now he should know how to help her fully realize her potential. He should have figured out how to convince her to step into the light and accept everything the world could give her.
He'd sensed her hesitation at the gala as people all but threw commissions at her, begging her to create sculptures for them. It was the same hesitation he'd felt with her more than a dozen times since then. It was almost as if she didn't want to be a huge success.
Sebastian frowned. Could he be reading her wrong? Was it possible she could be the one artist on earth who wasn't looking for acclaim or accolades? Or were all his screwups with her coloring everything else? First he'd blown it big time by offering to pay for her mother's care right after the first time they made love. Then tonight he'd lashed out at her for discovering a secret he shouldn't have kept from her in the first place. The fact that she hadn't walked out on him was a true miracle...and more than he deserved.
He tightened his arms around her, renewing his vow to get things right with her from now on--and to make sure he gave her absolutely everything she deserved. No matter what.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sebastian had made Charlie's body his work of art into the small hours of the morning, bringing her to ecstasy so many times she'd lost count. But even if she'd never had the pleasure of making love with him, she would still think he was a true artist in every sense of the word.
She had to find a way to make him believe that. And she knew where it had to start--with getting him to realize he didn't have to be Mr. Perfect. Was da Vinci perfect? Michelangelo? Of course not. And neither was she, with her dinosaurs built out of bullet-riddled road signs. That didn't mean she wasn't an artist. It didn't mean he wasn't either.
It was obvious his need to be perfect all came down to his parents. He was still broken up over not being able to save them. The drawings of his father, though, revealed so much. The lines on his face exposed not only weakness, but cruelty too. Sebastian had never mentioned a mean streak, but Charlie suspected there was more to the story than he'd admitted on stage--or to her. More, maybe, than Sebastian even wanted to admit to himself.
It was easy to spend all her time thinking about Sebastian. Wanting to give back as much as he'd already given to her. Just plain wanting him. But she needed to hustle on building the horses if she ever hoped to start the dinosaur for Noah.
Pulling down her face shield, she sparked up. The horses' legs needed to appear like fine machinery, pumping, working, galloping headlong. They didn't care that their master had been thrown to the ground in a heap or that the chariot was a broken shell they dragged behind them. They simply needed to fly. Just like Sebastian.
The day grew hot as she worked, and the protective gear and torch turned the heat on high, but still she lost track of time. She relished both the physica
lity of it and the ability to let her creativity run completely free. She'd just finished off a weld, its line clean and smooth, when a feeling struck her, a sense of something not quite right with her lead stallion.
She frowned and walked a wide circle around it. She'd sometimes asked her students to weigh in on a sculpture and had always been pleased by their insights. She still hadn't made a decision about the fall session--whether to keep one leg in her old world or to take the huge and scary step fully into Sebastian's world. And thinking about her students now made her stomach clench.
Pushing the thought away, she refocused on the horse and finally isolated the problem. Her prize stallion was bowlegged. Had she gotten the angle of his knee joints wrong? Or made his chest too wide?
"What's wrong?"
She almost dropped the torch in her surprise. Thank God she'd already turned it off. Laying it down, she flipped up her face mask. Her heart was racing as fast as her galloping stallions, and it wasn't only from the scare. It was Sebastian, all dressed up in a dark business suit and tie, his hair perfect, every-absolutely-freaking-thing perfect about him. She could feel his gaze sketching her body, as if he were running his fingertips over her.
"You scared me." Putting the face shield on the bench, she tugged off her gloves. "What if I'd been using my torch?"
"I wouldn't have said anything if you were," he drawled. "I just thought I'd bring you a refreshing bottle of beer." He set two imports on the workbench.
She wasn't normally a beer drinker, but with the heat of the day, her work, and Sebastian making her feel so temptingly hot... "God, that sounds good." As good as having him here with her in the studio, close enough to touch, to taste.
"So tell me what's wrong."
She pointed at her horse. "He's bowlegged."
"He looks fine."
She traced the lines of both legs with her hands to show him...and a memory of Sebastian's sleek muscles beneath her fingers sizzled over her skin.
He stepped in close, his male scent surrounding her, making her a tiny bit crazy. "You're right, he's totally bowlegged."