She studied him. He thought she’d push, but her gaze roamed his face, then she looked down at his mouth as if suddenly making a decision. And she stepped into his arms.
Her mouth was soft and sweet against his. Yet again, he couldn’t believe his luck. From the Opera House last Saturday night to a young adult group home in San Jose was a major difference. He loved watching Charlie wend her way through a ballroom, wearing another of the sexy little numbers she and her mom were so good at putting together. But Charlie in jeans and a work shirt really got his engine going.
Every time he looked at her, every time their lips met, a wave of emotion rolled over him, swamping him. It was more than mere desire, more than need. He wanted her in every part of his life, not just his bed. She brought laughter and joy. She brought him meaning and new goals. He needed to help her take her career to the very top, to ease her mother’s suffering, even to be her family. While she had only her mother, he had the Mavericks. They weren’t his blood; they were so much more than blood. And he wanted to share his family with Charlie as well as her mother.
Susan was probably the only other person in the world who got away with stepping in to guide him when he needed it. Like Susan, Charlie was smart, and even more, she was diplomatic. No wonder she’d chosen to augment her art career by teaching. She was great with people, instinctively knowing when to offer a suggestion and when to back off, letting her students learn for themselves.
Yet he couldn’t help but worry how she’d do both once classes started again in the fall. She was already working on the chariot and her new commissions from six in the morning to six at night—not to mention the hours he kept her in his bed, loving every beautiful inch of her, never able to get enough. How much more could she possibly fit in? The number of galas and events would ease up a bit after the grand opening and the sculpture’s unveiling, but he couldn’t see how adding her teaching into the mix would be a good thing at this point.
“Have you made a decision about your classes yet?” He hadn’t pushed her since they’d talked about it with Francine.
“They don’t start until the end of September, so I still have a little time to decide.” She glanced back at the kitchen. “Now that they’ve got the tile covered, we should finish the cabinets.”
Clearly, she didn’t want to talk about it any more than he’d wanted to talk about his father or his past. Because it was in the past. But this was Charlie’s present, and he was too worried about her budding exhaustion to let it go. “You’ve got a lot of commissions. I can see what a great teacher you are, but you don’t have to go back, you know.”
“I know that.” She went quiet for a long moment. “Like I said, I’m not sure what I want to do yet.” Her voice squeezed with a note of frustration. As if she felt conflicted. As if he made her feel that way.
And yet it was his duty to watch out for her. He wasn’t pushing. He was simply offering. “Charlie.” He ran his hand down her back, her muscles stiff under his touch. “You can talk about it with me.”
She looked up, and for once, her beautiful eyes weren’t clear. She’d gone inward, shutting him out.
Damn it, no. He wouldn’t let her shut down, couldn’t bear the thought of it. He needed to keep their connection strong, no matter what it took.
“Come with me.” He wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care as he led her to a shed by the back fence.
“Where are we going? We need to get back to the kids.”
No one had been in or out of the shed all day. The door wasn’t locked and he pulled her into the bare, clean space inside. The lone window was too high in the peak for anyone to see through.
“The drawers can wait.” He pushed the latch shut on the shed door. “This can’t.”
* * *
Charlie had loved everything about today. There’d been no need for all the schmoozing required by the crowded, impersonal galas Sebastian loved. If she fell asleep exhausted tonight, it would be due to a hard day’s work using her hands, not because she’d worn herself out with small talk. The Mavericks welcomed and accepted her. It didn’t matter that they were all wealthier than Saudi princes. She fit with them, like Susan and Bob or Harper and Jeremy, or even Paige.
If only Sebastian hadn’t asked her about her classes. But she’d started it by poking at his past, asking about why he had to make everything perfect. She shouldn’t have brought that up, because it had only led to his questions. And now her insides were all twisted up. There were all the letters from the college in the drawer at the bungalow. She had to make a decision. After Labor Day, the kids would start signing up for classes, and hers would either be in the catalog or they wouldn’t. She had to do something.
She knew what Sebastian wanted—he’d opened the doors to a bona fide art career and clearly thought she should step through, reaching for the success right at her fingertips. Charlie had never been foolish enough to think she could do everything. She understood you had to make choices about what you could and couldn’t do, and that if you took on more than you could handle, you’d fail. Yet her heart wrenched at the thought of telling her dean she wasn’t coming back. Lord knew she’d far rather give up all the parties, the endless schmoozing, being on, on, on all the time.
Any way she looked at it—and sometimes she felt that was all she did, examine the situation from every possible angle—she couldn’t do that to Sebastian. Not when it would be ungrateful, and worse, it would seem as though she’d chosen teaching over him.
Something had to give—either teaching or the parties. But there was one thing she absolutely would not give up. Not for anything in the world.
Sebastian.
She wanted him with a need that scared her sometimes. Her fear abated when he touched her, looked at her, when he loved her late at night in his big bed until she was boneless with pleasure. And she knew he was in as deep as she was.
But then a new day dawned, and alone in her workshop all those bigger, heavier storm clouds still gathered above her. If she couldn’t figure out how to survive in his world of important parties and even more important people, did she stand to lose everything? She honestly wasn’t sure how long she could keep on being that perfect celebrity. One day—and she could feel it coming soon—she’d slip up. She’d snarl instead of smile. She’d snap instead of laugh. She might even scream.
“You want to talk yet?”
Despite the heat in his eyes, he was giving her another chance to open up to him. But she was so knotted inside. Too twisted up to talk anything through right now.
“Not yet.” His arms were open and she stepped right into them. “But I need this. I need you.”
Thankfully, less than a heartbeat later his mouth crushed hers and he hauled her up to wrap her legs around his waist. Backing her up to the counter, he set her down, so thick and hard between her legs that she whimpered.
He yanked her tank top up, then pushed aside her bra and closed his lips over her nipple.
She writhed against him, holding him tightly in the vee of her thighs. “Sebastian.” There was such need in her voice, such desperation.
“You make me nuts.” He kissed her lips, her neck, the hollow of her throat, while his fingers worked the button and zipper on her jeans. Faster than should have been possible, her pants and boots hit the floor, then her panties. He trailed his lips down her body, licking, tasting, his eyes dark with desire. “I need to taste you.” He nipped her thigh, kissed her belly, circling ever closer. “I need to feel you come apart and hear you cry out my name.”
He covered her with his lips and there was no more talking. There was just his mouth on her, his fingers inside her. Charlie curled her hand in his hair, holding him close as he took her. There was such sweetness in letting him take over, and the moan in her throat becoming a cry of pure pleasure.