His touch eased all the knots in her stomach, made her forget everything she was supposed to think about. She could only make little sounds, leaning back on her hands, opening herself to him. He was gorgeous, sensual, always needing to please as much as to take his own pleasure.
He held her hips in his hands, forcing her to take everything he had to give. Sensation spiraled up inside her, deep, into her core. Her stomach muscles clenched as the first swell of her climax hit. She panted, then lost it all, falling back on the counter, writhing wildly, crying out his name in broken syllables through wave after wave of ecstasy.
She’d barely come down before he’d rolled on protection and entered her, so deep, so fast, so exquisitely, that she lost what was left of her breath. Holding her tightly, melding their bodies, he forced her higher, pushed her limits. Then he catapulted them over the edge together and she flung her arms around him, kissing him so deeply she tasted pleasure. She tasted reckless abandon.
And, most of all, she tasted love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Isn’t the garden lovely?” Francine sighed blissfully a couple of days later.
Sebastian was seated with her at a café table, having just finished a lap around the Magnolia Gardens walkways. “There’s some nice shade under this tree.”
“Yes, and the breeze truly makes it an idyllic spot.”
Francine was radiant. Despite her infirmities, she always looked to the brighter side of things, even if it was just the weather. Sebastian had learned a long time ago that there were two ways to consider life—choosing to see the negative or the positive. Your choice was what defined you, and Francine was a happy person.
Sebastian tried his best to be happy too. Unfortunately, since working on the group home in San Jose, his frustration had been building. All right, it had been building longer than that, for weeks, since Francine had first brought up Charlie’s fall classes. Yet Charlie still wouldn’t talk to him. If he so much as hinted at her decision about teaching this fall, she completely shut down on him.
For the third time in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to do. First with his parents. Then with Francine’s health. And now with the woman he loved—and would do absolutely anything for. But she was too damned independent to let him.
Since their tryst in the shed behind the group home, he’d barely let her take a breath without having his mouth or his hands on her. Even if she still wasn’t ready to talk to him, he would damn well make sure they didn’t sever any of the threads that connected them. She clearly needed time to decide she could trust fully in him, and he was forcing himself to give her that time. He always wanted her, but now more than ever, making love to her until her limbs were jelly and she was hoarse from crying out his name seemed the only way to keep their connection strong.
He worked to shove away the frustration as Charlie returned with the china plates and mugs, one pastry split with her mother and a whole one for him. Francine truly looked as though she was in heaven as she took a delicate first bite.
“Oh my dear, I’ll never tire of these.” She closed her eyes in rapture. “Your father, God rest his soul, would have gotten fat, wouldn’t he, honey?”
Charlie laughed. “He probably would have.”
“So does that mean I’m going to get fat if I eat a whole one every time I come to see you?” Sebastian asked.
Charlie merely smiled at him and said, “You’ll work off that bun in no time.”
She was right. In fact, he’d already burned plenty of calories in the shower with her that morning...with more plans for tonight.
The same thought simmered in Charlie’s eyes and in her secret, sexy smile. “Come to think of it, maybe I should start working out more often too.”
Her mother tsked. “You take after me, honey.”
“That’s why she’s so gorgeous,” Sebastian said.
“You’re such a shameless flatterer,” her mother said with a roll of her eyes and a sweet smile.
When the plates were empty, Charlie put her hand on his arm. “Sebastian, I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
Her tone was surprisingly serious for the mellow day they’d been having. “Anything for you.” They weren’t just empty words. It was a promise he planned to keep until the very end. He needed her to know that.
She stared at him for a long moment before rummaging in her enormous bag. Then she pulled out a sketchbook. He glanced from the pad to Charlie’s face, his breath tight in his chest. Was she really blindsiding him?
Guilt flickered across her face. But right behind it was determination.
And love.
“It would be great if you’d sketch Mom.” She held out the pad and one of his pencils, her hands the slightest bit shaky.
He stared at her offerings for several beats, a hint of anger swirling in his gut. No, not anger. Fear. The two emotions could so easily be mistaken for each other—but if he were totally honest with himself, he’d have to admit he wasn’t angry at Charlie.
He was simply scared.
“Oh, Sebastian.” Francine’s voice was warm and comforting. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“His drawings are amazing, Mom.”
They weren’t. He’d known it since his father had pointed out every flaw, every mistake, and laughed at the crap his kid had drawn, throwing all his sketches into the fire. Knowing Charlie believed in him despite those flaws was the only thing that kept Sebastian in his chair.
Francine put a hand to her cheek, her fingers bent, her skin mottled with age spots. “You can’t possibly want to draw an old woman like me. You should draw Charlie, instead.”
“I want to see you through Sebastian’s eyes, Mom.” She touched his arm again, smiling hopefully. “He has very special eyes.”
He couldn’t possibly decline. There was no choice. Francine needed this drawing, if only to show her that she was worthy of being seen. And he was so damn tired of listening to his father’s voice. He would not allow his fears to hurt this lovely woman. He would overcome them, if only for this moment.
And there was no question about it, Charlie was not only a brilliant diplomat—she was a master strategist. Especially when her actions came from pure love. However misguided she was about his talent, she’d never meant to hurt him.
He finally took the pad and pencil from her. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to hers, letting her know he wasn’t angry with her.
He tasted the relief on her lips, and hoped she could taste his love for her on his. Even if he’d never drawn in front of anyone before, and was honestly scared shitless. He could stand on a stage in front of tens of thousands of people, absolutely calm and in his element. But in this moment...
It felt like he was trying to walk the mile Francine had just walked.
“Drink your coffee,” he told them. “Have a chat. Don’t mind me.”
His voice sounded stronger, and more confident, than he actually felt. Then, with Charlie’s warm smile on him, he began to draw. She chatted with her mother about the new friends Francine had already made, told her all about the group home, the Mavericks, Susan, Bob, Noah, the kids working on the tile. She repeated the word family and by the fourth time, he was so glad to realize she’d felt like part of his family. Finally, she understood that she was a Maverick.
As the women talked and his pencil flashed across the page, he felt pretty good. For a while. But then...
His tension started to rise, higher by the second. The drawing wasn’t right. Wasn’t perfect. He could show off Francine’s bright eyes, her childlike delight, her enthusiasm, but something about her face didn’t hit the mark. He wanted to capture the webbing of fine lines, contrasting it with her sweet smile and illustrating the woman who was strong enough to endure. That was the real Francine, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t master any part of the sketch. Couldn’t do Francine justice.