Reckless In Love (The Maverick Billionaires #2)(17)
A Spanish style, it was bordered with a breathtaking profusion of hydrangeas, azaleas, camellias, and rhododendrons. Inside, the floors were terrazzo tile inset with Spanish mosaics. The furniture suited, as if it had come from an old hacienda.
The table on the terrace was intimately small, his knee close to hers, his scent as delicious as the food and more intoxicating than the wine. They were seated on a cozy terrace on the side of the house, with a view of the rolling hills, the suburban towns sprawled below, the San Mateo Bridge, the waters of the Bay, and the outline of a distant San Francisco. As Sebastian tapped his glass to hers with a ting of crystal, she felt the echo of its ring inside her.
“I’m glad you like it. But I didn’t design it.”
People rarely designed their own homes. But for some reason Sebastian seemed to think this was a failing on his part, even though she was fairly certain he hadn’t trained as an architect. “Tell me about the art on your walls,” she asked him, partly because it was all exquisite, but even more because she hoped it might give her more insight into the man behind the perfect face and the always immaculate clothes.
“I choose things I like, things that catch my eye, regardless of how much anyone else thinks they’re worth.”
Monet. Degas. John Singer Sargent portraits. She was all but certain they were the real thing, rather than prints. But there were also oils, watercolors, drawings, etchings, and a great deal of photography. He had an eclectic collection of art all over the house—sculptures by a relatively new artist named Vicki Bennett, Haitian ceremonial masks, wooden marionettes from Thailand, Burmese tapestries, elaborately feathered and beaded Pueblo kachina dolls, scrimshaw carvings, Satsuma vases.
His collection made the fact that he’d chosen her to create the fountain statue even more important—as though he actually thought she might be up there with all these brilliantly talented artists. Sebastian definitely wasn’t a snob when it came to art. He clearly didn’t care what anyone thought about his choices. Only that he loved them.
Another point notched in his favor.
A knock came and when Sebastian said, “Come on over, Rory,” the waiter rolled a trolley through the open patio doors. Hmm, were they called waiters when you were in your own home? She honestly had no idea, and had never expected to find out. Just as she’d never expected to fly over the Bay Area in a helicopter.
Or earn a hundred grand for one of her sculptures. She honestly wasn’t sure when she’d finally believe her work was worth that much money...
Smoothly, Rory removed their empty plates, stacking them on the bottom tray of the trolley. Dinner had been brochettes of beef, tomatoes, and roasted red peppers on a bed of risotto, plus broccoli seasoned with pepper and lemon. Charlie’s eyes had practically rolled back in her head when she tasted the beef, and Sebastian seemed delighted by her enjoyment, his gaze fixed on her mouth. He hadn’t touched her, yet somehow she felt as if his hands were doing delicious things to her all the while. If a breeze hadn’t blown through, she might have had to fan herself.
“English trifle,” Rory announced, placing their bowls with a flourish.
“Oh my,” Charlie gasped. “That looks delicious.”
“Thank you, Rory,” Sebastian said. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight.”
Sebastian wasn’t just polite and complimentary with his staff. He was downright friendly and clearly didn’t expect to be called sir or Mr. Montgomery. Given how well he was paying Charlie, she suspected Rory wasn’t being stiffed, either.
“Did you make all of this incredible food, Rory?” When the man nodded, she nearly leapt out of her chair to hug him. “I haven’t eaten so well since my mother’s last Thanksgiving feast.”
Looking pleased by her compliment, Rory topped up their wine, then rolled his trolley back in the way he’d come.
She picked up a spoon and had just dipped into the whipped cream, custard, and raspberry sponge cake of the trifle, when Sebastian said, “Wait. It will taste best if you eat it like this.”
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.