Reckless In Love (The Maverick Billionaires #2)(51)
It had been nearly a week since they’d seen each other. With business to take care of in England, Sebastian had literally ached by the time he’d finally pulled her into his arms again. All he wanted, all he’d been able to think about for a week—hell, ever since the moment he’d met her—was her lips beneath his, her body quaking in bliss against him as he buried himself as deeply inside her as he possibly could. But though the sparks between them blew as hot as ever, he knew she was nervous about tonight. It had been tempting to take her mind off it in every sexy, delectable way he could think of, but his arrival at the airport had run late, and they’d had to head straight to the Regent.
Sebastian approached the hotel slowly, coasting past the rams in the center of the circular drive so that Charlie would get the full effect of her incredible creations. She gasped with sheer awe, one hand squeezing his arm, the other covering her mouth.
“Oh, my God.”
“I agree. They’re pretty damned spectacular.”
The animals reared against each other so that you could almost hear the clash of their horns. They battled on a splendid pedestal of mountain boulders surrounded by a garden of rock and exotic cacti, as though they were out in the wild rather than in the center of downtown San Jose. He pulled up beneath the portico. The Regent was grand, its gold front doors framed by huge columns and a flagstone entryway containing ferns, water lilies, and rippling fountains that sounded like music. Braedon had created a flawless setting.
“My rams.” Her voice trembled. “Here, in the middle of a palace. I can hardly believe it.”
When she turned to him, tears sparkled in her eyes, and his heart bubbled over with joy. He’d done right by her in finding the Regent and Walter Braedon. This was what he’d hoped for her, to see her work displayed for thousands. He hated the huge stumble he’d made with her over the cost of the velvet dress, but all of that was forgotten in the wonder on her beautiful face.
Under the portico, after the valet took his car, Sebastian hugged her tightly. “Believe, Charlie.” He took her hands in his and held them to his chest. “I always have.”
“Somehow it’s even better than seeing the dragon outside the church. I’m not even sure why.”
But he was. Just as he’d said on stage in Los Angeles, sometimes people were too close to things to see them clearly. She’d seen her rams only in her yard, and the dragon in front of a modest church. For the first time, she was viewing her work as it was meant to be: the centerpiece for all to marvel at.
Once inside, Sebastian checked them in while Charlie gazed raptly at replicas of Rodin’s famous thinking man and his embracing lovers at the foot of the stairs. One day people would study her work with that same rapt attention. He would make it happen for her. He would give her everything.
She pivoted suddenly and caught him watching her, their eyes locking across the expanse of marble, the lovers kissing behind her.
He wanted her just that way, naked and in his arms. But they hadn’t even shared a bed yet. That thought consumed him as they rode the elevator to the top floor. The penthouse had two bedrooms, each with an ensuite bathroom. But they never got a chance to think about keeping one of those bedrooms locked, because a call from Europe came just as they entered the suite.
He’d had to take it, chafing the whole time at business coming between them for nearly two hours. Charlie had long since excused herself, taking the second bedroom. Now, as Sebastian finished dressing for the gala, he silently cursed the unused beds in the two rooms. The unrumpled coverlet mocked him as he padded over the plush carpet to her bathroom door and knocked.
“Ready, Charlie?” It took another rap on the wood before she answered.
“No.” There were muffled sounds he couldn’t identify, then she called out, “Go ahead without me. I’ll be down in a minute.”
He’d planned to make an entrance with her hand on his arm, but on second thought, it was better that she come down on her own. She shouldn’t be the woman on Sebastian Montgomery’s arm, but the magnificent artist who’d created the astonishing sculpture in the front garden. He would be just a footnote to the night. This evening was her turn to shine at last. And yet he still wished he could experience every moment of the night right along with her.
“Okay,” he said, working hard to erase the reluctance from his voice. “I’ll see you there.”
Downstairs, between the alcoves of Roman statues, the curved wall of the enormous lobby was lined with buffet tables. Tuxedo-clad waiters and waitresses passed around trays of champagne. More than two hundred guests were already milling, their voices rising up to the mezzanine level. Later, there would be dancing upstairs. At the foot of the grand staircase, Rodin’s masterpiece was still thinking and his lovers were still kissing.
But thirty minutes later, Charlie had yet to put in an appearance.
“Sebastian.”
The voice jolted him. His focus on the elevators down the hall to his right—and Charlie’s impending entrance—had excluded everything else.
Will Franconi clapped him on the shoulder. “Where’s your artist?”
“Still getting ready.” And Sebastian, who had mastered patience early on in his career, was nearly out of it.
Decked out in a black tux, Will had his arm around his fiancée, Harper Newman, who wore a floor-length gown with a cropped jacket. She glowed as brightly as the gold of her dress, her cheeks pink with adoration as she gazed up at Will. The same love gleamed in Will’s eyes, making them a shade bluer than seemed possible.