Reckless In Love (The Maverick Billionaires #2)(72)
“Charlie.” Her name was raw with need as it fell from his tongue. His wickedly talented tongue. “You want the commission?”
“Yes. I want it.” At least if the party was tomorrow night, she’d have time to find another dress. Considering his social circle, God forbid she should wear the same outfit twice. As for the koi pond, she’d happily think about a design for it later. “But right now?” She licked his earlobe, loving the growl deep in his throat. “I just want you.”
Again. It was so much easier to love Sebastian—with her hands, her mouth, her body, and her heart—than to deal with her emotions about her mom’s infirmities or Magnolia Gardens, or even the commissions.
She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him until she couldn’t think about anything else, until he grabbed both bottles and set them on the bench. Then he lifted her, and everything started all over again.
This was the only place she wanted to be—in Sebastian’s arms, thinking about nothing but him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Charlie stood in front of the mirror in the ladies’ room of the San Francisco War Memorial Opera House, repairing the lipstick Sebastian had just deliciously kissed off her mouth. It was a lovely old building with classic Roman Doric columns—columns behind which they’d escaped for the luscious kisses that made everything worth it.
Since that day in her workshop two weeks ago, all the parties Sebastian had taken her to seemed to blend together. Tonight’s benefit was for... Well, she couldn’t remember. They were on the tail end of a dozen galas, benefits, and events where Sebastian was hell-bent on making her name as well-known as his.
She left the chattering crowd of women, returning to the grand entrance hall. Voices echoed in the high, vaulted ceiling, and tonight’s crowd seemed almost impenetrable. She felt invisible in the crush, and honestly, it wasn’t a bad thing. Charlie found herself craving quiet, empty moments more and more.
Just as Sebastian had predicted, the commissions were rolling in. So many, in fact, that she’d had to use the scheduler on her iPad. What’s more, she was being written about—not as Sebastian Montgomery’s new bit of arm candy, but as an artist. After the Regent Hotel opening, her work had been roundly praised. Even, shockingly, called genius. Soon after, Sebastian had convinced a group of reporters to come to her place in Los Altos, and then one newspaper had ended up doing a Sunday spread on Will Franconi’s rock garden teeming with her Zantis. After learning he was a fan of The Outer Limits as well, she’d sent him a crate full. The commissions were mostly for garden works, smaller pieces than the elephant, rams, and lion. But an eccentric old guy from Palm Springs was fascinated with the T-Rex and was considering it for his desert ranch.
Sebastian was opening all the doors he’d promised. The possibility of a huge art career was deep in her bones now, not to mention a much bigger bank balance that brought her giant steps closer to making sure her mother could stay in the comfort of Magnolia Gardens.
He’d done so much for her. So how could she tell him she was tired right down to the roots of her hair?
What’s more, she wanted, needed, craved the time to finish the chariot race. It turned her fingers to fire as she worked. The sculpture was her shining vision, and she could visualize the sun pouring through the glass ceiling, her stallions glowing like mythical creatures in flight.
Yet there was always another piece to slip in here or there, projects she hated to admit that she completed on autopilot as quickly as she could. Her only goal was to return to the stallions and their broken chariot. She hadn’t even found a moment to start Noah’s dinosaur.
Charlie sank down on a bench in an alcove out of direct traffic. She wasn’t hiding. Okay, maybe she was. Just for a little while, until Sebastian found her and it was time to start schmoozing again. But her legs—and her soul, if she was being totally honest with herself—felt like they might give out if she didn’t take a moment’s respite.
She’d always assumed turning her art into a career would be a good thing. But she’d finally learned the downside to success—working on commission meant you weren’t always doing what you were inspired to do, just what you had to do.
Which only made inspiration harder to find.
Take last week, when she’d visited a prospective client—God, now they were clients! The woman wanted a cherub or something equally mediocre for her garden. And Charlie had felt absolutely nothing. She couldn’t have summoned a vision if the lady had offered a million dollars. But, with big Magnolia Gardens bills to pay, she’d signed up to make a cherub. Somehow she had to find a way to feel like an artist again rather than a worker on an assembly line.
She thought about slipping off her high heels to rub her feet, but, despite being sidelined, she was sure someone would see her. Closing her eyes for a few precious moments, she willed every thought to drain away. Breathe in, breathe out. Maybe it was the clearing of her mind that suddenly let in the voice. Or maybe it was Sebastian’s name that made her prick up her ears.
“She’s just a little nobody Sebastian found in the wilds of Los Altos. One of his projects. You know how much he likes to save the underprivileged.”
Charlie didn’t have to peek around the edge of her alcove to know that voice. Whitney Collins. Evan’s wife sucked up to important people with the nicest, sweetest voice. The rest of the time, she was catty and mean.