She'd given him the good news about her mother's move-in date during one of their calls while he was in England. She'd chosen that moment so he wouldn't see how green at the gills she'd turned at the thought of paying those monthly bills. Making love with him tonight had been so good, and she'd felt so loose, so free and happy, but between talk of all her possible future commissions and the money for her mother's care, her stomach was quickly knotting around the chocolate, strawberries, and champagne.
She struggled to keep her voice even. "Between your commission and the rams, I've already earned enough to take care of it."
But now that he knew exactly how much those monthly fees were, he was easily able to counter her statement. "That will last a year at most."
She pulled the robe more tightly around herself, as though somehow she was too naked, too exposed. She hated feeling that way with him, after what they'd shared only minutes before. "You just mentioned how the commissions are falling into my lap. I'll work harder. Longer hours. I'll sell everything in my yard. Somehow I'll make it work."
"Charlie." He stroked her cheek. "Let me help you. Please."
She wanted to fall into his touch, to nuzzle against his hand. Instead, she leaned forward to set her champagne on the trolley. "I know you want to help. And that's great. But I can't take anything else from you."
"Why?"
"I told you before that you've already done so much, and nothing has changed."
"How can you say nothing has changed? Everything has changed."
Both her brain and her heart stopped working for a long moment that stretched on and on, the knots in her stomach so tight they felt as though they were cutting her in two. "Because we had sex?"
"We didn't just have sex, damn it. We made love."
It was what she'd thought. What she'd felt. But now it was like a knife slicing her up from the inside, where she was least prepared for it. "So why are you using that to justify giving me more money?"
"That isn't what I'm trying to do." His frustration--and hers--felt like living things in the room, battling against each other. "I'm just concerned that you're killing yourself trying to pay for all your mother's needs." He tilted up her chin with his fingertips to force her to look at him. He was so beautiful. So perfect. So rich. "It's the same damn thing that happened with the pearl dress. I don't see why you can't accept that I have money and that nothing would make me happier than to spend it on you and your mother."
"Because everyone here tonight probably thinks I'm just another one of the billionaire's acquisitions, handpicked to live on his property and share the bed in his hotel suite!" The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"No." Sebastian's response was stone hard. And utterly unyielding. "Everyone here tonight thinks you're a brilliant artist. Everyone here tonight thinks I'm a lucky son of a bitch for even getting to be near you. The only person who could possibly think you're nothing but a billionaire's toy is you. If you think I'd pay you for what we did tonight, that the two things even have anything to do with each other, then you've lost your freaking mind. We're a hell of a lot more than that, Charlie." The look on his face wasn't mere pain. It was devastation. "I thought you felt the same way."
His words hit her like a heavy rock right to her belly. With a hard jolt of pain. One that either knocked you down...or woke you up.
She swallowed hard, as though that same rock were being shoved down her throat. Her eyes had already filled with tears as she whispered, "I'm sorry."
So much had changed so fast. In the wake of their incredible lovemaking, her walls had come down...and she'd been unable to stop herself from freaking out over just about every single thing. The pressure from all those possible future commissions so that she'd have money to pay for her mother's care beyond the first year. Wondering if she could actually fit into his glittering world--and if living in it would ever get easier. Worrying that Sebastian preferred the dolled-up version of her over the woman in boots and jeans. But she hadn't meant to take out her fears on him, or to spin his very kind offer into something dark and twisted.
"I'm not usually this emotional. At least," she said with a shaky little laugh, "I can usually control it better."
He slid his hands down her arms, gathered her fingers in his, and pulled her close to rest his forehead against hers. "I've never felt like this either. You've become the most important person in the world to me, Charlie. I never want to hurt you."
"I know you don't." Her voice, her body--everything--felt soft and rubbery with her tears. "And I promise you that I didn't think the dress was payment for anything. I just couldn't see spending that kind of money on clothes. Not when I could pay for six months at Magnolia Gardens for that amount."
"I'm sorry too, Charlie. I should have understood about the dress. But when it comes to your mom?" He shook his head. "I just want to see her as comfortable as she can be, and in a good place, without either of you having to worry over how long you can keep it up, or that she'll have to go back to Shady Lane."
He was so sweet that she felt another trickle of tears down her face. He kissed them away even as she beat herself up for calling his generosity into question. All because she was scared. About pretty much everything.
She cupped his cheek in her palm. "In a few months, if I have trouble making payments, I will come to you, I promise."
"Thank you." He wrapped his arms around her as if she'd just given him a gift simply by agreeing to accept his help if she ever needed it.
She pressed her mouth against his, stroking the rippling muscles of his chest. She could fix this. She needed to fix it, needed to show him how sorry she was.
"Come with me," she whispered, holding out her hands and leading him back to the bedroom. Wrapping her body around his, she pulled him down to the bed. The delicious scent of their loving still lingered on the sheets. And she wanted more, needed it, had to erase the words that had come between them.
"Charlie." Her name was a whisper of pleasure over her skin as he covered her in kisses.
He pushed aside the robe, baring her body to his lips, his touch. "Your skin is so sweet, so soft." He licked, tasted, and kissed his way over her breasts, finally taking a nipple between his lips, teasing her.
"Sebastian." She cried out his name, arched up, pressing her body hard against him. Begging. She'd never felt so cherished or so possessed. Sebastian didn't just kiss, he savored. He absorbed himself in her pleasure, in every inch of her skin, in her textures and curves, as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world.
How could she have doubted him?
Trailing his hand down her stomach, slipping his fingers over her sensitive flesh, he made her forget all her fears, her worries. Made her forget that she always felt she needed to do everything herself.
"Sebastian, please." She writhed beneath him, his leg thrown over hers to open her body fully to him.
"We have all night," he murmured, sliding a teasing finger inside her. "And I'm going to enjoy every second."
Her desire rose so fast, she couldn't wait. It wasn't enough that he pleasured her. She needed to feel his body connected to hers, completely--inside her, filling her, riding the wave with her.
"Now," she whispered. "I want it all now."
He kissed her hard, consuming her for all-too-brief seconds. "I love it when you're greedy." He arched, retrieved the protection. They hadn't even fully removed the robes, the soft terry caressing her skin along with all his hard muscles.
Then he gave her what she wanted, what she craved, filling her deeply.
And nothing else mattered, not the money, not the things they'd said. There was just this--his beautiful touch, his loving murmurs, and then his mouth on hers as they touched the sky together.
*
Sebastian relished every single second with Charlie spooned into his body, her breathing gentle and even. The moment was made even more sublime because he'd almost ruined everything, coming close to losing her by doing th
e most asinine thing imaginable--talking about money after they'd made love for the first time.
He should have heeded Susan's warning not to push, especially with an independent woman like Charlie...
It was just that making love seemed to tear down all the barriers between them. He couldn't hold back his desire to do everything possible to make her happy and to care for her mother. No formal promises had been made, but they already felt like his family. He had no expectations and wanted no payback for anything he did, and he'd believed Charlie would finally understand that he wanted to help because she meant everything to him.
But he'd proven he was as big an idiot when it came to love as any fool had ever been. All night long he'd wanted to say the words, wanted her to know he was crazy in love with her. But he'd been afraid she'd see it as just another ploy to get his way.
I love you, Charlie.
Soon. He'd tell her soon.
And hopefully, he prayed as he pulled her closer in the dark, breathing in her scent, she'd fall in love with him too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The weekend with Sebastian had been beautiful. If she closed her eyes, Charlie could still almost feel his touch on her skin, and his scent seemed to linger all over her body. When she breathed, she breathed in Sebastian.
But then there was real life, and the Monday after the gala was not only moving day for Charlie's mother, but Sebastian had also arranged for a new doctor to meet with her. Charlie was thrilled her mother would finally live in a nice home with a garden again, but she was more than a little worried about Sebastian. If his hopes for her mother's health were smashed, would he take it as badly as he had his failure to help his own parents?
Dr. Bengali had kind brown eyes and dark skin that showed nary a wrinkle. In his mid-thirties, he was an eminent surgeon who specialized in ankles. Sebastian had researched the man's career, and though he was relatively young, he was considered brilliant in his field. It still blew Charlie away that Sebastian could convince these prominent surgeons to make house calls. Despite her doubts that anything could be done, she still couldn't help the whisper of an internal mantra: Please help her. Please.
First, the doctor observed her mother's ability to walk. Then, since Charlie was still packing two suitcases and a garment bag for the move, they'd convened in her mother's room. Sebastian leaned against the wall a few feet away while her mother sat in her reading chair as the doctor studied her ankles. Gently, Dr. Bengali removed both her shoes and the braces, then delicately turned each ankle in his long fingers to check her range of motion and pain level with every movement. He palpated and squeezed the flesh, carefully examining right down to the toes.
Finally he rose to sit on the edge of the bed. Sebastian had remained quiet, but, just as with Dr. Hillman, his tension was like a live wire pulsing in the room.
"I've looked at your X-rays, Mrs. Ballard, and I want you to know that you've had a very good surgeon. I couldn't have done better by you. I agree with your doctor's instructions to keep walking. All in all, you're doing extremely well."
"Thank you, Doctor." Her mother smiled like a ray of sunshine.
"There's nothing more you can do for her ankles?" Sebastian asked. To anyone else, he might have sounded completely normal, but to Charlie, his words seemed to be strained through too-tight vocal cords. She'd kissed his throat, touched almost every centimeter of skin, felt his hard muscles against her, and she knew, even if no one else could even sense it, that his sense of powerlessness hurt him core-deep. Yet she could do nothing for him.
Dr. Bengali turned to him. "Mrs. Ballard's arthritis is severely degenerative. Essentially she has virtually no ankle bones left. Her surgeon has done extensive reconstruction, but I'm still surprised and pleased with how well she walks." He turned back to her mother, then reached for her hand and squeezed it. "You're a remarkable woman. For most people at your stage, walking a mile every day is impossible."
Her mother punched the air like a teenager. "No pain, no gain."
"I agree that Francine is one of the most amazing people I've had the privilege of calling my friend," Sebastian said. "But is there something we can do about her pain level, at the very least?"
"We could send her to a pain clinic, but the narcotics are highly addictive, and over time she would build up a tolerance."
Charlie tried to keep her heart intact as she folded her mother's cotton nightgowns into the case. They'd heard it all before. Yet it still hurt to hear once again that there was nothing more they could do. She glanced at Sebastian, whose face was like granite, and that made the ache so much worse.
"I don't want to start any more meds." Her mother was calm yet firm. "Evie down the hall takes that stuff and though it doesn't do much for her pain anymore, she can't go without it. It's terrible to watch when she tries to wean herself off it. That's not for me."
Dr. Bengali stood. "As I said, ma'am, you are a remarkable woman. I thank you for the opportunity to examine you and wish I had better news."
"Thank you for coming to see me, Dr. Bengali." Charlie's mother held out her crippled hands, and he leaned over to take them in his long, firm, nimble surgeon's fingers. "You're a very nice young man."
He smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the sun falling through the blinds. "You're too kind."
After Charlie shook his hand and thanked him, Sebastian stepped forward. Despite how carefully Sebastian was working to hide his frustration, Charlie felt his pain as much as her mother's, his emotion palpable, his anger undulating tangibly around him. And beneath all of it lay a helplessness that Charlie would give the world to erase, just as she would have given everything she had to take away her mother's pain.
Still, Sebastian took Dr. Bengali's hand in his with a firm shake. "Thank you for answering our call. If you learn of any new techniques, medications, or methods, please let us know."
"Certainly."
The regal man left, and Sebastian turned to the window, studying her mother's spectacular view of the parking lot. "I'm sorry," he said, his throat still constricted. "We'll find someone else." He avoided their eyes, as if he was ashamed they'd see the failure in his gaze. "We'll keep looking, I swear it."
Charlie wanted to enfold him in her arms, draw his ache into her own body, kiss away all his hurt. But her mother held out both hands. "Come here, Sebastian."
He hunkered down in front of her chair, taking her damaged fingers in his. "I'll make this right, Francine."
"I want you to keep searching for me, because you never know, something might pop up. Some big new breakthrough. But I'm not disappointed, and neither should you be."
Charlie's heart broke watching them, this big, beautiful man down on one knee with an old woman who'd been forgotten by everyone except her daughter. And now Sebastian.
"I need to help you," he said, his voice raw with the emotion he'd been trying so hard to hide.
"You are helping me." She put her hand on his cheek. "You take time out of your busy life to visit me. And Charlie told me how you'll help us with Magnolia Gardens if we need it. I can't thank you enough for that. Best of all, you make my daughter happy. How can I ask for anything more?"
"Oh, Francine, I love visiting you." He glanced at Charlie, his eyes brimming with lingering sorrow and what looked like love. A love that had no bounds. "And your daughter makes me very happy too."
Charlie had to go to him then, bending down to press a soft kiss to his lips. As she drew away, he slid his free hand into her hair, held her close, kissing her back for a long, breathless moment.
"Now that," her mother said on a delighted laugh, "is a kiss!" Sebastian's answering laugh wrapped around Charlie's heart as Francine added, "What do you say we pack up my old kit bag and blow this popsicle stand?"
The darkness hadn't faded completely and tension still vibrated through him, but at least he was smiling when he said, "We'll make like bananas and peel." He offered both hands to Francine and slowly drew her to her feet before bending low to plan
t a kiss on her forehead.
Charlie had started falling for him that very first day, but watching his tender handling of her mother made her love Sebastian with her whole heart and soul. Even if he never touched her again, never took her to heaven in his arms, never sold another piece of art for her, she would keep on loving him.
Her love had nothing to do with his wealth or the success he'd created for himself--and everything to do with the man he was on the inside. The son who'd turned himself inside out for his parents, again and again, even against all hope. The man who steadied an old lady as she grabbed the handles of her walker. The friend who would do anything for the people he loved. The lover who made her feel more pleasure--and more cherished--than she'd ever believed possible.
She'd never been in control of her feelings for him. She'd fallen in love with him the moment he'd stepped into her dusty shop wearing his perfect suit and called her junkyard a garden. Though she couldn't be certain that he wouldn't one day want to change her, she would risk everything for him. Even the parts of herself she knew would never fit in with the fancy society where Sebastian ruled as naturally as breathing.
Her mother wheeled her walker into the hallway ahead of them, saying good-bye to all the friends she'd made at Shady Lane. Charlie put her hand on Sebastian's arm to halt him for a moment before he lifted the suitcases. "I love you."
He went so still she wasn't sure he was even breathing. Then he exhaled. "I...you..."
She put a finger to his lips. "You did a wonderful thing today. Every day. I love you not just for trying so hard with my mother, but for everything. I've learned recently about the power of positive thinking," she said with a grin. "So let's not think about anything bad anymore, only the good stuff to come."
She leaned in to kiss him on the lips. Then, because she didn't want him to feel as though he had to say the words back to her, she grabbed the carryall and turned to follow her mother, knowing he would be right there behind her, behind them.
Always there for them.
*
I love you.