Then again, Charlie's talent was in performing a miraculous metamorphosis of junk heaps into amazing creatures, whereas his talent was in helping people transform themselves. He'd wisely given up his dreams of being an artist a long time ago, had accepted as a teenager that he'd never see his work hung on a gallery wall.
He ran a hand through his hair, not sure why he kept spinning back to the past today. Especially when it was the future he was far more interested in--one that had Charlie Ballard playing a starring role.
"I'm glad the church was smart enough to be interested. And I hope they paid you well for the dragon. It's unlike any sculpture I've ever seen."
"It's Chinatown and everyone loves the dragon at Chinese New Year, so I gave it to them. The dragon couldn't have lived anywhere else." She gestured to her crowded garden. "Not even here."
He supported numerous charities, but he still frowned upon hearing that she hadn't been paid for her work. "You don't need to give your sculptures away for free."
She raised an eyebrow at the slight scolding in his tone and answered him back just as firmly. "I do just fine, thanks."
He liked that she had an independent streak, her spirit matching her strong, lithe body. He liked everything about her a great deal, in fact. And yet, she really did need that new roof, one she could easily afford if any other collectors discovered her talent. And if she were willing to charge for her art's true worth.
What, he suddenly wondered, was holding her back from being the superstar that lurked inside her? With her talent, she brought out the majesty in mere junk, like revealing the swan hiding inside the ugly duckling. She had huge vision and saw shape and form in things that no one else could even begin to imagine. So why wasn't her metal statuary displayed all over the world, in museums and buildings and parks?
Sebastian vowed to find out. But first he needed to convince her to work with him. "I'm opening a high-rise office in San Francisco at the end of September." He'd taken over an existing structure and was rebuilding it to suit his needs, including a production studio. It would be his new headquarters and that of the Maverick Group as well. "There's a fountain in the lobby center." He let silence beat for three seconds. "It needs you." I need you. The thought hit him hard, right in the solar plexus, where no other woman had ever gotten to him. "It needs one of your sculptures."
"You want to commission me to design something?" She still sounded as though she couldn't quite believe what he was saying.
Had no one ever let her know just how extraordinary she was before today?
"I'm planning a grand opening for the building, attended by friends, business associates, clients, customers, art enthusiasts. The fountain and its statue--the one you're going to create for me--will be the centerpiece of the event." Her work would be seen by everyone who was anyone in San Francisco and beyond. But it was more than her work that he wanted people to discover and appreciate. "We won't just unveil your art, we'll unveil you to the world too."
She didn't jump at his offer. Didn't do anything for long enough that he actually began to worry she might say no. Though he couldn't understand why she would possibly turn down his offer.
"Well," she finally said, "I am off school for summer break. Classes don't start again until the fall."
He eased closer, catching the perfume of woman and sparks. He wanted her art--and her--more than he'd ever wanted anything or anyone before in his life. "Is there anything else standing in your way?"
She paused again, her expression shifting in ways he couldn't quite understand. There was excitement there, but also wariness and continued confusion. At last she said, "No, I guess not."
Now that her mind was made up, she looked at him directly, her eyes glittering like emeralds. In an instant, the spark of desire lit between them again.
"What exactly did you have in mind?" she asked.
You. In my bed. For a month straight. Longer than that. For as long as I can convince you to stay.
But what he said instead was, "A stallion."
The sweet and sultry sound of her laughter made it nearly impossible not to reach for her, to drag her into his arms and find out if her mouth tasted as sweet as it looked.
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." She gave him a slow blink, then a sexy arch of her eyebrows. "Although I was thinking more in terms of a T-Rex."
"A killer dinosaur?" His own laugh rumbled up. Only his fellow Mavericks could make him laugh so easily. But despite her baggy overalls and vast skills with power tools, she was worlds away from being one of the guys.
She pointed at the garage. "Didn't you see my masterpiece inside?" She said the word masterpiece far too mockingly.
He spoke the absolute truth. "I saw only you."
She stilled, blinked, and the afternoon heat wrapped around them, tugging him another step closer. So close that he could practically feel the heat radiating from her skin to his.
"You really should see the T-Rex." She murmured the words as if they were talking about moonlit nights rather than a vicious dinosaur made out of all manner of sharp castoffs. "I'm building it out of road signs riddled with bullet holes. Battle-scarred, but alive and kicking despite its hunters."
"Isn't the T-Rex the hunter?"
"They're misunderstood," she supplied simply. "But the truth is, even if you like him, I have to let your space speak to me first. And if you want me to build something for you--" She held his gaze, her finger just short of tapping his nose. "--you have to let the space choose what's right."
Charlie's property clearly needed more than a new roof. But instead of rolling over like most artists who were desperate to sell their work, she wouldn't be pushed. He was amazed that she appeared to be as open as her art--no artifice, nothing to hide. No smoke, no mirrors. Easygoing Charlie-not-Charlotte. And he found her more attractive than any glittering, cosmetically enhanced celebrity or society woman he'd ever dated. More intriguing.
More everything.
"Deal. The space chooses the sculpture." He reached for his checkbook, then pulled a pen from the pocket over his heart. He wrote the numbers, signed his name, and handed her the check.
She read, gripping the paper tightly between her fingers as if a sudden gust of wind might whip it away. But when she raised her eyes, her beautifully lush mouth was a flat line. "This is a joke."
"I never joke about a hundred thousand dollars. I know that whatever you fill my empty space with will end up being worth more than that, Charlie." As he held her gaze and said, "A hell of a lot more," he wondered if she understood that he was talking about far more than her work.
Because something told Sebastian that Charlie just might be his destiny after all.
CHAPTER TWO
One hundred thousand dollars.
Charlie stared at the check. She couldn't believe it. But there were the numbers, written out in all that lovely script. The man's handwriting was as beautiful as his face. And his clothes. And especially his body beneath the expensive suit pants and shirt.
Of course she'd recognized Sebastian Montgomery's name when his broker called to make the appointment. She couldn't open her Internet home page without seeing the face of the media mogul and self-help guru. But she'd refused to let herself get worked up. Especially when his broker told her that Mr. Montgomery had a mild interest in her work after seeing the dragon. She'd figured he'd look at her junk and walk away like pretty much everyone else did.
Instead...the fabulously gorgeous billionaire had just written her an enormous check for a piece of her magnificent junk.
Was it possible that he had more money than sense? It wasn't too great a stretch to assume that all filthy-rich people were a tiny bit off their rockers, was it?
His sleek black luxury vehicle, which sure as heck hadn't come off any showroom floor because she'd never seen anything like it, was covered in dust from her dirt-and-gravel drive. And yet somehow, even after tromping through her dusty acre, his white dress shirt was pristine, his slacks were still per
fectly creased, and his shoes had actually retained their shine. Lord if the man didn't smell good too, like sun and long stretches of white sand beach. Whereas she was dressed in stained overalls, an ancient tank top, and filthy work boots. Not to mention her hair had to be sticking out every which way.
She hadn't expected Sebastian to make her skin heat and her breath catch. And she definitely hadn't expected him to write her a six-figure check.
"I guarantee it won't bounce."
Normally she would have laughed or made a joke. But she was holding on to ninety-nine thousand too many dollars to remember how to do either of those things. All she could remember was how to be honest. "I'm overwhelmed."
True honesty, however, would be to admit that she wished she'd run a comb through her hair, put a little gloss on her lips, and swapped out the overalls and boots for a dress and heels. Even if the only fancy outfit she owned was as outdated as the house and in not much better shape. She'd never worried about her looks, but this man brought out a need in her to be, well, feminine.
And yet, even though she wasn't looking at all pretty right then, somehow he managed to make her feel appreciated. Desired. All with just a look.
Oh God...she was way out of her depth.
But did she ever need that money. Desperately. And not for a new roof either. She knew she'd appeared casual, aloof even, when she'd assumed he'd offer her a few hundred dollars for a sculpture. But this kind of money was life-changing. In the best possible ways.
"No need to be overwhelmed," he reassured her. "I know you can do this for me."
Actually, she'd be doing it for her mother. With that much cash, Charlie could finally get her mom out of the substandard care facility in Fremont that was all Charlie could afford, and into the great facility in Los Gatos. The new retirement home had an entry fee that Charlie hadn't had any hope of raising until Sebastian Montgomery walked into her life and literally handed her the chance to make her mother's life better.
One hundred thousand would take care of the entry cost and pay for a few months. And if Charlie could keep up the fees for five years, then her mother would be guaranteed a room in the facility even if they ran out of money. It was a gamble, though, because if she couldn't make the monthly payment, Charlie would lose the deposit along with having to move her mother again. But what if Sebastian Montgomery's project were the beginning of everything, opening other doors that might lead her to the financial miracle she desperately needed?
So even if she was more than a little stunned by how much he seemed to like her sculptures--and though the idea of stepping into a glittering and glossy world like his for any length of time was daunting--Charlie knew she couldn't blow it. Stuffing down the inner voice that said a world like Sebastian's was beyond her, she said, "Scratch the overwhelmed part. When do I start?"
"I like your enthusiasm."
When he grinned at her, it was impossible not to grin back. He was the best-looking man she'd ever set eyes on, the kind of guy who could turn a girl's head, to use the old phrase.
Hers had turned the second she'd spotted him standing in the doorway of her studio.
"I'm sure you'll want to see the space as soon as possible, so I'll pick you up tomorrow at eleven and you can inspect the lobby in full sunlight."
When he wanted something, he obviously didn't waste any time. A part of her wanted to spend some time inventorying her junk in case something fit when she saw the fountain, but with the check practically burning a hole in her hand, she said, "Eleven sounds perfect."
"We should talk about your workshop too."
She could read the look in his too-sexy brown eyes; he thought she lived in a dump. She knew she should renovate the old garage, but she couldn't waste money on something that worked, even if it wasn't perfect. "I know the garage doesn't look like much, but--"
"There's a barn on my property in the Hayward Hills that I've never used. It'll work great as a workshop for you, especially if you decide to construct something larger."
A part of her resisted the idea of leaving the studio she'd always worked in. But she'd be stupid to turn down his offer for that reason. "I'd like to check it out first," she said. "It's opposite the commute, which is good. Although--" She looked over at her dusty old truck sitting by the garage. "I'm not so sure about my truck holding out for too many daily commutes." These days it was practically held together by rubber bands.
"There's a guest bungalow on my property. You can stay there and avoid driving back and forth." He paused before adding, "Unless you have a husband or boyfriend who might object to my whisking you away."
She'd had a few serious boyfriends. Serious, at least, until they'd eventually come clean about expecting her to do "normal" things like clean up the yard and throw out all the broken pieces of instruments and gates and tools that she'd so carefully collected over the years. At first a man might tell her she was a breath of fresh air. But in the end, it turned out that none of them actually appreciated all the mixed-up, jumbled pieces that made Charlie who she was any more than they appreciated the mixed-up, jumbled pieces that would become her sculptures.
"There's no one to object to a little whisking." She hoped he didn't catch the slight edge to her voice. She was happy being alone, of course. But sometimes it still stung a little bit to know that she hadn't been enough just the way she was for any of the guys she'd been serious with.
"Good." Sebastian was clearly pleased to hear that she was single. Pleased enough that she had to wonder if the attraction she'd felt between them was more than just a figment of her overactive imagination. "Then the bungalow is yours to stay in and the RV barn is your studio."
Every need a girl had, he provided an answer for. He made her want to throw caution to the winds, to just be reckless and say yes. Yes even to the things he didn't say, but that she felt simmering between them as they negotiated the details of the commission.
There was something about him. Not just his over-the-top good looks or his self-possession and command, but the way her body reacted to his nearness and her skin overheated--and not from the hot afternoon. He made her heart beat faster and harder than usual. She'd never paid attention to a man's smell, but Sebastian smelled incredible.
But as sorely tempted as she was by her reckless urges--and how badly she needed his hundred grand--she'd never respect herself if she just fell at his feet the way she guessed plenty of women already had. "How far from your house is this guest bungalow and workspace?"
He held her a moment with those deliciously cocoa-brown eyes. "Down the hill. Maybe a quarter of a mile."
Okay, so the buildings weren't exactly next door. Still, she could never take his money if it were tied to anything but her art. And there was only one way to know for sure. She had to ask the hard question. "You're not expecting anything from me other than a sculpture, are you?"
"I'm expecting nothing more than the unexpected." She appreciated the way he tossed the Zanti Misfits back at her. "The commission is yours. The house and the barn are there simply to make it easier for you. I'll pay for all the materials you need as well. I want whatever it is you're going to create for me and my building. Nothing else is expected." He emphasized the word.
But anything can be given. She heard that loud and clear.
No question, this man had the charm to talk anyone into anything. He'd just dealt her all the good cards. She'd be closer to her mom's nursing home, at least until she could get her moved. She wouldn't have to fork out for materials--not that the stuff she got from junkyards cost a lot of money, but the tools were expensive--and she'd get to stay in a bungalow where the plumbing probably worked a heck of a lot better than hers. She'd have a huge workspace at her disposal. This commission could open doors for her so that she could actually be an earning artist.
Yet there was more. So much more, considering that she could actually feel the heat of his body and the touch of his eyes in the simmering sensation that flowed between them. Wanting him had seemed natur
al from the moment she'd seen him silhouetted in the sunlight outside her garage. And, if she wanted him for the summer weeks that they were near each other, something told her she could have some very sexy fun with this gorgeous man too. Charlie didn't have weird hang-ups about sex, and she definitely didn't have expectations anymore when it came to men ever appreciating her idiosyncrasies in the long run. If it happened with him, it happened.
She might decide to be reckless when it came to pleasure, but she'd make sure to be careful about letting herself fall in love with the beautiful man who had just changed her life.
Charlie folded the check and shoved it into the front pocket of her overalls, close to her heart. "You've got yourself a deal."
CHAPTER THREE
At eleven on the dot the next morning, Sebastian picked Charlie up in a limousine that quickly became covered in the dust of her yard. Rather than overalls and steel-toes, she'd chosen a pair of dark-wash, slim-fit jeans, a peasant blouse, and sandals. She'd been pleased to find one pair of jeans that didn't sport burn holes from stray sparks off her arc welder.
Sebastian seemed to approve of her outfit as she slid in beside him and he said, "Good morning," in a deep voice that was enough to raise her temperature several degrees, turning the air-conditioned interior of the car positively sultry.
"Nice ride," she told him as she appreciated the soft leather with the slide of her palm over the seat. The limo was over the top, true, but he was a rich man and she could already tell that he did everything with style. And clearly enjoyed every second of it. "Although you didn't have a driver with you yesterday, did you?"
"I didn't want to split my attention between you and the road today."
Her breath caught at the simple way he'd just told her that she mattered to him, both as an artist and as a woman. He always had just the right words. The fact that it was also his job didn't make their impact any less.