He wanted to take her upstairs to the helipad right this second and fly her off to his estate in the Hayward Hills so she wouldn't have a chance to change her mind. But he'd already learned that Charlie was as fiercely independent as her work. Was it because she'd moved around so much as a kid? Or was there another reason? Had someone in her past disappointed her and made it difficult for her to trust others? Sebastian understood that all too well, knew just how hard it could be to trust that the people who were supposed to be there for you would actually be there when you needed them.
Whatever her reasons, he knew for sure that dragging her to the workshop on his property as if he were a caveman would be a mistake. A big one. So instead of insisting she start today, he said, "I'll send a trailer with some guys to help with the loading. It'll be easier than trying to get everything in your truck."
Just as she had when he'd offered her the commission yesterday, she didn't jump at his offer. Instead, she took the time to turn it over in her mind, before she finally nodded. "That will work great, thank you." She tilted her chin at the fountain and when she touched him again, her hand on his arm, everything inside him stilled, absorbing her heat, her closeness, her heady scent. "The sun show...it's almost over."
He put his hand over hers on his arm, bound her to him as the wide swath of sunlight made its final arc across the floor, just as the chariot and its stallions would. "The horses will look like they're racing through an arena." Shining, alive. Like her.
And then, in the next moment, it was gone, leaving the fountain in the shade of the building's facade. But he could still see the brilliant vision as if it were a mirage lingering on his horizon.
"It will be spectacular," he told her. "You will be."
He felt the slightest tremble of her hand beneath his, before she took a deep breath, then smiled into his eyes and said, "That's the plan."
*
Francine Ballard's gnarled fingers gripped the walker's handles. Charlie's natural tendency was to let her mother hang on to her, so that Charlie could keep her steady and safe. But her mother had to do things on her own, and since Charlie was a chip off the old block, she understood that was better for her mother's wellbeing.
"Just two more passes along the hallway," her mom said. She walked the halls four times a day for exercise. Use it or lose it, she always claimed. And it was true that without the workout, she would have been in a wheelchair years ago.
As soon as Sebastian had brought her home from their excursion to the city, Charlie had jumped in her dusty old truck and rattled across the Dumbarton Bridge to Fremont. She couldn't wait to tell her mother all about her new project, but for the next few minutes she didn't want to break her concentration.
"Hello, Gladys," her mom called through an open door as they passed.
"You go, girl," the gray-haired lady called back. "Hi, Charlie." Gladys was ninety and bedridden, and she loved soap operas in the afternoon. She could recite everything that had happened over the last ten years on each of her favorite shows as if the characters were her relatives.
Charlie's mom had lived at Shady Lane for the last two years. But there was no shade, no lane, and no garden. There were only concrete walls, linoleum floors, beige paint, the underlying scent of cleaning fluids and medicines, and the competing sounds of too many televisions tuned to different channels.
Charlie had come to her parents late in life, and she'd still been a toddler when her mom was diagnosed with severe degenerative osteoarthritis. Though she'd been in her early forties, Francine's joints had begun to collapse. After years of pain and increasing loss of use, she'd had her first operation in her fifties to fuse three of the vertebrae in her spine. She'd soon had to give up sewing and needlework, which had been her joy. Since then she'd had all the joints in her fingers replaced, except the pinkies, which were etched into a permanent curl. Her ankles had disintegrated and were now held together by steel and bolts and staples.
But at seventy, her mother still walked a mile of hallway every day. Because Francine Ballard never gave up.
Charlie smiled at her mother as she moved at a snail's pace beside her, her mom's head barely coming to her chin now that years of arthritis had compressed her spine. "Okay, I need a short rest before I finish my walk." Her mother plunked her bottom down on the walker. In a compartment beneath the seat, she kept a book and a purse with her reading glasses, tissues, a brush, and her lipstick. Today's outfit was a skirt and sweater set in a dusty rose color. She had her hair done once a week in the nursing home's salon, and Charlie did her nails when she visited. It didn't matter that her fingers were bent in odd directions, her mom loved the pretty pink polish.
After resting a minute, she said, "Okay, I'm ready to keep going now."
Charlie put her hand beneath her mother's elbow and helped her up so that they could steer back into the central hall. This wasn't a bad place, but the staff was overworked and didn't have time for anything extra. The residents never went on outings. The food, though nutritious, was often unidentifiable. The worst, though, was the lack of anywhere to sit outside, to smell the flowers and get a little sun to heat old bones. Charlie often took her mom out for lunch or to a nearby park, but those excursions weren't the same as having a lovely garden she could go to whenever she wanted. She knew her mother would adore the gardens at the Los Gatos facility. Instead of walking institutional hallways, she could stroll through lush greenery and fragrant flowers and read her book in the shade of a leafy tree, in the gazebo, or by the koi pond.
At the end of the hall, her mother let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Another lap done. Let's sit in the lounge." Francine shared a room with Rosemary, who was nearly deaf and had the TV on so loud, Charlie couldn't think, though thankfully it didn't seem to bother her mother at all.
They parked her walker outside the lounge, and her mom made her way to the sofa, moving hand by hand across each chair back she passed, while Charlie brewed tea. She'd brought china mugs with her because her mother claimed tea tasted better in bone china, especially if the cups had been warmed with hot water. For herself, Charlie pushed the whipped coffee button, creating foam on the top, then added milk and sugar to both her mother's cup and her own.
At the opposite end of the lounge, a TV blared for the six residents seated in front of it. A sallow-skinned lady, who must have been new since Charlie didn't recognize her, slept in an overstuffed chair kitty-corner to the sofa her mother had chosen.
Charlie carried the two flowered mugs, setting her mother's on the coffee table. "I brought your favorite." From the shopping bag she'd slung over her arm, she pulled a pink box from a fabulous bakery only a few blocks away, two china plates, and pretty paper napkins, then placed one half of an almond bear claw on the china. In the old days, her mother had made the most delicious pastries. But she'd had to give up baking when the pain of standing too long became excruciating, not to mention what all the measuring, mixing, and spooning had done to her fingers.
"This is so yummy." Her mother savored the pastry in little bites, enjoying every morsel. "Now tell me what has you positively glowing."
Charlie had known her mother would see what she was feeling. Glowing was the perfect word for it. "I've got a new commission. A really big one."
"That's wonderful. I'm so happy for you, honey. You deserve it."
Just like her father, Charlie's mother had always believed in her art. They'd lost her dad to cancer seven years ago. She and her mother had taken care of him together at the end, with the help of Hospice, who'd come in twice a day. As close as she and her mother had been before, that difficult time had forged an even deeper bond between them.
"Tell me all about the commission."
Tell me. Sebastian had whispered the words to her, and she'd wanted to tell him everything. Not just about her vision for the chariot, but all the secrets she kept buried down deep. Even from herself.
"My work is going to be shown off in a high-rise in San Francisco at the headquarters of a co
mpany called Montgomery Media International."
"That sounds familiar," her mother said, frowning a little as she tried to figure out where she'd heard it.
"Sebastian Montgomery is pretty famous." Charlie had assumed he'd be some glib TV personality, all looks and fast talking, but there seemed to be so much more to him. "He's on TV a lot and in the papers. That's probably why it sounds so familiar."
Charlie felt a thrill just saying his name. Or maybe the thrill came from the heated memory of the moment she'd put her hands on him and said, Do you want it? Even better had been his response. God, yes. I want it all.
Charlie's stomach did a slow roll of desire just from remembering how the sparks had flown like crazy between them that morning. She wanted him with an intensity she'd only ever felt while working on her art--and every sign indicated he felt exactly the same way--but he hadn't crushed his lips to hers. Hadn't given them a first, desperate taste of each other. Instead, he'd asked her if she trusted his intentions. Asked her if she truly believed that he wanted her art as much as he wanted to take her to bed. And when she'd hesitated...
"What does he want you to create, dear?"
Magnificence.
He not only seemed to believe Charlie could do it, but he was also truly determined to make sure she didn't think her six-figure paycheck came with any naked, sexy strings.
"The lobby has an enormous fountain, and I'm going to create a chariot with stallions, a horrendous race, foam flying, dust billowing."
Her mother clapped her hands, her fingers so crooked, they barely made a sound. "Like Ben-Hur. Oh, I loved that movie and Charlton Heston." She sighed dreamily. "He was so handsome." Her mother would have been a teenager when the movie came out. "I take it Sebastian is pleased with your vision?"
Charlie grinned. "Very."
Her mother's eyebrows went up as if she'd just realized there was more to the story than a great commission. "Is he gorgeous?"
"He's very good-looking. But this is business." At least for right now.
She didn't want to get her mother all worked up that Charlie was finally going to have some romance in her life, only to disappoint her if nothing happened. Or if something did happen, and then Sebastian turned out to be like all the other guys she'd dated, eventually becoming frustrated with the fact that she wasn't a neat and tidy package of a woman. Odds, Charlie knew, were on that one. Finding someone who liked her just the way she was--junkyard and all--would be a tall order, indeed. Good thing she already liked her life. Apart from her worries about her mother's care.
"He's going to pay me a lot of money, Mom. Enough to get you into that place in Los Gatos. Remember we toured it last year? Magnolia Gardens."
"Charlie, that's so far out of our league."
"He's paying me a lot of money, and I don't know what I'd do with all of it if I didn't use it to put you somewhere that at least has a garden. And good food too."
"The food's fine here."
Her mother hated that Charlie had to put money toward her care. But they were family, and she'd do anything for her mom. "I want you to live where you can feel the heat of the sun on your skin and smell the blooming flowers."
"Charlie. Sweetheart. You should be saving for your own future."
"They have more staff. More doctors." Charlie lowered her voice. She didn't want to insult anyone here, but she needed her mother to understand how important this chance was. "There's physical therapy and hydro baths, all the things that can help ease your pain. I want that for you. It will make me--" She tapped her chest. "--feel better."
Her mother stared deeply into her china mug, as if there were leaves at the bottom that would predict the future. "Your father wasn't good at saving for retirement. And all his medical bills just ended up being so big." They'd had insurance, but so many things were only partially covered. "I'm so sorry it's all fallen on you, honey."
"I'm not sorry, Mom."
"But you could use the money to fix the house."
Five years ago, Charlie had sunk all her money into the property because it was perfect for her studio, such as it was, and it was close to the college where she taught. The land was valuable, the house, not so much. But if she'd realized her mother would need full-time assisted living, she would have made a different choice. "Your care is more important to me right now. Let me do this. Please."
"You always could wrap your father and me around your little finger." But her mother was smiling. "I would love to smell the flowers and sit out in the sun more often."
"I'll start making arrangements."
"Thank you, honey. You're too good to me. You always have been." Her mother patted her hand. "Now, tell me more about your Sebastian."
"He's not mine, Mom. He's just an art patron." But even as she said it, she knew Sebastian could never be just anything. Especially when he made her body heat and her heart race as though she were having palpitations.
And when she was already counting down the hours until she saw him again.
CHAPTER FIVE
It wasn't just a trailer. Sebastian had sent a freaking semi with four burly men who lifted her heavy equipment as if it were so many down pillows.
They'd arrived at ten on Friday morning. Fifteen minutes later, Sebastian flew in. Literally. In a helicopter, for God's sake. His pilot landed at the edge of her property, just beyond the junkyard of parts. Charlie couldn't imagine ever having that kind of money. All she needed was enough to take care of her mom and keep her own roof from falling in and she'd be perfectly happy.
Then again, as Sebastian crossed the junkyard to join her on the drive, it occurred to her that maybe there were a couple of other things that could also make her happy. Most of them having to do with getting naked with the beautiful man coming toward her.
"I missed you yesterday." It was one heck of a good morning. Almost as good as the way he put a hand on her arm, stroking her skin. "Everything going okay?"
Charlie tried to pretend there was nothing over-the-top about a helicopter sitting in her yard or a billionaire driving her wild with nothing but a simple touch. To use her mother's word, he was yummy in a pair of butt-hugging jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt that defined every hard muscle and emphasized just how broad he was in a way his suit hadn't.
The often buried feminine voice inside of her told her she should have worn something better than her overalls and steel-toed boots. But it was moving day and she hadn't been sure whether he would show up, or merely send his guys.
Boy, had he shown up.
"Totally fine." She was glad she sounded completely normal, not starstruck. Or like a teenage girl whose heart was back-flipping at how incredibly handsome he was in the sunlight. "We're making sure everything gets strapped down." She called out to Jerry who had a jet-black mustache, "Don't forget the ladder."
He waved an acknowledgment as he rolled a dolly holding her barrel of nuts and bolts up the ramp and into the cavernous semi.
"I didn't need you to rent a trailer this big, Sebastian."
"How many barrels of nuts and bolts are you bringing?"
"Just one."
"And barrels of screws?"
"Only one."
He cocked an eyebrow as he asked, "How about barrels of monkeys?" in such a deadpan tone that she almost missed the joke.
Who would have thought that a billionaire could be adorable? She could get so attached if she let herself, she thought, as she answered his question just as seriously. "Seven. One for each day of the week."
"Now that I'm watching them load everything in, I'm thinking I should have sent a bigger trailer." He leaned close, so close that she was hit with a sudden rush of heat. One that had absolutely nothing to do with the hot sun. His bare skin brushed her, the dusting of hair on his arm soft against hers. She wondered if he had hair on his chest. How thick it was. How soft. And what his skin would smell like if she burrowed her nose against him. "Before we're done, you'll have everything in the yard stowed inside the trailer."
r /> He smelled so good that she almost lost her train of thought, almost forgot she couldn't let him be right about absolutely everything, including the fact that she would probably need most of the semi for her equipment and supplies. "I'm only taking essentials."
She surveyed the property for anything else that might turn out to be essential, and of course she found plenty that was. Half an hour later, the trailer was packed with her equipment, her barrels, her parts, extra bottles of argon and other gases used in the welding process, boxes of protective gear, solder rolls, tubing, and miscellaneous tools. The last thing she needed was her suitcase.
When she walked out of her house with it, Sebastian rushed forward to take it from her. Though she could easily carry it, she appreciated his good manners. Someone had clearly raised him well.
"I've never met a woman who can pack for two months in a carry-on."
"As long as there's a washing machine in your guest cottage, I don't need to bring everything I own." She'd packed sundries like shampoo and toothpaste, work clothes, shorts, tops, her one good pair of jeans, a pair of sandals, her iPad, chargers. At the last minute, she'd thrown in a couple of sundresses.
"You are the queen of low maintenance."
"You do realize you're saying this to the woman who just filled up an entire semi with junk, right?"
"That's your art." He stowed her suitcase carefully in his helicopter. "It's a vocation, not maintenance." He said it with complete sincerity, despite the fun he'd made of all her barrels.
A vocation. Not junk. No guy she'd ever been attracted to had felt that way about what she did.
"Okay." He dusted off his hands. "We'll take the helicopter, and the guys can meet us."
The helicopter. It was hard to hold back a wow. Or to ignore just how badly she wanted to experience flying in a helicopter. But she needed to make sure she could come and go freely from his property while she was working on the chariot and horses. "That sounds like fun, but I need to drive my truck."
Sebastian eyed her dusty truck beside the garage. "You're free to use one of mine."
"You have a truck too?" Until now, she'd managed to be cool about his wealth--and everything he was offering her--but the question came out before she could stop it.