Reckless in Love

  He simply grinned and said, "What can I say? I've liked playing with them since I was a kid. And honestly, I'd feel better having you drive something more reliable."

  She looked at the dirt barely holding her truck together. He had a good point. Still, she was wary about agreeing to anything too quickly. Not when she'd been so careful to make sure she could easily take care of herself without depending on a man.

  "No strings, Charlie," he reminded her in a soft voice.

  She believed him. But what about the strings she might want to tie on at some point in the future? What if she fell for him? What if she let herself believe in him the way he seemed to believe in her already?

  Don't borrow trouble, honey. It was something her mother had said to her more than once when they were taking care of her father, and then again when she had to move into the nursing home. Just try to appreciate the good things we already have.

  "Thanks, I'd appreciate the loaner," she finally said, giving him a smile to let him know she truly meant it.

  "Then we're ready to go." He circled his arm above his head, and a beat later, the helicopter's rotor blades started to whirl.

  Sebastian held out his hand, offering her the adventure of a lifetime. Days spent with a billionaire and all his toys. A six-figure commission. Entree into a glittering world of future art patrons.

  There would also be pressure. Pressure to create. Pressure to fit in. And plenty of time to wonder if in the long run Sebastian might not be quite as charmed by her menagerie or her very unique quirks as he seemed to be right now...

  No. She wouldn't let herself borrow any more trouble. She couldn't let this chance slip through her fingers just because she was afraid to step into shoes she'd never worn before.

  Reminding herself that this was the life any artist in her right mind would die for, Charlie put her hand in his and let him sweep her away.

  *

  Half an hour later, Sebastian brought Charlie's suitcase into the guest bungalow. She'd filled almost an entire semi with her equipment, but she had only one small suitcase.

  Sebastian couldn't begin to describe how attractive that was. Not that she needed any help in that department, given that he'd been seriously hard-pressed not to kiss her at least a hundred times this morning.

  "I hope you'll be comfortable here."

  "Comfortable?" She turned in a circle. "Look at this place. It's huge."

  There were four bedrooms that he'd equipped with flat-panel TVs, stereos, game consoles, and computers. The bathrooms all had a large jet tub, sauna, and rain shower. Sliding glass doors opened onto a deck and hot tub. And the kitchen was fully stocked with top-of-the-line appliances.

  "I can't stay here for free. I have to pay you rent."

  He'd be damned if he took a dollar from her. "I'm providing accommodations so that you're at your best when you're creating. Room and board is part of our deal."

  "I don't remember this being part of the deal." She waved a hand. "All the luxury. A brand new truck at my disposal. Helicopter rides."

  But he'd seen how much she'd enjoyed it, the way she'd been glued to the window when the pilot had flown them out over the Bay. Once upon a time he'd been floored by the view from above too, but these past few years he was always in a hurry just to get where he was going. Today, however, he'd reveled in her excitement and appreciation.

  Thinking how much he'd appreciated the view--and her too--he said, "My truck is safer, this guest cottage is closer to the big workshop here, and the helicopter is easier and faster than sitting in traffic."

  "I get all that, but you know it's not what I meant. It's just too much, Sebastian. Too much for some artist that you've hired to build a sculpture for your office building."

  She was right about so many things, so flawless in her vision for her sculptures. But she was wrong about this. Nothing was too much for her. And soon, he'd make sure she knew that she deserved everything that would be hers once the rest of the art world finally discovered her incredible talent.

  For now, though, he needed to know something. "Is it about the luxury itself? Or because you don't want to feel obligated?"

  She frowned. Took a breath, then blew it out. "Honestly, I'm not sure."

  "I wasn't born into money." He wanted her to know where he was coming from just as much as she wanted to be understood. He didn't want her to judge him for his wealth or find him lacking because of it. "I don't take any of it for granted. But I've got it now and I enjoy it. And I hope you'll let yourself enjoy it too, Charlie."

  He moved to the couch and held out his hand to her, and just as she always had before, she paused. He found himself holding his breath until, finally, she put her hand in his and let him guide her around the coffee table. She was about to sit on the leather sofa when she stopped to remove her boots first. No question about it, his foster mother Susan would love her.

  Charlie rubbed her feet on the thick rug as if it were fur, then curled up into the sofa and propped her chin on her hand as she said, "I would never begrudge you your wealth. I know you've worked hard for it. That's not why I'm feeling uncomfortable." She bit her lip as she worked to put her feelings into words for him. "What if I fail?"

  He immediately hunkered down in front of her, so close that their heat mingled, forming one aura out of two. She'd been so confident in the lobby of his new headquarters, so sure of herself standing in the doorway of her dilapidated workroom. He hated to think he could have done anything to change that. That he might have done anything to hurt her in any way. Even though they'd only just met a few days earlier, hurting her was the very last thing he wanted to do.

  "The money changes your feelings that much?"

  "Maybe." She ran a hand over her face. "Or maybe it's just performance anxiety."

  "I know we haven't known each other very long," he said slowly, "but I can't imagine you care that much about what people think of you."

  "Not people." She paused and he could swear a world of emotions shot through her beautiful eyes and over her stunning face. "You."

  "You already know what I think." He smiled at her. "But I'm more than happy to tell you again how magnificent you are."

  He'd been hoping to see a smile, but she simply sighed and admitted, "I'm not used to anyone paying me for my work. Especially not the amount you paid."

  One hundred thousand dollars honestly wasn't a huge amount to him anymore. But he understood that it meant a hell of a lot to her. Still, he wouldn't allow it to diminish her now, or to strip away her confidence. "Do you want to work for free?"

  "No."

  He was glad her answer was so quick and to the point. "Then take the space and the luxury I'm offering. And don't worry about anyone's expectations, Charlie. Because I already know you're going to blow them all away."

  "How do you do it?" She stared into his eyes. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

  Because I grew up with a father who never did. Sebastian knew firsthand just how important it was for words to heal and inspire, rather than hurt and cut.

  But this was about making sure she was okay, not going back into a past he'd already dealt with, so he gave her a different truth. "You make it easy, Charlie."

  The smile she gave him now was blindingly beautiful. "Okay. I'll take what you're offering. And I'll stop worrying about expectations. At least," she added with a small uplift of her eyebrows, "until the next time I do."

  Even as he laughed at her totally honest response, he knew that it would be so easy--and so damned good--to sweep her up into his arms, carry her into the master bedroom, strip off her clothes, and make love to her the way he'd been fantasizing about ever since he'd first set eyes on her, since the moment her husky laughter had resonated deep inside him.

  Though he felt compelled to make sure she didn't think there were any sexual strings attached to the commission, that wasn't the only reason he'd worked like hell to lock down his control. By now, his feelings for Charlie were definitely not along the
lines of a simple fling. They had the potential to be big. Big enough that he needed to know more about her, more about how they fit together outside of bed, before they jumped into it. The last thing Sebastian wanted was for him and Charlie to end up destroying each other the way his parents had.

  Waiting to have her might very well kill him, but he forced himself to put some distance between them. Rising to his feet, he held out his hand. "Are you ready for the workroom?"

  Disappointment flashed in her eyes for a split second, but when she let him pull her to her feet, all traces of hesitation were gone as she said, "Let's get started."

  *

  Charlie stood in the sunbeams streaming down through one of the four skylights in the roof. It sure as heck beat the holes and Plexiglas in her garage that served as her light source.

  "I love it." Which was pretty much the biggest understatement in the world, considering it was beyond her wildest expectations. Just like the bungalow. Just like the six-figure check.

  Just like Sebastian.

  Two days ago, she could never have imagined a man like him stepping into her world. Yet now, she could barely think of anyone--or anything--else.

  Even his barn had style and panache. Suspension pulleys hung from the ceiling, and workbenches lined the walls, along with cabinets, tool chests, and storage shelves. He'd promised to rent her an air compressor, and a brand new one stood in the front corner. The movers had rolled in her equipment, lined up her barrels, stacked her boxes, and laid out her parts on pallets.

  Just as she'd said to him a few minutes earlier, there were big expectations in an environment like this, especially when a hundred thousand dollars was on the line. She'd felt the first wallop when he'd handed her the check, then again watching the glorious light show in his building, and once more when they were soaring in his helicopter with the brilliance of the Bay beneath them, the sailboats gliding across the water, the cars marching along the freeway like ants. And though he'd been nothing but nice, she'd felt like an ant under his heel that could be crushed at any moment.

  At least, until he'd knelt beside her and asked if she wanted to work for free.

  With one simple question, he'd helped her see that the only boot heel crushing her was her own. If she let it. Which she wouldn't. She wouldn't allow the money--or any success that came--to change her. Instead, she would revel in this perfect place--and in being near Sebastian--for as long as it lasted.

  This, she was coming to see, was Sebastian's power. How with one sentence, he'd opened her eyes after she'd shut them because she was letting fear and worries get the best of her.

  "I should let you settle in, unpack your boxes, arrange your stuff, and make the place your own."

  He sounded like he didn't really want to leave, and a deep desire for him to stay tingled inside her. She wanted to show him every piece and how it worked. The urge to keep him near--and to bring him much, much closer--was so strong that she had to retreat a pace so it didn't spill over.

  "It's a long way back to your house from here." The property covered acres of rolling hills, now brown and dry in the summer sun, and they'd reached the bungalow and outbuildings along a winding driveway leading from his helipad. His house was almost invisible beyond another rise at least a quarter of a mile above them. If this was what his guest bungalow and barn looked like, she could only imagine the opulence of his home. He'd said he hadn't been born with money, and she wondered how he'd gotten used to all of this and how long that had taken. Would she ever feel like she fit in a place like this? In a limo or helicopter? Or would she only ever be truly comfortable in her ratty overalls and steel-toed boots? "Are you sure you don't want to call your helicopter to fly you up?"

  He barely stifled his laughter. "Are you begging for trouble?"

  Yes. She wanted his brand of trouble. Badly. "You're such a good sport I can't help myself." And she hadn't yet stopped being surprised by that fact. "It's fun to give you a bad time."

  "Bad?" The heat that radiated from him nearly jolted her farther back into the room. "Normally, I wouldn't care for the sound of that. But with you, I like the way bad sounds."

  Oh God, her knees actually went weak at the thought of just how good she already knew it would be.

  "Would you like to have dinner at my place tonight?"

  She had no idea what was in the bungalow's cupboards, though she suspected he'd had them fully stocked, along with the refrigerator. She could cook passable meals, though nothing like her mother's. But the truth was that she'd rather be with him. And she had no urge whatsoever to lie to herself when the truth looked and smelled as good as he did. "I'm usually starving by six, if that will work for you."

  "Six is perfect."

  For one long moment after he said the word perfect, she couldn't take her eyes off his lips, could barely resist the urge to devour him.

  But she hadn't been on his property an hour. And it was only a matter of days since he'd given her a six-figure check. Only remembering those two facts could have stopped her from giving in to the steamy air enveloping them.

  Sebastian had told her he didn't want her to think his desire for her art came with strings. When they finally did come together, Charlie didn't want any of those material things in the way either. Just heat. Just desire.

  And pleasure.

  "Thank you for the helicopter flight here. For loaning me your truck. For the beautiful bungalow. And, most of all, for knowing just the right thing to say right when I needed it."

  His gorgeous mouth turned up into a smile that made her want to forget all about her decision to keep sex and art separate for a little while longer. "Until tonight."

  The two simple words falling from his lips sounded like a promise.

  Or, better yet, a dare.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Thank goodness for the little sundress she'd thrown into her bag at the last second. Otherwise Charlie would have been totally underdressed for the terrace, the table setting, the view.

  And, most of all, for Sebastian.

  He was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt that molded perfectly to his chest. Whether executive style, casual, or something in between, he made her pulse sizzle. She could actually feel her blood's rapid thrum through her veins.

  She raised her wineglass. "Your house is amazing."

  A Spanish style, it was bordered with a breathtaking profusion of hydrangeas, azaleas, camellias, and rhododendrons. Inside, the floors were terrazzo tile inset with Spanish mosaics. The furniture suited, as if it had come from an old hacienda.

  The table on the terrace was intimately small, his knee close to hers, his scent as delicious as the food and more intoxicating than the wine. They were seated on a cozy terrace on the side of the house, with a view of the rolling hills, the suburban towns sprawled below, the San Mateo Bridge, the waters of the Bay, and the outline of a distant San Francisco. As Sebastian tapped his glass to hers with a ting of crystal, she felt the echo of its ring inside her.

  "I'm glad you like it. But I didn't design it."

  People rarely designed their own homes. But for some reason Sebastian seemed to think this was a failing on his part, even though she was fairly certain he hadn't trained as an architect. "Tell me about the art on your walls," she asked him, partly because it was all exquisite, but even more because she hoped it might give her more insight into the man behind the perfect face and the always immaculate clothes.

  "I choose things I like, things that catch my eye, regardless of how much anyone else thinks they're worth."

  Monet. Degas. John Singer Sargent portraits. She was all but certain they were the real thing, rather than prints. But there were also oils, watercolors, drawings, etchings, and a great deal of photography. He had an eclectic collection of art all over the house--sculptures by a relatively new artist named Vicki Bennett, Haitian ceremonial masks, wooden marionettes from Thailand, Burmese tapestries, elaborately feathered and beaded Pueblo kachina dolls, scrimshaw carvings, Satsuma vases.
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  His collection made the fact that he'd chosen her to create the fountain statue even more important--as though he actually thought she might be up there with all these brilliantly talented artists. Sebastian definitely wasn't a snob when it came to art. He clearly didn't care what anyone thought about his choices. Only that he loved them.

  Another point notched in his favor.

  A knock came and when Sebastian said, "Come on over, Rory," the waiter rolled a trolley through the open patio doors. Hmm, were they called waiters when you were in your own home? She honestly had no idea, and had never expected to find out. Just as she'd never expected to fly over the Bay Area in a helicopter.

  Or earn a hundred grand for one of her sculptures. She honestly wasn't sure when she'd finally believe her work was worth that much money...

  Smoothly, Rory removed their empty plates, stacking them on the bottom tray of the trolley. Dinner had been brochettes of beef, tomatoes, and roasted red peppers on a bed of risotto, plus broccoli seasoned with pepper and lemon. Charlie's eyes had practically rolled back in her head when she tasted the beef, and Sebastian seemed delighted by her enjoyment, his gaze fixed on her mouth. He hadn't touched her, yet somehow she felt as if his hands were doing delicious things to her all the while. If a breeze hadn't blown through, she might have had to fan herself.

  "English trifle," Rory announced, placing their bowls with a flourish.

  "Oh my," Charlie gasped. "That looks delicious."

  "Thank you, Rory," Sebastian said. "You've outdone yourself tonight."

  Sebastian wasn't just polite and complimentary with his staff. He was downright friendly and clearly didn't expect to be called sir or Mr. Montgomery. Given how well he was paying Charlie, she suspected Rory wasn't being stiffed, either.

  "Did you make all of this incredible food, Rory?" When the man nodded, she nearly leapt out of her chair to hug him. "I haven't eaten so well since my mother's last Thanksgiving feast."

  Looking pleased by her compliment, Rory topped up their wine, then rolled his trolley back in the way he'd come.

  She picked up a spoon and had just dipped into the whipped cream, custard, and raspberry sponge cake of the trifle, when Sebastian said, "Wait. It will taste best if you eat it like this."