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Charlie had never given a hoot about anyone pondering her sex life. What she and Sebastian did was their own business, and while she'd never regret being with him, she couldn't stand the thought of anyone assuming she'd traded her art for sex.
Her gaze flew to Walt. Was that what he thought?
Clearly able to read her inside and out, Sebastian curled his arm around her waist, but that only made her spiral down. Everyone would see the blush he brought to her cheeks, the way he made her bones melt, how he put stars in her eyes...and they'd know she was completely, recklessly smitten with the beautiful billionaire. It had nothing to do with being in his league. Charlie didn't believe in that kind of stuff, but she did recognize that they were from different worlds. Until tonight, she and Sebastian had been together only in her world, full of junk and metal and welding tools. Now, she was smack in the middle of his glittering world.
She pulled off that feat with her own brand of glitter, but she couldn't help feeling like an impostor, because in the morning, all her glitter would wash down the drain.
"Come, we must introduce you around." Walt turned to the side and waved a hand. "Have you met Evan and Whitney Collins?"
Evan Collins was the fifth Maverick. As handsome and fit as the rest, he was their finance guy and the only married Maverick. "It's great to meet you, Charlie. This is my wife, Whitney."
Draped in a floor-length red dress with a slit up the side--one of the dresses that Charlie had rejected, in fact--Whitney Collins had a figure that made men drool. With auburn hair, she was polished, perfect, and obviously bored out of her mind by everyone and everything around her. Her handshake was limp, and the once-over she gave Charlie clearly rated the brocade skirt, camisole, shoes, and beaded clutch as horribly unfashionable.
"Hmm," was all she said, the taut skin on her face hardly moving around the small sound.
Thankfully, Walt quickly moved them on through the sea of faces. It was more than a little exhausting for Charlie to chitchat with so many new people, trying to remember as many names as possible, but Sebastian was clearly in his element. What's more, he seemed to know everyone, asking about their latest project or triumph, about their kids. She was continually amazed at his skill in turning people's compliments back around to their achievements rather than his own.
Even more amazing? Between Sebastian and Walt talking up her artwork, people were literally throwing commissions at her. A garden in Woodside, a fountain in Atherton, a gazebo on Nob Hill, a condo in Palm Springs, all of which desperately needed a piece by Charlie Ballard.
It was thrilling. At least, it should have been, because taking all these jobs meant she'd never have to worry about her mother again. But twenty-four hours a day wouldn't be enough time to create all of these designs. Already she was doing rapid-fire calculations in her head to figure out what she could give up to make it work.
Worse, she couldn't shake the thought that Sebastian's peers were offering her commissions simply to make points with him.
"Are you okay?" Sebastian asked when they finally had a few seconds to themselves.
She couldn't admit she was panicking again. Not when he'
d handed her everything on a silver platter. She couldn't fathom how he did it--be on like this for hours, schmoozing, prowling, moving, talking, constantly at attention. It seemed to energize him. But it would drive her insane.
"Everyone is being so complimentary and friendly." She lifted one foot to take the pressure off for one precious moment. "I'm just not used to wearing heels."
He tangled his fingers in the hair at her nape. "I should have been paying better attention to you."
"You have been." She smiled at him. "No one has ever been so attentive."
"I can do even better," he promised as he slid a finger seductively along the waist of her skirt, sliding down to caress the sensitive skin of her lower back as they slipped away from the group. "Let's start by getting you another glass of champagne and some food." Sebastian picked up a plate, his lips close to her ear as he whispered, "Tell me what you want."
His arms molded her tightly to his body, and she felt every muscle, every ridge against her more delicate frame. She was hot, liquid, and crazy for him. And one desire after another whizzed through her head.
A great big bite of you.
A long sip of your lips.
Your heat against me.
Inside of me.
She'd worried earlier about people thinking their attraction was the reason Sebastian supported her art. Now, though she heard voices, the clink of plates, the splash of drinks into glasses, she simply didn't care what anyone else thought. In this moment, there was only Sebastian's arms around her, his sweet breath in her ear, his soft hair beneath her fingers.
She knew him in ways the people at this party never would, saw things in him other people could never understand. They felt his charisma, but she recognized his inner beauty, the man who cared, the little boy who still needed to help in any way he could.
Charlie had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted Sebastian. More than teaching. More than the money for her mother. More than her art. She wanted all of him. Now. Tonight. No matter what happened after she finished work on the chariot and they went back to their normal lives. Even if it turned out that he preferred the shiny, glittering Charlie she'd unearthed tonight to the dusty, junkyard woman she'd been until this moment.
Tonight, it was time to give in to the recklessness. Time to finally look into his eyes and say, "You. All I want is you."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sebastian grabbed Charlie's hand and all but dragged her to the elevators. The moment the doors closed behind them, he pushed her up against the wall. Imprisoning her wrists above her head in one hand, he took her lips hungrily, devouring her until she moaned and wrapped her leg around his calf.
