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Her body was his sketchbook and he filled every inch until her body shuddered under his tongue, around his fingers. She tangled his hair, arched into him, and as she wrapped herself all around him, he prayed she felt his love for her in every kiss, every caress, every breath.
*
Charlie had long since fallen into an exhausted sleep in his arms and the sun was peeking over the horizon. Yet Sebastian still couldn't sleep.
She'd told him how beautiful his drawings were, how talented he was, that his sketches shouldn't be shoved in the back of a drawer like a dirty little secret. But if he truly had talent, then by now he should know how to help her fully realize her potential. He should have figured out how to convince her to step into the light and accept everything the world could give her.
He'd sensed her hesitation at the gala as people all but threw commissions at her, begging her to create sculptures for them. It was the same hesitation he'd felt with her more than a dozen times since then. It was almost as if she didn't want to be a huge success.
Sebastian frowned. Could he be reading her wrong? Was it possible she could be the one artist on earth who wasn't looking for acclaim or accolades? Or were all his screwups with her coloring everything else? First he'd blown it big time by offering to pay for her mother's care right after the first time they made love. Then tonight he'd lashed out at her for discovering a secret he shouldn't have kept from her in the first place. The fact that she hadn't walked out on him was a true miracle...and more than he deserved.
He tightened his arms around her, renewing his vow to get things right with her from now on--and to make sure he gave her absolutely everything she deserved. No matter what.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sebastian had made Charlie's body his work of art into the small hours of the morning, bringing her to ecstasy so many times she'd lost count. But even if she'd never had the pleasure of making love with him, she would still think he was a true artist in every sense of the word.
She had to find a way to make him believe that. And she knew where it had to start--with getting him to realize he didn't have to be Mr. Perfect. Was da Vinci perfect? Michelangelo? Of course not. And neither was she, with her dinosaurs built out of bullet-riddled road signs. That didn't mean she wasn't an artist. It didn't mean he wasn't either.
It was obvious his need to be perfect all came down to his parents. He was still broken up over not being able to save them. The drawings of his father, though, revealed so much. The lines on his face exposed not only weakness, but cruelty too. Sebastian had never mentioned a mean streak, but Charlie suspected there was more to the story than he'd admitted on stage--or to her. More, maybe, than Sebastian even wanted to admit to himself.
It was easy to spend all her time thinking about Sebastian. Wanting to give back as much as he'd already given to her. Just plain wanting him. But she needed to hustle on building the horses if she ever hoped to start the dinosaur for Noah.
Pulling down her face shield, she sparked up. The horses' legs needed to appear like fine machinery, pumping, working, galloping headlong. They didn't care that their master had been thrown to the ground in a heap or that the chariot was a broken shell they dragged behind them. They simply needed to fly. Just like Sebastian.
The day grew hot as she worked, and the protective gear and torch turned the heat on high, but still she lost track of time. She relished both the physica
lity of it and the ability to let her creativity run completely free. She'd just finished off a weld, its line clean and smooth, when a feeling struck her, a sense of something not quite right with her lead stallion.
She frowned and walked a wide circle around it. She'd sometimes asked her students to weigh in on a sculpture and had always been pleased by their insights. She still hadn't made a decision about the fall session--whether to keep one leg in her old world or to take the huge and scary step fully into Sebastian's world. And thinking about her students now made her stomach clench.
Pushing the thought away, she refocused on the horse and finally isolated the problem. Her prize stallion was bowlegged. Had she gotten the angle of his knee joints wrong? Or made his chest too wide?
"What's wrong?"
She almost dropped the torch in her surprise. Thank God she'd already turned it off. Laying it down, she flipped up her face mask. Her heart was racing as fast as her galloping stallions, and it wasn't only from the scare. It was Sebastian, all dressed up in a dark business suit and tie, his hair perfect, every-absolutely-freaking-thing perfect about him. She could feel his gaze sketching her body, as if he were running his fingertips over her.
"You scared me." Putting the face shield on the bench, she tugged off her gloves. "What if I'd been using my torch?"
"I wouldn't have said anything if you were," he drawled. "I just thought I'd bring you a refreshing bottle of beer." He set two imports on the workbench.
She wasn't normally a beer drinker, but with the heat of the day, her work, and Sebastian making her feel so temptingly hot... "God, that sounds good." As good as having him here with her in the studio, close enough to touch, to taste.
"So tell me what's wrong."
She pointed at her horse. "He's bowlegged."
"He looks fine."
She traced the lines of both legs with her hands to show him...and a memory of Sebastian's sleek muscles beneath her fingers sizzled over her skin.
He stepped in close, his male scent surrounding her, making her a tiny bit crazy. "You're right, he's totally bowlegged."
Laughter burst out of her. She wasn't a tiny bit crazy for him. She was over-the-top completely crazy.
"But he's good this way." Sebastian threaded his fingers through the tips of her hair. She loved that he couldn't do anything without touching her at the same time. "He's the handicapped horse that Ben-Hur gave a chance."
See? He was making up a story, like all great artists did. "Ben-Hur's kindness would have meant he was gambling with his life."
