"The reins," she said, unable to stem the awe from the clear vision she'd just had.
"From copper wire?" He looked more than a little surprised. "I'm going to have to see it to believe it."
Oh, she'd make him believe all right. She already saw the reins flowing out from the horses' bridles as if they were flying. She'd braid several pieces of wire to give it strength and width.
"It could work for the horses' tails too," he said, his tone offhand.
She sucked in a breath on a gasp. "Oh, my God. Single copper strands bunched together." It would seem as though they were blowing in the wind. "The tails will appear to be on fire when the sun hits them." She kissed him soundly on the mouth. "You're a genius."
He took the opportunity to put his hands on her waist before she could draw back. She felt his utter focus and concentration on her. He tucked away a lock of hair, trailing his finger along the shell of her ear.
When she shivered and fell into his gaze, she felt as if she were falling out of her normal life...and into a magical place where there was only his touch. Only his kiss.
Only Sebastian.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charlie's ability to amaze him never ceased. She found fantastical mysteries in other people's cast-offs. A dirt-encrusted gate could open the door to another world. A length of copper wire transmuted itself into the flapping reins of runaway stallions. He had no doubt she could do it. She saw inspiration in everything.
And Sebastian found inspiration in her.
She came alive when she was working, planning, visualizing. He'd given up on the drawing app and had continued to fill sketchbooks with images of her just like this-her eyes bright, her face shining, her lips smiling. Yet none of the drawings brought him closer to discovering why her work wasn't already world famous. Why she wasn't already a huge, glittering star in the art world. With her talent, beauty, and charm, she could easily command that world, the shining star on top of it all. By now anyone else would have been using his contacts to network, taking anything she could from him to advance her career. But not Charlie. No matter how many sketches he drew of her, he couldn't put his finger on the reason. But he would. Soon. Because Sebastian had long ago vowed never to give up on somebody with potential. Especially when that somebody had come to mean as much to him as Charlie already did.
Since she wouldn't take the money for her mother's care from him-he'd gently offered a few times more to help pay for Magnolia Gardens and she'd just as gently turned him down-that meant the only other way to help her pay for her mother's needs was to find buyers for the rest of her sculptures. He'd already made several phone calls to that end, but he wouldn't say anything to Charlie until he had a solid bite from a prospect.
"We didn't even spend a hundred dollars," he said as he pulled the truck in front of the workshop and began to unload the full bed. Even lunch had been a quick but excellent burrito off a taco truck. He'd never eaten from a food truck before-why would he, when he had the best private chefs in the world on speed dial?-but with her it had been both fun and delicious.
Charlie laughed as she set the gate she'd found against the studio wall. Admiring her strength-and knowing that she prided herself on her independence-he'd made himself stop offering to carry the heavy stuff all the time. "Why do you think I chose to work in the junk medium rather than expensive canvases or paints or marble statues?"
"Smart woman." He put the delicate and considerably lighter box of china cups and saucers on the workbench. Beautiful woman too.
She'd worn her steel-toed boots in deference to the junkyard terrain and a sexy sundress with minuscule straps in deference to the heat. He'd driven himself nuts the whole day, touching her hair, her face, her shoulders, her neck, anything he could flutter his fingertips across. He hoped he'd driven her nuts too.
"Guess what it's time for?" she asked, with a wicked arch of her brow.
He had a good dozen ideas of his own...all of which involved Charlie naked and gasping with pleasure beneath him. But she wasn't taking off her clothes; she was flicking the lid of the box with her fingernail.
"Smashing up the china for the base of the chariot. It'll be like aggression therapy," she said, a sexy come-hither sparkle in her eye.
"I don't need aggression therapy." No, he needed therapy of a completely different nature, on satin sheets with the night breeze cooling their sweaty, naked bodies. He wanted her badly enough by now to throw all his caution against the wall.
"Sure you do," she murmured in a slightly husky voice as she took a step closer. The spicy, sexy scent of her skin beckoned him, and his fingers flexed, his muscles bunched, ready to pounce like a mountain lion. "Everyone has some anger they need to let out."
"Even you?"
"I'm angry as hell that my mother is always in pain. What are you angry about?"
My father for being a selfish asshole. The words landed in his brain before he even knew they were coming.
As if she knew he wasn't able to say the words aloud, she simply handed him a cup and whispered, "Toss it."
Her words were so low, so seductive, that she could have been begging him to touch her, taste her, take her. He leaned into an overhand throw against the far wall. And the cup shattered.
"What an arm," she cheered, punching the air. "But we might need a little less exuberance. Or we won't get any pieces at all."
"Your turn." He shoved a saucer into her hand. She'd been right-the act of smashing the cup felt like it had smashed some of the anger boiling away in places he'd thought had gone cold a long time ago.
She narrowed her gaze and he could see her focusing on her anger about her mother's illness a beat before she executed an underhand toss like a dancer, arm out, up, rising on her toes, letting the delicate porcelain sail and drop.
It broke into solid lines on the concrete. One half remained intact, lying upside down.
"Your turn again," she drawled, then gave him a flirty smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. He felt the heat of her skin, caught the breathy exhalation. And suddenly this wasn't only about unleashing anger.
It was also about seduction.
He tossed the cup. She chose another saucer and threw it right after his. Everything broke with a tinkle of china. The intact half of the saucer snapped as they piled on.
"More," she said, grabbing, tossing, breaking, faster, one on top of the other.
Her breath came harder, her cheeks were flushed, her lips red, wet, inviting. He wanted to sink into her while he stroked her tongue with his, tasted her lips, feasted on her, the breaking glass ringing in their ears.
"Another," she urged him. One after the other, saucers and cups sailed through the air, crashing hard against the wall, until the box was empty and the concrete in the center of the barn was a rainbow of colored chips. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of perspiration, and all he could think about was licking off the salt, reveling in it.
He didn't think, didn't blink, before hauling her up against him and taking her mouth. She was all spice, sweet and hot. As strong as she was, in his arms she felt as petite and delicate as the china. She devoured him even as he consumed her. Her body heat singed his fingertips as he molded his hands to her waist.
No other woman made him lose himself so completely. The workshop doors stood wide, yet he didn't care. And he couldn't bring himself to heed the cautionary thought that it would be better to wait, to make sure that they weren't toxic to each other before they took this next step. There was only a hard ache inside him, an overwhelming desire to fit himself inside her.
He yanked a spaghetti strap down her arm, then molded her breast in his hand, roughly teasing the tip to a hard peak. She moaned into his mouth, a heady sound that played every chord in his body, vibrating through him.
Until today, he'd made himself take it slow. Made himself take care not to fall too far, too fast, too hard before he was totally sure their feelings for each other wouldn't be their mutual destruction.
But slow was completely impossible now.
His hand slid over her hip, his fingers tugged up the thin material of her dress, and her bare thigh singed his palm. Her kisses stole his breath and fogged his mind, while the heat of her skin made him completely crazy.
"Sebastian." Her eyes were drugged, her lips swollen, her hair framing her gorgeous face. If she'd stepped out of his arms, he'd have made himself let her go. But she molded her hand tightly over his on her breast, then dragged his head down for another intoxicating kiss. He stroked her tongue with his, caressed the hard nub beneath his fingers, and tested the flesh along the line of her barely-there thong, the temperature rising to steamy.