He needed more. More. And he couldn't wait for it, knew he'd die if he didn't touch her. When she pushed the back of his head until his lips found her nipple, he knew she felt exactly the same way.
He kissed her, licked, sucked, savored. Her body vibrated with hot, sweaty need, and she moaned, her legs tight around him, her body arching along the ridge of his erection. One after the other, his brain fired off orders he was beyond desperate to obey.
Touch her.
Taste her.
Pleasure her.
He flipped up the hem of her enticing sundress and put his palm on her center, letting her heat seep into him. "Here." The one word was a whisper of need, a rasp of desire. "Now. I need to touch you, Charlie."
He had never needed before, not like this, beyond the physical, deep into emotional territory. He truly felt as though he would die if he lost her. He'd never had such a thought about another woman, only Charlie. She was to die for.
Before the semi-destructive thought could paralyze him, she put her lips to his and hummed a hot little pleasure sound deep in her throat. "Here. Now. Touch me."
Less than a heartbeat later, he was sinking his finger into her wet heat. She was so ready, her body quivering. He took her lips again, kissing her hard, delving deep, while he played over her arousal. Her hands roamed up and down his arms, cupping his face, into his hair, while her boots scraped the backs of his thighs restlessly. Panting, biting her lip, she looked up at him and he saw that a flush had turned her cheeks pink and her pupils were dilated.
He leaned closer, his reflection in her gaze, and filled her with his fingers. Hard, fast, he took her until her head fell back, her hair cascading across the bench. She gasped twice, then cried out, her body tightening, releasing. The perfume of her climax enveloped him as a full body flush turned her skin hot.
"Oh, God. Sebastian."
Sweet Lord, he wanted to thrust so deep and high inside her that they became a part of each other. Wanted to wrap himself all around her and never let go.
Yet he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Not when making love to her would only bring them closer...and he still didn't understand what made her tick at her very core. And while Charlie had made it clear that she wanted him, it was obvious that she was still afraid to trust him, still afraid that any help he offered had strings attached.
Though he ached with unrelenting need, all he could do now was hold her close for another few precious seconds and allow himself the pleasure of breathing in her luscious scent.
"Soon."
She reached out, her hand fluttering, lighting on his arm, his throat, his cheek, and finally her fingers on his lips. He knew he was right to draw back when she nodded and echoed the word back to him. "Soon. Although," she said as she licked her lips, "I'm dying to touch you too. Here. Now."
He couldn't hold back his groan of need, even as he said, "If you put your hands on me-" He closed his eyes a moment to let himself soak in the sexy vision before brutally shoving it away. "I won't be able to stop."
She stared at him for a long moment, one that had him wondering if she was going to reach for his belt despite all their well-intentioned reasons for waiting. But in the end, she simply sat up and said, "If you're not going to let me touch you-" She huffed out a long breath of regret that he felt down to his very marrow. "-then we should get back to finding the best pieces for our mosaic."
We. Our. He loved that, how even after he'd worked like hell to put the brakes on, she was not only in agreement, but wasn't holding anything against him out of sheer frustration.
Oh yeah, every sign pointed to Charlie Ballard being special. Being the one. Soon he would know for sure-whether it was through his sketches or simply by spending more time with her. Once he was absolutely convinced they wouldn't hurt each other the way his parents had, he'd make damn sure they got their fill of each other, morning, noon and night, with no brakes anywhere in sight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A few days later, Sebastian needed to fly back East. He usually enjoyed his business trips, different sights, a change of pace-but this time, he didn't want to leave Charlie. This meeting had been scheduled a month ago, before everything started changing inside him. He'd invited her to come, but just as he'd expected, she wouldn't desert the chariot.
So he went alone to New York and had a good meeting with the TV network that wanted to carry his series of motivational programs on creating success in everyday life. Even better, over drinks he met with a friend who mentioned a new hotel back in Northern California where they were looking for a big, impressive garden centerpiece. In an instant, Sebastian knew that Charlie's work was meant to be there. One quick phone call got Sebastian an appointment for the day he returned.
He would have headed home that night, but he'd promised Susan and Bob he'd stop in to see them in Chicago. If not for them, he'd never go back there. None of the Mavericks would. The bad memories of Chicago overshadowed the good, even though they'd long since moved Susan and Bob out of the seedy neighborhood and into a big house on a tree-lined street.
"Honey, we're so glad you came."
Susan had prepared his favorite dish, beef bourguignon, which had been simmering all day in the slow cooker despite the Illinois summer heat. The house smelled like ambrosia, and now they were sitting outside on the deck enjoying a slightly cooler evening. A light breeze washed over him, reminding him of Charlie's fingers in his hair.
Susan looked younger every day, if that could be believed. Life was treating her well. She was slender and healthy, walking five miles every day, at least in summer. "You look great. Have you done something new with your hair?"
She patted her silver locks and smiled. "Just a different rinse."
She was only fifty-five, but most of those years hadn't been kind. She'd been a waitress at a diner, and Bob had been a baggage handler at O'Hare. They'd started their family young, Daniel coming along when they were only twenty, and their daughter Lyssa ten years later. Then there were the Mavericks, the rough-and-tumble teenage boys they'd taken in and raised. Bob and Susan were givers, even when they hadn't had enough to give. Sebastian was inspired by them every day.
Bob pointed to the top of his bald head. "Hey, what about me?"
"Oh, honey, I love your bald head." Susan reached over to stroke the shiny skin.
Sebastian loved the way they were with each other. He couldn't remember them fighting, not like his parents. His parents had loved hard, drunk hard, fought hard. Whereas Susan had always told Sebastian that in any argument, you had to stop, think, and then speak. It was advice that had served him well in business negotiations over the years.
Bob rose from his chair. "I'm going to water the rose bushes. They look a little parched."
"Thanks, honey." She gave him an affectionate swat on the behind as he passed, then he practically jogged down the steps. "He's got a whole new lease on life after his back surgery. I'm so glad you boys talked him into it."
No matter how much money the Mavericks earned, Bob and Susan never took anything for granted. It was only when the pain from an old work injury had become debilitating that Bob allowed Daniel and the rest of them to pay for the surgery. Of course they'd gotten him the best, flying in a surgeon from London.
He could do the same for Charlie's mom. She might not ever jog down a flight of stairs, but if she could live without pain, it would be worth it.
Susan put her hand over his on the arm of his chair. "You've got a different look about you too. Let me guess...you've found someone special, haven't you?"
He didn't even try to play it cool, not when Susan was the heart-and-soul guru for all the Mavericks. She saw all, knew all, understood all.
"Her name's Charlie."
"Charlie." There was a smile in Susan's voice. "I like her name."
"It's short for Charlotte. But Charlie suits her so much better." Anticipating her next question, he said, "I hired her to create the sculpture for the lobby." He didn't have to explain which lobby. He talked with Susan at least once a week, but he hadn't yet mentioned Charlie because he'd hoped to have her figured out before being peppered with questions.
"An artist. Like you. That's wonderful." Susan was always so generous with her praise, even though she knew he'd never think of himself as an artist. "She's made her way into your sketchbook already, hasn't she?"
"You always know way too much."
She squeezed his hand. "You're my boys."
He'd always been amazed that Susan had never made a distinction between the children she'd given birth to and the rest of the Mavericks. She loved them all equally. In many ways, he believed the Mavericks had needed her more even than the children she had carried inside her.