She didn't jump at his offer. Didn't do anything for long enough that he actually began to worry she might say no. Though he couldn't understand why she would possibly turn down his offer.
"Well," she finally said, "I am off school for summer break. Classes don't start again until the fall."
He eased closer, catching the perfume of woman and sparks. He wanted her art-and her-more than he'd ever wanted anything or anyone before in his life. "Is there anything else standing in your way?"
She paused again, her expression shifting in ways he couldn't quite understand. There was excitement there, but also wariness and continued confusion. At last she said, "No, I guess not."
Now that her mind was made up, she looked at him directly, her eyes glittering like emeralds. In an instant, the spark of desire lit between them again.
"What exactly did you have in mind?" she asked.
You. In my bed. For a month straight. Longer than that. For as long as I can convince you to stay.
But what he said instead was, "A stallion."
The sweet and sultry sound of her laughter made it nearly impossible not to reach for her, to drag her into his arms and find out if her mouth tasted as sweet as it looked.
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." She gave him a slow blink, then a sexy arch of her eyebrows. "Although I was thinking more in terms of a T-Rex."
"A killer dinosaur?" His own laugh rumbled up. Only his fellow Mavericks could make him laugh so easily. But despite her baggy overalls and vast skills with power tools, she was worlds away from being one of the guys.
She pointed at the garage. "Didn't you see my masterpiece inside?" She said the word masterpiece far too mockingly.
He spoke the absolute truth. "I saw only you."
She stilled, blinked, and the afternoon heat wrapped around them, tugging him another step closer. So close that he could practically feel the heat radiating from her skin to his.
"You really should see the T-Rex." She murmured the words as if they were talking about moonlit nights rather than a vicious dinosaur made out of all manner of sharp castoffs. "I'm building it out of road signs riddled with bullet holes. Battle-scarred, but alive and kicking despite its hunters."
"Isn't the T-Rex the hunter?"
"They're misunderstood," she supplied simply. "But the truth is, even if you like him, I have to let your space speak to me first. And if you want me to build something for you-" She held his gaze, her finger just short of tapping his nose. "-you have to let the space choose what's right."
Charlie's property clearly needed more than a new roof. But instead of rolling over like most artists who were desperate to sell their work, she wouldn't be pushed. He was amazed that she appeared to be as open as her art-no artifice, nothing to hide. No smoke, no mirrors. Easygoing Charlie-not-Charlotte. And he found her more attractive than any glittering, cosmetically enhanced celebrity or society woman he'd ever dated. More intriguing.
More everything.
"Deal. The space chooses the sculpture." He reached for his checkbook, then pulled a pen from the pocket over his heart. He wrote the numbers, signed his name, and handed her the check.
She read, gripping the paper tightly between her fingers as if a sudden gust of wind might whip it away. But when she raised her eyes, her beautifully lush mouth was a flat line. "This is a joke."
"I never joke about a hundred thousand dollars. I know that whatever you fill my empty space with will end up being worth more than that, Charlie." As he held her gaze and said, "A hell of a lot more," he wondered if she understood that he was talking about far more than her work.
Because something told Sebastian that Charlie just might be his destiny after all.
CHAPTER TWO
One hundred thousand dollars.
Charlie stared at the check. She couldn't believe it. But there were the numbers, written out in all that lovely script. The man's handwriting was as beautiful as his face. And his clothes. And especially his body beneath the expensive suit pants and shirt.
Of course she'd recognized Sebastian Montgomery's name when his broker called to make the appointment. She couldn't open her Internet home page without seeing the face of the media mogul and self-help guru. But she'd refused to let herself get worked up. Especially when his broker told her that Mr. Montgomery had a mild interest in her work after seeing the dragon. She'd figured he'd look at her junk and walk away like pretty much everyone else did.
Instead...the fabulously gorgeous billionaire had just written her an enormous check for a piece of her magnificent junk.
Was it possible that he had more money than sense? It wasn't too great a stretch to assume that all filthy-rich people were a tiny bit off their rockers, was it?
His sleek black luxury vehicle, which sure as heck hadn't come off any showroom floor because she'd never seen anything like it, was covered in dust from her dirt-and-gravel drive. And yet somehow, even after tromping through her dusty acre, his white dress shirt was pristine, his slacks were still perfectly creased, and his shoes had actually retained their shine. Lord if the man didn't smell good too, like sun and long stretches of white sand beach. Whereas she was dressed in stained overalls, an ancient tank top, and filthy work boots. Not to mention her hair had to be sticking out every which way.
She hadn't expected Sebastian to make her skin heat and her breath catch. And she definitely hadn't expected him to write her a six-figure check.
"I guarantee it won't bounce."
Normally she would have laughed or made a joke. But she was holding on to ninety-nine thousand too many dollars to remember how to do either of those things. All she could remember was how to be honest. "I'm overwhelmed."
True honesty, however, would be to admit that she wished she'd run a comb through her hair, put a little gloss on her lips, and swapped out the overalls and boots for a dress and heels. Even if the only fancy outfit she owned was as outdated as the house and in not much better shape. She'd never worried about her looks, but this man brought out a need in her to be, well, feminine.
And yet, even though she wasn't looking at all pretty right then, somehow he managed to make her feel appreciated. Desired. All with just a look.
Oh God...she was way out of her depth.
But did she ever need that money. Desperately. And not for a new roof either. She knew she'd appeared casual, aloof even, when she'd assumed he'd offer her a few hundred dollars for a sculpture. But this kind of money was life-changing. In the best possible ways.
"No need to be overwhelmed," he reassured her. "I know you can do this for me."
Actually, she'd be doing it for her mother. With that much cash, Charlie could finally get her mom out of the substandard care facility in Fremont that was all Charlie could afford, and into the great facility in Los Gatos. The new retirement home had an entry fee that Charlie hadn't had any hope of raising until Sebastian Montgomery walked into her life and literally handed her the chance to make her mother's life better.
One hundred thousand would take care of the entry cost and pay for a few months. And if Charlie could keep up the fees for five years, then her mother would be guaranteed a room in the facility even if they ran out of money. It was a gamble, though, because if she couldn't make the monthly payment, Charlie would lose the deposit along with having to move her mother again. But what if Sebastian Montgomery's project were the beginning of everything, opening other doors that might lead her to the financial miracle she desperately needed?
So even if she was more than a little stunned by how much he seemed to like her sculptures-and though the idea of stepping into a glittering and glossy world like his for any length of time was daunting-Charlie knew she couldn't blow it. Stuffing down the inner voice that said a world like Sebastian's was beyond her, she said, "Scratch the overwhelmed part. When do I start?"
"I like your enthusiasm."
When he grinned at her, it was impossible not to grin back. He was the best-looking man she'd ever set eyes on, the kind of guy who could turn a girl's head, to use the old phrase.
Hers had turned the second she'd spotted him standing in the doorway of her studio.
"I'm sure you'll want to see the space as soon as possible, so I'll pick you up tomorrow at eleven and you can inspect the lobby in full sunlight."
When he wanted something, he obviously didn't waste any time. A part of her wanted to spend some time inventorying her junk in case something fit when she saw the fountain, but with the check practically burning a hole in her hand, she said, "Eleven sounds perfect."
"We should talk about your workshop too."