She knew she should go. Work. At least think about work. Or be independent in some way about something. But, oh, it was difficult to even think of leaving Sebastian's bed, to willingly give up all the pleasure that was only a kiss, only a caress away.
As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he stirred, then began to slowly slide his hand over her stomach. So slowly that by the time he reached the vee between her legs, she was arching into his touch.
"I know I've taken you too many times already-"
She rolled to face him, her naked breasts pressed against his broad chest. "There could never be too many times."
He kissed her hard and hot, devouring her. "Never," he echoed against her mouth. "I'll never be able to get enough of you."
She wound her arms around his neck and rubbed sinuously against him. "You said you like it when I'm greedy, and right now, I want more." More and more. Sebastian was right-there would never be enough.
He pulled her on top, and she nuzzled his chest as he slid his hand between them.
"I love the way you do that," she said against his salty skin and the light fur of hair.
"What?" he murmured against her ear.
"The way you like to touch me. Always kissing me, putting your hands on me." She sighed out her pleasure, gently rocking on him. "Making me crazy."
"I love the silk of your hair against my skin." Her hair was a mess, its tendrils all over him. And she loved that he loved it. "What do you want?" he whispered.
"You." She rolled her face against his chest, her hips creating a rhythm against his hand. "Now," she added, her voice a breathy plea.
He donned protection, then rolled with her almost lazily until they were wrapped around each other in the most beautiful way possible. "Mmm." It was all she could manage.
He was slow and sweet, building the sensations, his body surrounding her, the covers warm against the chill of the night wind off the Bay. She could almost be dreaming, almost be asleep, her eyes fluttering their pleasure beneath heavy lids. The explosion when it came was pure bliss as they shuddered together, the pulse of their pleasure simultaneous.
And then she fell down into something like sleep, holding him inside a few moments longer. She would always want and need a few moments more, she thought dreamily. She would always want more of him...
* * *
An idea for the horses came to Charlie in the middle of the night. One so vivid that it woke her up.
She used to make the mistake of thinking she'd remember her middle-of-the-night thoughts, but come morning they were always lost to the darkness. Unless she wrote them down.
It had never been this difficult to get out of bed at three a.m. before. Given that she was sleeping with the most gorgeous man on the planet, curled in his strong arms, it was no wonder she hadn't been able to rouse herself to do some work earlier. No one would have been able to resist Sebastian's touch, his kisses.
Fully awake now-and he was dead asleep this time-she took care to slip soundlessly from the bed. She had no idea where he'd tossed any of her clothing in their mad rush to tumble into his bed earlier that evening, so she pulled his shirt over her bare skin. It smelled mouthwateringly of him, all male, all sexy, yummy... Stop dreaming, Charlie. She needed paper, a pencil. Not seeing any, she followed the moonlit path across the thick Persian rug to a small study. Stepping inside, she found a chair and a side table stacked with books and a bunch of sketchbooks.
She switched on the standing lamp beside the chair. Why would Sebastian have a mound of sketchbooks? Trying to be quiet so she wouldn't wake him, she reached for the top one, but the pile wobbled and several fell to the floor before she could catch them.
Bending to retrieve them, she couldn't help seeing a sketch that had fallen open on the carpet...and her jaw dropped in awe.
It was a pencil drawing of her face, one in which the artist had caught her intensity, as if she were far away in deep thought. He'd captured the frown line between her eyes so effectively that Charlie actually reached up to her face to smooth away the wrinkle. He'd added a beauty to her features that was almost otherworldly, but at the same time the stroke of his pencil made her a little pensive.
Her hands shaking as she picked up the sketchbook, she flipped to another page. Here, she was laughing. The artist had even created the sparkle in her eye.
She knew without a doubt the artist was Sebastian.
My God, he had startling talent. The sketches were so detailed, the drawings could have been black and white photographs. She could almost feel the texture of her hair, her eyelashes, the slope of her cheeks. He'd added the lines of concentration at her eyes, the marks of the face shield after she'd removed it, and caught her nose at that angle she hated, making it look bigger than she liked. Yet in his work, even those things were beautiful. Occasionally there was a line here or there that seemed slightly off, but that only made the drawings more poignant, as if he saw her flaws and didn't care. There were drawings of her laughing, talking, eating, working, even one of her looking up at him from the hot tub's bubbling waters. Sometimes she was frowning, sometimes a secret smile curved her lips.
He'd filled several pads, as if every night after she left, he came here to put her face on paper.
They were unbelievably good, the kind of drawings that should be framed and sold for thousands. Sebastian could have a show of his own, one where everything sold out immediately. He was brilliant.
Utterly magnificent.
Why hadn't he told her about his art, his wonderful talent? Why did he hide it away in a room she would never have entered if she hadn't been searching for a piece of paper? All of this was inside of him, and yet he'd only talked about her talent, her art, her commissions.
She'd trusted him enough to tell him about her mother's illness, about Shady Lane and how badly she'd needed the money to pay for a better place. She'd even turned her mother's welfare over to him, letting him bring in doctors. She'd told him she loved him, for God's sake. Yet he hadn't trusted her with his secret.
As an artist, she knew just how vital creation was to her soul. This was clearly a huge part of what made Sebastian the man he was, and they could have shared their love of art. No wonder he'd had so many helpful ideas for her chariot and horses. His interest in the drawing program suddenly made sense too. An iPad lay on the floor, as if he'd started playing with that as well. Creation was in his blood.
But he hadn't told her.
Knowing he didn't want to share his work wounded her deeply. It meant he didn't trust her with this special piece of himself.
And yet...
When she looked at the drawings again, she saw all incarnations of herself, from the overalls and steel-toes to her descent of the Regent's staircase in her consignment dress. There was even a sketch of her at the designer shop wearing the velvet and pearl dress.
She'd worried that he hadn't actually seen her until the gala when she'd walked down the stairs and into his arms, that he hadn't truly wanted her until she could fit into his glittering Cinderella world. But these drawings showed that he'd seen the real Charlie all along-her independence, her commitment to her vision, even her playfulness.
Most of all, she saw his love for her. And knew that it had been there all along too.
None of that explained why he hadn't shared his talent with her, but in the face of so much love, how could she possibly hold on to her hurt? As she moved her fingers over yet another superb drawing, she vowed to help him bring his art into the open.
He had done so much for her, again and again. Now, she would do the same for him. No matter what.
Perhaps she should have used a blank page to draw the now nearly forgotten vision from her dream, but she couldn't resist looking through more of his sketches. And she saw that she wasn't his only subject. She found sketch after sketch of a couple in their thirties. The similarity in the man's jawline and mouth to Sebastian's features tipped her off to their identities.
His parents.
Her heart raced as she studied the pictures carefully. Though obviously a good-looking man, there was also a weakness in his father's face-a weakness there was no evidence of in Sebastian's. His mother was pretty, but tired and worn. And yet, what came through was Sebastian's love for them. It was in the details, the laugh lines at his mother's mouth, the occasional hint of a smile in his father's eyes and around his mouth despite the slightly slack skin.
"What are you doing?" Sebastian's voice was like a slap out of the dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sketchbooks slid off Charlie's lap in her surprise, one falling open to the drawing from the night of the gala. Sebastian marched into the small room, filling it, overwhelming it, his face shadowed and his eyes dark. He'd pulled a pair of sweats over his lean hips, leaving his chest bare and beautiful. Her mouth went dry, from the sight of him as much as from the knowledge that she'd been snooping through his private sketchbooks.