Reckless In Love(51)

"I know." She could almost hear his teeth grinding when he said it.

Should she push? She knew his past was painful, and she hated bringing  it back. But how was she supposed to do anything for him when she didn't  know exactly what had happened?

"Who taught you that you had to be perfect?" she asked gently, as though  the more softly she spoke, the easier it would be for him to answer.

"No one taught me anything. I just like drawing for myself." His  knuckles cracked as his fist bunched. Watching him broke her heart into  ragged halves. And she wished she'd kept her mouth shut. He hadn't been  ready the last time she'd asked, and he wasn't ready now.

She was afraid he never would be.

She pretended she'd never brought up the subject, adopting a teasing  tone. "All right, then I won't look at you while you're sketching. I'll  pretend you're not even here." She licked her lips and fluttered her  eyelashes. "But you can look at me all you want."

She was surprised by his sudden kiss-rough, raw, and so passionate that her head was spinning by the time he drew back.

"That was way better than just looking," she murmured, her voice  breathless. She put her hand over his chest, felt his heart pounding  hard and fast beneath her palm. And she understood that his kiss was a  way of deflecting the question he didn't want to answer. "Is that a yes  to sketching me?"

He breathed in, held it, then finally exhaled on a sigh. "We're  different. You go into yourself as if you're not even aware of me while  you're working. But for me-it's a hell of a lot harder to know you're  watching me make one mistake after another." His explanation was  actually a concession, giving her a piece of what she so desperately  wanted to know.

She wanted to make him see it didn't have to be like that. "Can't it  just be for fun? You don't have to figure me out. It doesn't have to be  good." Pressing her lips to the side of his neck, she licked his  deliciously warm skin. "Come on, for me?"

"I don't have a sketchbook."

He was finally bending. She could feel it, and she nearly shouted with  glee, but managed to contain the victory. This was a start. All the rest  would come eventually-at least, she prayed it would. "I've got a  clipboard with some paper." Instead of getting them, she pushed against  him, his scent and his heat wrapping around her. "I'll give you a reward  later."

Looking down at her, his eyes were suddenly deep. "What kind of reward?"

"Whatever you want," she whispered.

"Anything?"

"Anything." Heck, she was almost ready to give him the reward right now, before he'd so much as made a mark on the paper.

He lifted her wrists, circling them with his hands. "Have I mentioned  that I have some brand new leather wrist ties at the house that I've  been thinking about a lot lately?" She was nearly panting as he added,  "Looks like they'll be just the right size."

"So it's a deal?"

He sealed his mouth to hers, stealing all her thought, her breath, before he whispered, "It's a deal."

She danced away to get him the clipboard and pencil, suddenly energized  from the gourmet breakfast. From Sebastian all predatory and sexual.  From knowing he'd sketch her while she worked. And then there'd be  lusciously hot nookie afterward.

Turning to her stallions, the vision suddenly burst to the surface, the  shot of energy Sebastian had given her starting her creative juices  flowing again. All at once, she could see why the horses looked  skeletal. Because they were-just bare metal rods stuffed into pipe  fittings. The rods needed filling out so that they emulated the curve of  muscle and the suppleness of sinew. Somehow over the past weeks, she'd  forgotten the brass pipes she'd found at the construction sale. They'd  be a perfect fit.         

     



 

She dove in to create the effect she wanted. But she didn't forget  Sebastian, not for one single second. Seated in one of the deck chairs  he'd brought in weeks ago, he balanced the clipboard on his legs, his  hands gliding over the page. After a while, he started asking questions,  and she was happy to answer them, especially if it meant he would keep  drawing.

"You're doubling up on the rods?"

"I'm going to augment what's there with the pipes. The brass will look like sinew and that will flesh out the muscles."

He drew as he spoke, his fingers flying. He looked up, down, tipped his  head one way, then the other. He talked, she answered and explained as  she manipulated the metal and tack-soldered the pieces into place.

When she got to the welding itself, however, there was just her, the  metal, and her torch for long enough that at some point Sebastian got up  to leave. Immersed in her work, she hadn't wanted to shut down and pull  off her mask to ask where he was going. Not until he waved a ham  sandwich under her nose, the aroma so tantalizing that her stomach  growled raucously.

"You're a life saver."

Throwing off her gear, she slid down into the deck chair next to his as a  new wave of exhaustion hit her. Hard. The work had sustained the flow  of energy through her body until the moment she'd stopped. Now she  honestly wasn't sure she could get out of the chair.

Seating himself next to her, Sebastian jutted his chin at the stallions.  "You were right, they needed filling out. Now you can see they're  racing like the wind."

"Before, they were stick figures." She took a bite of the simple  sandwich, then closed her eyes and sighed. Sitting down was as delicious  as the honey-roasted ham. "This gives them depth."

"You never cease to amaze me. The way you envision your art and how you  work. You try this thing, then that thing, changing it until finally the  work perfectly matches your vision."

"Isn't that what every artist does?" She spoke without thinking as she drank thirstily from the frosty mug he'd brought.

"No."

The simple word said it all. By this point she was too tired-literally a  million miles past exhausted, all the way down to her bones-to keep  pussyfooting around the issue. She was going to help him, damn it,  whether he wanted her to or not!

"Can I see the drawings you did of me?"

* * *

Charlie's tone was different. Not harder exactly. Not frustrated, either. But no longer the gentle persuasion she'd used before.

Her love for him still laced every word, but Sebastian instinctively  knew that didn't mean she'd back down any time soon. Just as he'd wanted  to facilitate her career by finding her all the new commissions, she  wanted to return the favor. The difference, however, was huge. She was a  brilliant artist who deserved every accolade. He was little more than a  hobbyist. Still, he wouldn't hide the sketches from her. He'd made that  mistake once, and he wouldn't make it again.

He handed her the clipboard.

"Oh my God, Sebastian." He'd caught her down on her haunches  scrutinizing the weld on a horseshoe as if she were a vet examining a  hoof for an abscess. "They're fabulous."

Of course she'd say that. She probably even half believed it. "They're  okay," he said as mildly as possible. And by okay he meant crap.

Holding up the clipboard, she tapped the picture. "Tell me what could  possibly be wrong with it? You've caught my concentration, even the  squint while I'm studying that weld. Your drawings make me actually feel  how hot it is in the room. And I swear the horses are going to fly off  the pages. You really can't see how brilliant your drawings are?"

"You have a vision, Charlie. You pound your work into submission, work  and rework metal and parts until it perfectly meets your vision." His  gut felt completely wrenched as he admitted, "I don't know what my  vision is. I never have."

"You keep talking about this vision thing as if it's a big deal. Keep  saying it's perfect. But half the time I hardly know what I'm going to  do with something until I stick it on somewhere and finally see its true  purpose. And we both know my work isn't perfect-how can it be, when I'm  slapping together disparate pieces of junk all day? It can't be  perfect, but it can make people feel."

"You don't think I wish I could make people feel what I want them to  feel when they look at my drawings?" A massive wave of frustration  rushed through his veins, and he stabbed so hard, his finger nearly  sliced through the paper. "All I wanted was to show your concentration,  your focus, your drive. But I can't get down what's in my head. I never  could."         

     



 

"Maybe that's it," she said slowly. "Maybe you should stop trying to  make people feel one way or another. Stop trying to control other  people's emotions through your art and just trust that they will feel  something, whether you intended it or not." Carefully, she smoothed out  the drawing. "You might have been trying to show my drive and focus, but  I'd much rather you did what's on the page instead-you showed my heart,  Sebastian. And I've never felt more beautiful or more appreciated than  when I look at this drawing."