And when he answered, “Yes, I’m here,” for a moment he actually felt as if he’d discovered his destiny.

That thought was pure whimsy; he’d found his destiny the first time he stood on a stage and encouraged people to change their lives. But everything about Charlie Ballard and her creations made him feel as though he’d walked into a fantasy. One where the normal rules didn’t apply, and the only thing that mattered was passion—passion for both the art that surrounded him and the woman who’d created it.

Which was why he didn’t hold back, didn’t bother to act nonchalant. “You’re a genius.”

Her eyes went wide with surprise at his compliment for a split second, before she smiled at him. One perfect smile that rocked his world yet again. “Thank you.”

She didn’t ask him to tell her which was his favorite piece, didn’t press for more compliments, and he was struck by her quiet confidence. It was something he’d found to be extremely rare when most people were desperate for as many ego strokes as they could get.

“Let me introduce myself.” He held out his hand, dying to feel her skin against his. “Sebastian Montgomery.”

“Charlie Ballard.”

An electrical charge ran through him as she slid her hand into his. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so deeply affected. Her grip was firm, with a ridge of calluses along her palm. She wore no flowery scent, just the heady aroma of woman and the metals she worked with. His world was filled with women who glittered with jewels and smelled like designer perfume. But Charlie Ballard sparkled with life, and all her contrasts intrigued him. The gorgeous red hair and steel-toed work boots. The sexy tank top and old overalls. The slightly upturned nose and kiss-me lips that she’d hidden beneath a welding mask. Lips that were now curving into a ghost of a smile, as if she’d felt that same zap of electricity when they came skin to skin.

He nearly asked if he could kiss her. Instead, he forced himself to keep that question under wraps for the time being. “Is Charlie short for something?”

“My parents named me Charlotte. But as we all soon discovered—” She held the baggy overalls out to each side with a grin. “—I was more of a Charlie.”

No, even at first glance he could see she was both—the beauty and the tomboy. Beneath the drab fabric, he could easily guess at her curves, the indentation of her waist, the taut length of leg. Again, the urge to sketch her—and all her magnificent creations—was stronger than it had ever been for him before.

Sebastian’s art broker, Xander Smith, had set up the appointment for three o’clock. Xander would have attended, but a last-minute crisis demanded his attention. Now Sebastian was glad he’d had the chance to see the elephant and the fighting rams for the first time with no one else around. And he definitely didn’t want to share his time with Charlie.

He’d already told her she was a genius. Reminding himself that going on about her beauty at this stage in the game would definitely be pushing things too far, he said, “I’m a bit early, but I’m glad that gave me time to tour your garden.”

She laughed, and the sound was throaty, deeper than he’d expected from a woman who was almost a foot shorter than he. Granted, he was tall at six-three, and her work boots added a couple of inches to her height, but her head still didn’t reach higher than his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a garden,” she said in a smooth, soft tone that only served to stoke his attraction to her.

As they talked, he led her back out into her yard, wanting to see her beauty amid all the splendor she’d created. “How about a menagerie?”

She smiled again, and he simply couldn’t control his response to it, his body heating up several degrees just looking at her. Just standing so close. Her smile was as beautiful as everything else about her, even the lingering dents in her forehead from the face shield and the shimmer of perspiration on her cheeks and upper lip.

“Now that’s a diplomatic term.” Her smile was wry as well as beautiful. Intelligent too. She rested her hands on her hips, her boots planted apart in the dust and gravel. “Mr. Smith said you liked my dragon.”

“Please, he’s Xander and I’m Sebastian. And like most art brokers, he prefers to keep things understated. But I don’t. Which is why you need to know I think your dragon is magnificent.”

“Magnificent.” She repeated the word as though she was more than a little surprised by his reaction to her art. She tipped her chin at the collection in the yard. “Most people call it junk.”

Sebastian was impressed by how well she hid any sense of offense at the word junk. Still, he’d built his career on looking beneath the surface of people, and he could see that it did, in fact, hurt her. Maybe only a little, but he knew all too well how the small hurts could add up. Especially when it came to one’s art and creative dreams.

Forcefully pushing away the thought of the dreams he’d given up so long ago, he told her, “I’m not most people. And I appreciate beauty when I see it.”

“I’ll take genius,” she said with another smile. “I’ll even let you get away with magnificent. But beauty?” She shook her head. “That’s going a bit too far.”

“No, it isn’t. Take the elephant, for example. I’m amazed by the way the instruments fit the contours of the body, the legs, even the ears. How did you do it?”

“I used the bells from a couple of old sousaphones I found.”

She said it as though it had been the easiest thing in the world, but he knew better. Knew just how hard it was to bring your vision to life. Knew, in fact, that it could be impossible to see that vision work out just right. But she’d done it not only with the elephant, but also with every other creature in her garden. And with an effortlessness that blew his mind.

“I suspect you’re the only artist on the planet who can take the bell from a sousaphone and make it look as if an elephant’s ears are flapping.”

She tipped her head as if he’d just performed an astonishing feat. “Nobody’s ever seen the intended effect before. I had to beat them into submission, of course—bend the rims, manipulate, and add to them, but that’s exactly what I was going for. Flapping ears.” She caressed the tubes forming the basic structure of the animal’s haunches and he swore he could feel the heat of her touch all along his own muscles. “I used the tuning slides and the rest of the sousaphones back here. I’ve always thought musical instruments were like diamonds, that you should never throw them away.”

He turned to find her startlingly green eyes on him again. The marks of the mask were starting to fade, leaving a beauty so pure, so fresh, it stunned him all over again. Even if her art hadn’t blown his mind, Charlie herself was worth the price of admission to her backyard art museum.

“You found all this in junkyards?”

“And thrift shops. Parents make their kids join the school band, but after two years those kids hate it. And bye-bye trombone.” She threw out her arm, and again he saw the play of muscles in her shoulders and along her throat. “I saw the sousaphone first. It looked like an elephant’s ear—and suddenly I knew I needed to bring him to life.” She spread her hands to encompass the structure made up of saxophones and horns, tubas and flutes, even drums. “It took me five years to find all the instruments.”

“Five years?” She continued to surprise him. “For one project?”

“I worked on other pieces at the same time. And I also teach welding over at the junior college.”

“It still shows a great deal of dedication to one vision.” He understood that kind of dedication. At the age of eighteen, he and his four best friends, the Mavericks, had vowed to get out of the Chicago hellhole of a neighborhood they’d been born into and strike it big. They’d all made good on that pact. Clearly, Charlie Ballard had the same kind of single-minded vision.