Daniel Spencer, owner of the Top-Notch DIY chain of home improvement stores, was a dark-haired Tahoe mountain guy. He shook her hand, his grip warm and his tone sincere. “You have an incredible talent.”

“Thank you.” She’d seen how good the rams looked in front of the hotel, but it was still fabulous to hear that someone besides Sebastian agreed with her.

Next, Sebastian introduced her to Will Franconi and she immediately said, “Thank you so much for the china you sent over for my mother. She loved it. It was so kind of you.”

A dark Italian type as befitting his name, Will smiled with twinkling blue eyes. “You’re welcome. Although Harper picked them out.”

Charlie turned to the pretty blond woman on his arm. “Drinking out of those china mugs is one of my mother’s favorite parts of the day. Thank you for choosing such a lovely set.”

Harper smiled sweetly. “Sipping tea out of hand-painted bone china has now become a favorite part of my day too.”

Charlie made what she hoped was a normal sound in response. That, however, was becoming harder to do as Sebastian trailed a hand over her shoulder blade and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.

“Those cups are probably too fragile for Noah to use for an imaginary party, aren’t they?” asked a big, handsome man who she easily guessed was Matt Tremont, the father of five-year-old Noah.

Boy, the Mavericks were definitely a good-looking lot, though she couldn’t help but think that Sebastian was the best of an incredible bunch. Whether he was running his hands over her body or not. Right now, given that he was turning her positively liquid inside, all she wanted to do was turn around in his arms and press her lips to—

Concentrate, Charlie.

“Tea party?” Daniel said. “Didn’t I give him a kid-size tool belt for his last birthday?”

Matt laughed, his mouth wide, his eyes probably as bright as Noah’s would be. “He lost the hammer and the screwdriver and the—”

Daniel cut him off with an eye roll, and Sebastian said, “Maybe he needs a Zanti Misfit.”

Charlie thought of the pruning-shear claws and put her hand on his arm. “We probably need to make something else for your son,” she told Matt. “How about a lizard? Or better yet, a T-Rex.”

“The T-Rex?” Sebastian looked mildly horrified at the thought of her dinosaur sculpture becoming a five-year-old’s toy.

“I could make a scaled-down version. Or maybe a stegosaurus would be even better for him?”

“That sounds awesome. Just as long as it’s not a velociraptor.” Matt made a rueful face. “I made the mistake of taking him to see Jurassic World. What was I thinking?”

“Your son definitely needs a kinder, gentler dinosaur.” She immediately began to envision a child-friendly dinosaur garden filled with plant-eating dinos. What if she used rocks to build the smaller set of dinosaurs? She could encircle different sized stones in metal and weld the individual pieces together like Legos.

“Earth to Charlie,” Sebastian whispered in her ear, sending another delicious shiver through her.

“Sorry, I was thinking about little dinosaurs. Lots and lots of them.” Was it bad that she wished she were back in her workshop already, getting started on those dinosaurs? Not that she didn’t enjoy meeting Sebastian’s closest friends. They alone made the party worth it.

In the midst of all the dinosaur planning, an older gentleman entered their circle and Sebastian put his hand on the small of Charlie’s back as if to move her closer. “Walter, this is Charlie Ballard.”

Walter Braedon could have been fifty, or five years either way. Though he was surrounded by Mavericks he could never overshadow, he had the presence of an older man who was completely comfortable in his own skin. His dark blond hair was thick and going white at the temples, his features strong, and his waistline as trim as that of someone twenty years younger.

She might have felt slightly nervous if Sebastian hadn’t still been at her side. With his hand warming her through the fabric of her dress, he made her feel as if he’d battle anything for her. Even her own fear.

“Your rams are a hit, Miss Ballard,” Walter said, vigorously pumping her hand. “Everyone’s been asking for you.”

“Thank you, I’m so glad to hear that. And please, call me Charlie. Even though I teach over at the college, Miss Ballard makes me feel like a little old lady schoolteacher.”

“You’re certainly not that.” Dimples appeared when he smiled. “Charlie it is. And you all must call me Walt. I trust the suite is to your liking?”

“It’s fabulous, thank you.”

“We appreciate not having to make the trek back across the Bay, Walt,” Sebastian added.

She didn’t want to stiffen at Sebastian’s gracious words—and would have stopped herself if she could. But a fairly large crowd had gathered around the Mavericks and Walter Braedon, and she was well aware of the assumptions that the gossipmongers were bound to make about the artist who was not only living on Sebastian’s property, but also staying in a suite with him right here at the hotel.

Everyone would assume they were sleeping together.

Charlie had never given a hoot about anyone pondering her sex life. What she and Sebastian did was their own business, and while she’d never regret being with him, she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone assuming she’d traded her art for sex.

Her gaze flew to Walt. Was that what he thought?

Clearly able to read her inside and out, Sebastian curled his arm around her waist, but that only made her spiral down. Everyone would see the blush he brought to her cheeks, the way he made her bones melt, how he put stars in her eyes...and they’d know she was completely, recklessly smitten with the beautiful billionaire. It had nothing to do with being in his league. Charlie didn’t believe in that kind of stuff, but she did recognize that they were from different worlds. Until tonight, she and Sebastian had been together only in her world, full of junk and metal and welding tools. Now, she was smack in the middle of his glittering world.

She pulled off that feat with her own brand of glitter, but she couldn’t help feeling like an impostor, because in the morning, all her glitter would wash down the drain.

“Come, we must introduce you around.” Walt turned to the side and waved a hand. “Have you met Evan and Whitney Collins?”

Evan Collins was the fifth Maverick. As handsome and fit as the rest, he was their finance guy and the only married Maverick. “It’s great to meet you, Charlie. This is my wife, Whitney.”

Draped in a floor-length red dress with a slit up the side—one of the dresses that Charlie had rejected, in fact—Whitney Collins had a figure that made men drool. With auburn hair, she was polished, perfect, and obviously bored out of her mind by everyone and everything around her. Her handshake was limp, and the once-over she gave Charlie clearly rated the brocade skirt, camisole, shoes, and beaded clutch as horribly unfashionable.

“Hmm,” was all she said, the taut skin on her face hardly moving around the small sound.

Thankfully, Walt quickly moved them on through the sea of faces. It was more than a little exhausting for Charlie to chitchat with so many new people, trying to remember as many names as possible, but Sebastian was clearly in his element. What’s more, he seemed to know everyone, asking about their latest project or triumph, about their kids. She was continually amazed at his skill in turning people’s compliments back around to their achievements rather than his own.

Even more amazing? Between Sebastian and Walt talking up her artwork, people were literally throwing commissions at her. A garden in Woodside, a fountain in Atherton, a gazebo on Nob Hill, a condo in Palm Springs, all of which desperately needed a piece by Charlie Ballard.