Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

Samara shuddered out a breath. Who was this man? She tried to take a step back, but hit the wall she was already on.

She hardened her stance. “I … you … ” She let out a frustrated breath. “You are full of it. Anyone can figure those things about me by just hitting Google.”

“Anybody?” he questioned and answered all at the same time.

Oh hell, she was screwed. This was fun for a night, but it was time to steer clear of her dark rider.

“Yes, anybody. Now, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression back in the alley with that kiss, but like you said maybe there are three of me and you hit up against the wild child tonight. The real me was the woman you met earlier and tonight was a mistake. We’re neighbors, and I do like my space so I think it’s best if you kept to yours.”

She saw something flash in his eyes as he took in her words. “So space, huh? What are you, some sort of turn on, turn off, split personality? I have to admit I’m kind of confused.”

She let out a frustrated growl. “What is there to be confused about? I think I made myself perfectly clear.”

“Well, Miss Leighton, I’m not so sure. Not after the way we responded to each other in the alley. I think I’d better go in again just to be sure you really are who you say you are and not one of the others.”

And with that his lips were on hers again, soft and hard and all controlling of the situation. And then, just like that, her arms were around his neck and damn it if she wasn’t freaking puddling up right there in the freight elevator. Turning from steel to Jell-O in his muscular arms.

Hells blasted bells.

Then, like a gift from above, something rattled, then lurched, sending them both swaying. It could have been the elevator, Sam thought, as it started to move again or it could have been her will as it crumbled to the floor.

“Oh, Miss L, I’m so sorry!”

Samara blinked, eyes fluttering as if coming out of a dream as the elevator doors opened to the sound of the attendant’s anxious voice. When did they even stop? And what was she doing kissing Mark Thorn again? When her senses returned, she noticed that Mark had somehow smoothly pulled back. He’d uncoiled himself from her and was now coolly turned to the attendant.

Time to get your crap together, Sam. You’re messing up and messing up big time.
She swallowed and cleared her throat. Told herself her lips weren’t still tingling and her nipples weren’t hardened to the point of near pain. She closed her eyes a moment then opened them again, facing forward, her back straight, her ice princess persona firmly in place. “What the hell is up with this elevator?” She paused and softened her tone at the look of fear on the attendant’s face. “I’m sorry, was it Carlos?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry too. This old elevator has been giving us some trouble lately.” He coughed. “Um, management knows about the problem. I’m sure it will be rectified. But you should be able to go up with no problem now. I’ll have Rick go up with you.” He gestured to a slim guy with sleepy, heavy lidded eyes and a way past five o’clock shadow. He had his tool belt slung over his shoulder and gave her a half nod and a snort that said, yeah, he would go up with her, but he really didn’t give a shit that she was the owner’s daughter, he was pissed about being woken up in the middle of the night.

“We should be fine going up alone,” Mark rumbled next to her.

She took a firm stance. “No. I’ve had enough for one night. I’d rather just get to my apartment and pack it in.” She gave the scuffed up elevator guy a nod. “If you don’t mind coming with us.”

Rick shrugged and entered the elevator, extra close to Sam’s personal space. “I’m here already. No skin off my teeth,” he snorted out.

Sam bit the inside of her bottom lip, fighting the urge to move back when Mark smoothly took her by the elbow and shifted her, placing his body between hers and elevator guy’s. They stood there for a moment and then Rick turned to them impatiently. “Floor?”

She startled. “Oh, twelve. Sorry.”

He turned back to the control panel, turning a master key then pressing their floor with a shake of his head. They whizzed up in silence until the elevator lurched to a jerky stop on their floor, the doors opening. “Thanks,” Mark said, turning in Rick’s direction.

“No problem. I’ll have my guy out in the morning and on this. Hopefully it will be fixed for good.”

Mark nodded and stepped back for Sam to exit. She gathered her will and exited the elevator as steadily as she could. This had been a long and wild night. One she hadn’t planned for, and if she’d learned anything from the past it was those unplanned for events that were the most dangerous.

Once they were outside their respective doors, Sam went for her keys and fumbled a bit when her cell rang at the same time. The cell won out and her keys fell to the floor with a loud jangle.

Mark bent to pick them up and she looked down at him, so big and solid even bent at the knee, his close shaved head a hair’s breadth from her. He looked up at her with those damned dark eyes. All he had to do was —

“Hello? Hello? Are you there?”

She’d forgotten she had pressed the answer button on her phone. Sam looked down at him and shook her head.

“Yeah, girl, I’m here,” Sam said placing the phone to her ear.

Mark lifted his hand, handing her the keys.

“Sorry, I just got a little distracted.”

She didn’t like the look that shadowed Mark’s features with her comment to Gabby, but she had to cut him off. Taking that look was better than the other way around. Sam turned to open her door and talk to Gabby, leaving the enigmatic Mr. Thorn on his knees and staring at the wrong, or maybe it was the right, side of her apartment door.

• • •

Mark let his door close with a low click, momentarily proud of his reserve at not slamming it and taking it off the hinges as he stepped into his apartment. But then his mind did a quick jump over his actions of the night and he couldn’t help slamming his fist into his open palm. What an idiot he was coming on so strong. What kind of way was that with a woman like Samara Leighton? It was clear from her kiss at the club that she was the one used to calling the shots. He sucked in a breath and licked at his bottom lip. It was as if he could still taste her champagne infused sweetness on his tongue. He bit back a groan. Damn, she was delicious and her kiss in the alley sent him reeling. Him? Reeling? When in the hell did he ever reel? But since reel he did, how could he help but go in for another taste?

This time Mark did groan. Damn, that right there was the problem. Now that he had the taste, he knew he couldn’t stop. Knew he didn’t want to. At this point, it would take more than his non-existent Samara Leighton shields to save him. And hell, the way she leaned into him, her breath quickening, cheeks flush, nipples hard against his chest, he wasn’t so sure she wanted to stop either, despite her pretty little speeches about space and all that bullshit.

Space? Mark snorted to himself, his spine going rod straight and his frown deepening as he remembered the way her demeanor changed when the elevator door opened. As soon as there was an audience she couldn’t get far enough away from him, and she was right back to the cool Leighton heir that the public knew and loved. No hint of the woman that was all heat in his arms a moment before. Not an inkling that he was anything more than just another passenger, lucky to be in her presence.

Leaning against his couch, Mark fingered the scar on his brow. He must have looked a damned fool down there on his knees before her. She was probably laughing about it on the phone with her girlfriend right now. What a joke he was. He shook his head and shrugged, but what the hell, she was Samara Leighton. Men at her feet was probably nothing new to her and the thought of that view had sweat beading between his shoulders and just when he didn’t think he could get any harder, bam, he was all iron man.

Mark reached down and pulled off his tee then headed for his fridge to grab a beer. Popping it open, he took a few quick gulps, letting his mind wander back to those impossibly long brown legs and how if he’d only reached out he’d be filling his hands with those delicious looking thighs. Yeah, there were worse positions to be in. He frowned, his chest tightening, but really were there? This was dangerous and Mark knew it. He was setting himself up for certain heartbreak doing foolish things like fighting for Samara Leighton and kissing her in darkened alleys.

Walking over to his work table he flipped on the overhead task light. Normally, he worked on small furniture pieces and industrial objects, but as of lately he’d been stuck on one subject. With care he lifted the unfinished project. It was still only partially done, but even in this state you could make out the sleek lines of the woman’s form in the soft rosewood. Mark let his fingers gently graze over the still roughened wood, starting with the slope of her head, its long flowing hair down her back. The regal curve of her long neck; in Mark’s mind he could still see the pulse there as Samara looked at him expectantly, willing him to come forward. The slope of her glorious back as it curved to her pert behind and flaring hips. Mark’s breath caught as he remembered how they rocked back and forth on the dance floor sending his heart thudding in time with them. Then down to the sleek, going on forever legs. The ones that had him following her anywhere and everywhere. Like a nomad trying to find a place to call home.

His fingers stopped moving and he abruptly put the figure down.
Time to get a fucking grip.
So you live across from her. It’s no need to lose your god damned head over it. With a final swig of his beer, Mark shucked off his jeans and headed toward his bathroom and a shower. The water was blessedly hot and though the steam was welcoming to his muscles after dealing with those two idiots in the alley, it still did nothing to clear his head. Running a soapy cloth over his body and coming in contact with his rock hard erection, he knew that only one thing, well; he feared in this case, one person could truly ease the intense ache as he needed. Mark groaned as his hand took a life of its own and his mind filled with carnal images of endless legs, glistening skin, and pouty lips that he now knew fit perfectly with his own.

He let out an uninhibited moan as he imagined those long legs wrapping around his waist, those lips melding with his and those big almond eyes looking up at him lost in ecstasy. But then there was a click and in his mind he saw those eyes shift and like touching a burning hot poker, he jumped back, instantly releasing himself, letting out a frustrated growl. Shit! Why was he even torturing himself with this? He leaned his head against the cool tiles and let out a ragged breath. He knew dammed well why.

Samara Leighton was a ghost of his past and somehow he had to find a way to exorcise her or merge her forever into his future.

Samara woke to an incessant pounding in her head. And then a chiming and then a buzzing. Oh God, what to address first? The chiming. She tossed the duvet off her body and swung her bare legs off the edge of the bed, heading for the hall intercom.

“Yes?”

“Miss Leighton, there is a Mr. Moss here to see you.”

Samara let out a low breath and swore to herself. She looked back up at the intercom, frowning. “What time is it?”

“It’s eleven o’clock, ma’am.”

She paused and turned toward her living room, squinting against the streaming sunlight, trying to remember why it was she agreed to this brunch. “Ma’am?” the doorman said expectantly through the box on the wall.

“Sorry. Tell him to give me a few minutes and I’ll be down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She was just about to head toward her bathroom when there was that buzzing again followed by a knock. What the freak? Had the doorman let Peter up even before their conversation was done? Sam went to her door and looked through the peephole.

There, filling her vision, was a slightly distorted, but still no less disarming and early morning toe curling, view of Mark Thorn. He looked stern, like a man on a mission. Face set and stony. Back to the granite she had known so well. Hmm, she’d kind of missed that. Sort of like old faithful. It made her feel like she was back on firmer ground.

She gave a brief look down at her old tee and boy shorts, decided it covered enough, and opened her door a crack. No use worrying about her hair and makeup. He was the one who’d come knocking at the wrong time. Besides, she’d decided last night that Mark was not in her future. Might as well let him see her as she was.

“Good morning,” she wrung out in her most polished voice. The presentation may be a wreck but she could still put on a decent show.

His hands came up, displaying in one hand a paper bag, in the other what looked to be heaven itself in the form of a steaming cup of coffee. It took all she had not to reach out and grab it. And then there was that smile. Damn him, granite Mark Thorn was so much easier to handle.

She opened the door a bit further, but instead of attempting to step or get an invite he just stood there, casually leaning against her doorframe. “Morning. I was thinking you may need a little something after the late night last night. I was also thinking that your behind might be a little sore too. Not to mention your thighs. It is an unaccustomed workout.”

She couldn’t help but grin at his double entendre. “Is that for me?” she asked, tilting her head toward the cup of coffee.

“It is.” He offered the coffee and she took it, skimming his hand. She was surprised to see, and even a little disarmed, that here it was the morning after and that same charge from just a little skim was still there. “Well, I thank you, Mr. Thorn, and I’ll have you know my thighs and my backside are well. I’ve been through way more rigorous workouts than that.”

She was pleased to see his eyes flash at her quip.

“You are quite the handful, Miss Leighton. Quite the handful.”

“That she is,” a male voice interrupted from down the hall. “Now, what is this about your thighs, Sammy? Have you been a naughty girl?”

Sam stilled at the sound of Peter’s voice. Freaking doorman. She tugged down on her nightshirt, surprised at her sudden self-consciousness, and reached up to smooth her wild hair. Sam glanced at Mark and noticed that though he still looked easy and relaxed, there was a different set to his posture. He no longer leaned against the doorframe and now seemed about six inches taller than his already tall self.