Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

Mark tried his best to rein in what he was feeling as he watched her expertly make two cups of coffee — or he guessed it was some type of espresso latte hybrid. Either way, it was done with a flourish of a pretty leafy thing worthy of a seasoned barista. He fought not to lick his lips. God, she really did have the most amazing hands. Fingers long, tapered, almost delicate. But quick and sure. It wasn’t hard to just imagine swirling his tongue —

“So tell me,” she said, pulling him out of his thoughts, causing his head to jerk up from his about to be inappropriate thoughts.

“Tell you what?” he answered as she slid the white porcelain cup across the counter to him. Her brown eyes were sure, steady, and clearly assessing. He took the cup, but not before letting his own fingers briefly brush across her own. The lightest contact and he eased back away, along with the cup. Her eyes shot up to meet his and for a moment there was that spark once again. This time he knew he wasn’t imagining it. He looked away. Just what he needed, something warm and real to remind him of what he couldn’t have. Mark steadied his will and his voice before he looked back up at her. “What do you want to know?”

He watched as she raised her own cup to her lips, her full bottom lip cupping under the rim and her soft pouty top lip going over the edge. She closed her eyes a moment as the warm liquid slid down her throat. When she opened them back again, she met him with an easy smile and gave her lips a delicate lick. He was ready to break into a cold sweat. “I want to know everything, of course. It seems my life is an open book to just about anyone. So the deck is not evenly stacked. Time to even up the score.” She leaned forward, sucking him in with a not quite smirk and those alluring brown eyes. “Time to learn all about the mysterious Mr. Thorn.”

Mark hated the fear that came over him. It wasn’t like he could tell her everything. She’d probably either laugh at him or send him packing from her apartment and find a way to get him kicked out of the building, branding him some type of stalker. Shit, who knew, maybe he was. It didn’t matter that he had lived there first. He should have run for the hills or at least the Bronx the moment he saw her.

Then he saw her laugh more than heard it as she glided around the counter, coming his way. For some reason in that moment everything in him wanted to back up. Mark swallowed.

“I think I’d better go.”

“No need to look like that. It’s not like I’m going to bite you,” she teased.

Mark fought to get his composure in check. This was ridiculous. “Of course you won’t.”

She let out a low but still somehow ladylike snort. “How do you know there wasn’t a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence?”

It was his turn to let out a snort. He stared at her. Saw a glimmer of the Leighton cunning flash behind those tiger eyes. He let out a breath that centered him to his toes. Cunning he could handle. It put him on more level ground.

He put his cup down. “Like I said, I think I should go.”

Sam seemed shaken for a moment and reached out for him. Those slim fingers touching the edge of his tee then grazing his wrist. It was feather light, but felt like an iron cuff slipping into place. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding.” She looked down at first and then her eyes swept up and she looked at him from beneath those long, thick lashes. He bit back a groan.

Screwed. He was screwed and he knew it. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his thumb to her beautiful cheek. It looked so perfect and lush. Like the most beautiful peach he had ever seen in real life. He reached forward, his hand twitching, at the same time as the unbidden memory of the harsh slam of reality came into focus.

She was not his. Could never be his. He looked around at her beautiful artist loft. Dressed down in all the right ways, but still classy enough to remind him of who he was and where he’d come from. It didn’t matter if she was serving him, making him feel at home — she was still out of his league.

She bit her lip. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He fought to make the words casual.

She whispered to him, “Come on, Mr. Thorn, what’s your secret?” He smiled at that and shook his head rather than do what he wanted which was sit her down and tell her all.

“Why is it you assume I have secrets? Is that some sort of fantasy for you?” He eased away from her grasp and walked around the back of the couch, looking up, taking in the double height of the space, the skylights, the large windows. He leaned in and glanced around the corner at her workspace. The distance from her was doing his head and his body good.

She walked confidently toward him, her long jean clad legs pulling him right back into confusion. “No, not at all. I’m not being nosy either. I just sense something from you. Something you’re holding back.”

“And you’re a good judge of people, are you?”

Her face clouded then. It was just for the briefest of moments, but he caught it and instantly regretted his words.

She shook her head and looked at him, the cloud now gone from her expression, but not her eyes. “I’m getting better. Let’s just say that experience has taught me not to be so liberal with giving the benefit of the doubt. I’m more of a ‘show me your character and I’ll judge you then’ kind of person now.”

Mark nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“That nod and the face.”

“What face? I didn’t make a face.”

“Oh, you made a definite face.” He did a nod and a shrug that had her drawing in her brows and pulling a frown. “Really, Mr. Thorn, you were judging me for being judgey?”

He shook his head. “I was not and I did not make a face.”

He watched as her toes began to tap.

“What’s that?”

“What?” she said.

“The toe tapping. You getting a little annoyed with me?” he teased.

She stopped mid tap and crossed her arms. “No, I’m not. I’m just trying to figure you out. I asked you a question a while back and you clearly evaded it and now you’re trying to turn things around to me.”

He leaned against the back of her couch and looked at her. “There is nothing much to figure. I work in security with a Y not an S so I make enough money, but not money like the fat cats on Wall Street with the big S as in securities. I was in the Army for a while, thankfully got out unscathed, went from there to work private security where I was indeed, as you say, reckless. But I got forcefully slowed down when I wasn’t as lucky as I was in the Army and got shot in a stupid wrong tagging mix up. So I paid the price there, but that’s okay ’cause I learned some good lessons and in the end it all worked out. I got it together and met back up with some good guys from my Army days with my particular skill set and now I’m looking to expand my small security with a Y operation into something bigger.”

She looked at him, wide eyed. “Damn, that’s a lot in a small synopsis. You’ve seen a lot for someone so young.”

He shrugged. “Not really. There are plenty that have been through worse and more. I’m lucky.”

Her eyes had gone soft but thankfully she didn’t come any closer. He didn’t think he could take it. “Bigger how?” she asked.

He frowned at her question, not understanding at first, then nodded when he got that it was a question about his business. “Just bigger. We’re a decent sized operation now. Working clubs. I was also scouting for a new client when you saw me last night. In addition we do private guarding, but I think cooperate work is where we’ll go next.”

He couldn’t help but notice that she frowned then. “What is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“You’re tapping your foot again.”

With that she stopped and stared at him, challenging him with her eyes as if she was looking for something.

Shit, it was downright unnerving.

“And?” she said.

“And what?”

“And what else do you do? You chose this artist’s building and that apartment for a reason. What was it?”

He wanted to run. He couldn’t tell her it was for her, could he? It would be the end for him — or maybe the beginning. He took a deep breath, his mind buzzing. “I dabble in a little woodworking.”

She suddenly dropped her arms then opened them wide. “See, was that so hard? I’d love to see your stuff sometime!”

He shook his head. “I’m no artist like you. I just needed some space where I could spread out a bit.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, stop being humble. I’m sure you’re fantastic.”

For some reason, just hearing that small bit of praise, even though she’d never even seen his work, was a lighted candle to his heart. He felt new. Reborn.

“See, this is better. I hate being in the dark. Especially after … well,” she said, a little sheepish and so cute. He fought the pull. The pull to kiss her just one more time. In the fog of his mind, he could hear her still talking while his mind went other places. “ … the alley and then the elevator. At least now I feel like we’re more on even ground. Not that it will happen again, but if things did … arise. I’d like to feel at least now I know you.”

With that Mark could not help but burst out laughing.

Samara frowned. “What is so funny?”

Mark stepped forward, ignoring every single warning bell that was going off in his head, perfectly willing to block out the clear signs that said Danger, Caution, and Falling Rock Zone as his hands seemed to rise on their own volition and he reached out to graze that perfect peach cheek. His thumb inched to the side and rubbed across that plump bottom lip, silencing her as she looked at him with surprised eyes. And then she did it. Her lips stretch wide and his world exploded in color.

Six thirty-five and once again he was kissing her. But they were just talking. Having coffee. Really, she did only invite him up for coffee and talk and now he was kissing her. Shit, Gabby would swear this was planned.

Samara fought to keep the words running through her head and to bring some sort of balance to her brain. She knew she had to put a stop to this, but it was hard. Oh so hard, as Mark’s lips were melding into hers and she was now leaning in toward him like some sort of inflatable man shaped life raft tossed off the deck of a passing ship.

She sighed into his warm breath. Why fight it? Thinking was overrated anyway when you had a man this delicious and your chest was pushed up against his chest and his chest was so wonderfully rock hard that it could be sculpted from marble and your lips were perfectly melding with his lips. His lips that were soft and kissable, but just firm enough to send fizzures and sizzles to every erogenous zone that you ever knew about and three others you didn’t.

Mark’s tongue snaked out and intertwined with hers at the same time his hand came around the back of her neck, pulling her deeper into him, forcing her head back. Her eyes fluttered and she looked up, surprised to see his own briefly flutter open too and gaze at her with open admiration. Something snapped. A flash of desire, mixed with anxiety, mixed with a sense of déjà vu that she didn’t understand. Sam jolted as if shocked and Mark stilled, instantly releasing her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She watched as he wiped his palms on his jeans. Now that was a first.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s fine. Um, the coffee is probably now cold. Would you like me to make you another one? You know, I was thinking that sketching you could be fun. You have the most interesting planes in your face. But first, um, let me get that coffee.” Damn, she was rambling. She didn’t ramble. Sam turned away, already heading toward the kitchen when Mark reached out his hand to stop her.

That wasn’t a charge of electricity she felt and even if it was, she sure as hell wasn’t acknowledging it. Her chin lifted, and her eyes met his.

Mark let her go. “No. I get it.” He nodded. “A sketch, huh?”

She smiled. “Well, I’d rather paint you. All in due time, of course.”

He smirked, flashing those devilish teeth. “As if you have enough paint to cover me.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “How about you let me worry about what I can cover.”

He paused at this, the heat sparking between them. “How about you show me some of your work first?” Sam stiffened a bit and he held up a hand. “Or is it private? If it is, I understand.”

She let out a breath. At least they were on easy — well, easier ground. “Sure, I mean, well, I usually don’t like to show unfinished work, but I invited you up — can you just give me a minute?” She held up a finger.

“No problem.”

Sam ran to the refuge of her studio space which suddenly felt like a cage. Why did she go and bring up sketching him? Damn it for letting him get all up in her head. She should have just let him leave when he wanted to leave earlier. It was safer that way.

She spun around the space, looking at her pieces, feeling the usual mix of pride and anxiety that she always got whenever she thought of showing anyone her work. Then her eyes hit the canvas with the motorcycle rider and she froze. No, she didn’t want him to see that. If he knew he was the influence, she’d be mortified. She reached out to move it to flip it and hide it, but frowned as she tapped at the canvas with her index finger and found it still slightly tacky. No way she was risking it. Not even for her ego.

“Shit,” she ground out.

“Can I help?”

Sam lowered her head. Was timing ever on her side?

She turned to the open framed doorway.

“I thought, well, it sounded like you needed a little help.”

Sam let out a breath and shook her head. Forcing herself not to block the painting, she stepped aside. “Nope. I’m fine. Just making sure everything is right in here.”

She could tell he wasn’t going for her cheeky attitude. Something about this man made it feel like she couldn’t fool him, but still she had to try. Had to guard herself.

“So can I come in?”

“Sure, come on in. There’s nothing much to see really. Everything is a bit of a mess, but that’s the way it is when I’m working. I’m preparing for a show so I’m working on a few pieces at a time. I’ve got my still life by the water, on the table, a few portraits, the alley.” Shit, she was rambling. Again.

And he was silent.

She watched him, her nerves churning. He was walking around her studio slowly. It was as if he was some deep thinking art critic out to give her a review. He paused over each piece. Getting close and stepping back. Hunching low down to the ground so that the muscles in his wide back stretched his tee just to the point of straining, as his jeans hung a bit lower. He then tilted his close shaved head to the left and then the right and when she was just about to jump out of her skin he stretched back up and started the process all over again with the next painting.