Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) (16 page)

“But at least we reached our destination,” Mark said smoothly as he stepped out of the way and let the ladies pass.

Samara rewarded him with a sharp look.

As the trio departed, Sam couldn’t help but feel all prickly with Mark at her back and Gabby now being a little too quiet at her side. She hurried her steps and pulled out her keys. “Well, goodnight,” she said over her shoulder as she quickly opened her door and shoved Gabby in before her.

She could have sworn she heard a low rumble of a laugh in his voice as he said goodnight through the halfway closed door.

Sam slammed the door and kicked off her shoes, looking at a grinning Gabby.

“Don’t even try it,” Gabby started. “Girl, you are so strung out.”

“What? I am so not.”

Gabby threw up a hand and turned away, shaking her head and her hips as she went toward Sam’s kitchen. “Fine. I don’t want to hear it.” Then she turned back around. “Wait. No, I do. But I need another glass of wine.” She continued her walk and went to Sam’s fridge and helped herself, pulling out some leftover Riesling and pouring them each a healthy glass. Gab took a long swallow then refilled her glass.

Gabby raised her glass to Sam who was still hanging by the foyer as if she just may put on her heels, turn tail, and bolt. “No way, girl. You might as well get in here and spill it. I can’t believe I didn’t see the signs earlier. What kind of friend am I? I guess I was too star struck by that hotel dude. As if he’ll be calling. But I should have known something was up with you.”

Sam came up to the counter and took a sip of her wine. “Like I said, it’s not like that. It’s not that deep.”

For that Gabby raised a brow and gave her a look that told her she didn’t believe a word. “Oh, come on. I knew there was something as soon as I saw him at the club. And now with the two of you in the elevator, hon, the sparks are just ridiculous. This is not just sex. Mark my words, so to speak. Honestly, I pity whoever tries to get between the two of you because it’s a losing battle. It’s like you already have a history or something. Sorry, Peter.”

Sam’s eyes popped up from where she had been studying the rim of her wineglass. “What are you talking about?”

“I was saying that poor Peter doesn’t stand a chance.”

Sam waved a hand. “Not that. The history part.”

“Oh that. It’s just like you two seem connected. It’s like you have a past or something. Like two old souls.”

Sam took another swing of her wine, trying to get her wits back. So she wasn’t crazy? Gab felt it too. This connection with Mark being more than just a passing sex thing. It was something else. Something she couldn’t put her finger on but it was there. Sam shook her head. She didn’t need to be thinking about this. She needed to focus on her work.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mark was a fun afternoon and nothing more. Right now I need to think about my show and that’s all I need to think about. He and Peter for that matter are nothing more than a diversion. A means to an end.”

“Okay.”

Sam frowned at her friend in confusion. “What do you mean okay?”

Gabby gave her a pointed look. “Okay is what I mean. You seem to have it all figured out, so I’m not going to argue with you.”

Sam narrowed her eyes then poked out her lip. “But you always argue with me.”

Gabby smirked. “And I really don’t want to do it now. Sounds like you’ve got a solid plan. You have to paint and in order to do that you need to keep your father hushed, so enter Peter. And as far as a distraction Peter’s not so bad. And as for a sexual distraction, well, honey, you could do a lot worse than getting off with the hot as hell biker across the hall. Sounds good to me. Win-win. Anything else? Because it’s late and I’ve got to get up for work in the morning.”

Sam looked at her friend dumbfounded for a moment before she blinked. “No, I guess that’s all. I do have it all figured out.”

Gabby came over and gave her a hug. “Yes, you do. And you keep telling yourself that, okay. Goodnight.”

Seeing Samara with her hand on that asshole’s chest last night had Mark’s blood boiling and here it was hours later and his temperature was still dangerously high. It was seven
A.M.
and he was doing a piss poor job of trying to work out his frustrations on his newly hung punching bag. He went in fast, trying for a few uppercut combos, but his lack of sleep obviously got the best of him since his fist went one way and the bag went another, just about smacking him in the face. What the hell? In his line of work it didn’t matter if he had slept or not, that lack of focus could get your head knocked off. Time to get back in the game. It was ridiculous letting a woman get in his head like this.

The last thing that should be putting him off was some whip on stiletto stilts. No matter how sexy that whip may be. But still Mark let out a low grunt as he punched and dipped again — he knew he was turned and had been turned since day one. Lowering himself, Mark dropped down to the floor to go in on another set of sit-ups, once again imagining what it would be like to have her above him, riding him, making this early morning workout worthwhile. He threw his head back against the bare floor letting out a low whoosh of air before he came up again, pausing when he heard shuffling across the hall door.

It was just a small shuffle and then running water. But still it made him stop and then curse under his breath at his body’s immediate reaction, the pull at his groin at the thought of her getting up, body all sleep heavy and still groggy and there, just a few feet away. He was lost for a moment in his thoughts but then there was more shuffling.

Mark frowned. What was she doing up so early after such a late night? He got a clench in his gut as an unwelcomed thought threatened to rise. What if that clown came back and stayed the night? Mark got up and started to hit the bag again.

This was ridiculous. Why the hell was he putting himself through it? It was probably her friend, the girl who went into the apartment with her last night. One afternoon with her and he was all up, painting himself as the jealous lover. So not a good look.

Mark went to the kitchen to grab some OJ and rehydrate and paused with the container barely to his lips. But really, what if that Moss dude did come back? He was so pissed last night after seeing the whole car drop off kiss on the hand thing that it took all his strength not to go out and punch him in his smug, rich face.

Mark shook his head and chugged his juice. He knew he was losing it. It really shouldn’t matter to him if Moss had come back or not. He told himself last night, she was his neighbor and nothing more. Samara had made that clear when she went with Moss to brunch and once again when she dismissed him after they had made love — or rather, he dismissed himself and she let it pass. Moss had his lane and he had his. He needed to stay in his before he crashed and burned.

And if he knew anything, it was how important it was to play your lane.

Once again Mark’s blood was reaching full boiling as he remembered how Samara felt in his arms. How incredibly warm and tight and right she was wrapped around him. He let out a low growl and grabbed his keys, going for the door. Hell, maybe a run would help clear his screwed up head.

• • •

The revving was getting louder and her pulse was racing. Oh God. This wasn’t safe. It was so dark and this road, so winding. Anything could happen. He could get hurt. Sam clutched the wheel tightly as she rounded the corner, almost skidding on a wet leafy patch. Coming to rights it was then that she was blinded by the single light as the motorcycle headed directly in her path. She quickly swerved left and let out a scream.

Sam’s eyes popped open to the sound of the door across the hall slamming shut. She let out a low moan, closed her eyes, and buried herself deeper under the covers.

Images of Mark came flooding toward her. From downstairs, from the elevator, from the hall, and, oh yes, from her living room couch! She turned over, eyes squeezed tight. Maybe she could wash it away. Make it like she hadn’t humiliated herself and had sex with the guy next door and was now twisted beyond belief over it. Just what she told herself she would specifically not be. She snuggled down deeper under the covers, fully ready to at least spend ten minutes in the fantasy of her own making, one where she was strong and in control of her own life, feelings, heart, when there it was — the sound of a toilet flushing and water running.

Mark? She shook her head at her own foolishness. No, Gabby.

Her eyes opened again and she lifted her head, checking her bedside clock. Seven twenty-three. Oh jeez. She had forgotten Gabby’s awful early work hours. She turned. This time, not only images of Mark came flooding in, but they mingled with images of Peter and his friend, a few bottles of champagne, and then Mark looking all fine and neighborly as he chatted up Gabby without a care as they came in last night. Sam groaned. Why was it she didn’t just listen to her friend and stay in? No, she had to go showing off and going out. When would she learn that the outside world was a dangerous place?

The water stopped running and Sam was hit by the sudden urge to pee. She made her way to her own bathroom, did her business, and on the way out caught a scary glimpse of herself. The rough night showed all over her face and through her tangled hair. She went in search of Gabby in the guest room, but found her instead in her studio, coffee cup in hand, staring at her works in progress. At the sound of her approaching, her friend turned around with a serene smile, but then blanched once she saw her face.

“What?” Sam cried.

“Really, girl. You ought to warn someone before coming up on them like that.” Gabby shook her head. “Pretty girl like you, dang, I almost dropped my coffee.”

Sam ran a hand through her hair which she knew was standing on the top of her head like a bad rat’s nest. Only Gabby gave her the business and got away with it. “Is it really that bad?”

Gabby shot her a look. “Yeah, girl, it’s that bad. You’re lucky I love you and still think you’re cute regardless, but I wouldn’t go opening the door to strangers. You could scare a small child like that. I mean really. And come on, you know not to sleep in your makeup. What a shame.”

“Ok, Mom, I get it. No need to throw salt.”

Sam looked around the studio, checking out the paintings in the early morning light. Her eyes fell on the most recent one of the couple on the boat and she felt an odd stirring in her belly, plus a warmth. She liked that feeling. She thought she had it with her earlier works, but she hadn’t. She got it with the alley painting but only after she added the rider, well, Mark, and now she had it with the couple. Something in her work was changing and it was for the better. She looked at Gabby who was now turned away and looking back at her work intently.

Sam coughed and Gabby turned. “Sorry, hon. I hope this is okay. I know how you are, but I was up and couldn’t help it. You really are doing fabulous work. I can’t wait until your show. You, my dear, are going to wow them.”

Sam let out a breath of relief that she didn’t know she had been holding. “Really, you think so?”

Gabby grinned wide and nodded. “I really do.” She walked around, smiling at some other works but stopped and pointed at the rider and the couple. “I particularly like these two. When did you do them?”

Sam felt her face heat up. “Recently.”

Gab’s eyes narrowed and Sam felt her face really heat up. “How recently?”

“Well, this one,” Sam said pointing to the rider, “I finished the other day. And this as you can see still needs a bit of work so I’m just going with it. I’m taking a new direction.”

“Hmm,” Gabby said.

“Hmm? What the hell does hmm mean?”

“Nothing. Why so defensive?”

“I’m not,” Sam said. “I just know you and I know that a hmm from you is not just a hmm, it means something else and I want to know what. Is it that you don’t like the others? Should I scrap them?” Sam felt panic rising in her voice.

“Hey, relax, I like the others just fine.”

Sam groaned. “Fine? Great, that’s worse than the hmm. What artist wants to hear fine?”

Gabby shook her head. “Oh great, now I’ve gone and done it. I need to get to work and clearly nothing I say is going to soothe you. I love it all. And you probably need,” Gabby looked at the rider and paused, “coffee. While I need to get going.” She started down the hall.

“And don’t think I didn’t see that, Gabrielle!” Sam yelled after her. “Don’t think I don’t know what you just did because I do!”

Gabby gave a small chuckle as she went. She swung open the apartment door. “You get working on that coffee.”

Sam gave a low growl as she stomped off to the kitchen and poured herself a large cup.

Samara hadn’t seen Mark for four days. Well, four days, eight hours, and about sixteen minutes. Not that she was counting or anything. She zipped up the side zipper on the black halter dress she was wearing to her parents’ dinner. It may be a little much and yes, totally bare in the back, but the cut and drape of the semi sheer fabric with discrete underpinnings made it classy enough to pass her mother’s critical eye. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t have gone so formal for this little at-home dinner as her mother billed it, but at the last minute her mom had called letting her know that some of her father’s business associates were joining them and oh, the mayor may be popping by for dessert. Yeah, right. As if her mom didn’t have that planned from the start.

She finished putting the last sweep of bronzer across her cheeks just as her phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hey, darling.”

Darling? Sam physically recoiled from the phone as both her brows shot up. Jeez, Peter. They hadn’t even kissed — apart from his kiss on her palm the other night — and already he was calling her darling. Familiar much?

“Hello, Peter.”

“I’m rounding your corner now. So, ready when you are, babe. Let’s do this dinner thing and make those parents happy.”

His voice was smooth and full of self-assurance. She didn’t know if he was putting one on for her, her parents, or if he was truly interested. She inwardly sighed. What did it matter? She knew what she wanted and that was to get through this night and each one following until her show. Right now the name of the game was one foot in front of the other. And that meant getting the dark rider across the hall out of her mind.