Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

Shame heated her cheeks as she thought of how quickly she was pushed and how it all went down the night before. She was just about to leave the club, when some no name wench on the come up, brought up The Island and Julian and then had the nerve to say her brother’s name. And well, that was it. Buttons were pushed and though there wasn’t an all out brawl, overpriced champagne went flying and yes, her father was right, the photo sure made her look like a raving mad woman in killer heels. Everything she was supposedly against. She wasn’t that woman anymore. She vowed never to be again. If what happened with Charles had taught her anything, it was that controlling your emotions was everything. And this photo had her looking like she was filming some low rent reality TV show. It was downright embarrassing.

She put her hands to her temples.

“Now Howard, please, we’re supposed to be enjoying a nice afternoon with our daughter, not getting all riled up.” Liv Leighton leaned forward and gently patted her husband on his knee in an attempt to defuse the situation. Sam watched from the corner of her eye as her father jerked back. That was so him. New York real estate tycoon and general tyrant about town, Howard Leighton was a man of only so much emotion. Her mother quickly pulled her hand away and gave her daughter a soulful look.

Howard looked up between the two women and let out an exasperated breath. “Listen, Sammy, I don’t mean to come down on you. You know I love you with all my heart and I’m sorry if I’m blunt, but you know, I’m just me.” He laughed nervously and Sam’s eyes narrowed. What? So he was going for the smooth criminal this time? Okay. She’d be ready. They were just about to drop her off. It was about time to lower the boom.

Her father continued. “I’m just saying it’s time you met your responsibilities. Don’t you think this running wild in the village with the bohemian art thing has run its course?”

Sam met his nervous laugher with a cold stare. “Really, and what should I do instead?”

When her father saw she wasn’t biting, his eyes changed to mirror images of hers. “Well, you have not one but two top notch degrees. It’s not like I have anyone else to leave the business to.”

And. Boom.

Sam couldn’t stop the flood of pain that washed over her. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back against the leather car seat, fighting to pull herself together.

She heard her mother suck in a gasp and then her voice went to steel. “That’s enough, Howard.”

“You’re right,” her father said, this time with what seemed like true regret in his tone. “I’m sorry.” He put his hand over Samara’s, but she slowly eased it away, twisting one hand inside of the other. She would not fidget.

She opened her eyes and stared back up at her father. “No, you’re right. Maybe I have been playing at this art thing long enough.”

“Stop it, the both of you. This is ridiculous,” her mother spoke up, cutting into the conversation. “Why are we talking about this now? Sam, you have your show coming up at the end of the summer and it will be fantastic. Howard, this is not the time to talk about the family business. Samara can think about that if she wants to later. For now it’s her painting that she’s concentrating on. Is that clear?”

Her father groaned. “Fine, I’ll give. But Sammy, you are a bright woman. No need for all those brains to go to waste.”

“Dear, my nerves,” Liv cut in, stopping him. “Now can we please go onto better things?” Sam watched as her mother fanned herself with her beaded clutch as if she may faint at any moment, despite the fact that the temperature in the limo was a cool sixty-eight degrees. She then gave Sam a shaky smile and a nod. “Now, my love, promise me that we’ll see you at the dinner next week. We have some important people coming and we’ve invited Peter Moss. He’s a true up and comer.”

Now Sam groaned. Peter Moss, young real estate mogul slash restaurateur slash club owner slash media … whatever he was at the moment, was her parents’ current match for her and a right pain in the ass. But looking at her mother, she knew she couldn’t say no to this dinner invitation slash demand. To them, image was everything and she was now the face, for better or worse, of the Leighton empire. The thought brought her mind back to her brother, Charles, a scene from the past, and once again she looked over at her father. His expression was a hard mask of ice. He would like nothing better than for her to hook up with Peter and have Leighton-Moss franchise babies all over the globe.

“Sure, Mom, I’ll be there,” Sam said.

“Wonderful.”

Instantly the mood in the car lifted as it seemed that once again the poor little rich girl was falling in line.

They pulled up in front of her building and Samara reached for the door handle. “Oh, and before I forget, you should have a new neighbor soon,” her mother’s voice chirped out.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as she turned back toward her mother. “What are you talking about?” She was so into her own world that she barely paid attention to the other apartments on her floor. She had forgotten there was even another vacant apartment. Leighton Enterprises handled many properties around the tri-state area. Most had been acquired by her father’s shrewd business sense after he married her mother, but the initial financial backing came from her mother’s small holdings, some long held family properties, and investments. Though she mostly took a backseat to her dynamic husband, Sam’s mom liked to stay busy by still handling some smaller, older properties. The building Sam lived in was one.

“Seems the investor that lived across from you finally decided he didn’t want to keep the apartment vacant for most of the year, since his business was primarily overseas. It was right on time, since we had another tenant in the building whose rental lease was running out and we weren’t in a position to renew with all the planned construction. The timing for him to buy couldn’t have been better.”

Sam sighed. “Mother, is there a reason you are telling me this?”

Her mother gave her in impatient look. “Dear, of course I would take an interest in this particular tenant since he will be living so close to you.”

Sam shot her a warning look. “Don’t start, Mother.”

But Liv Leighton laughed her daughter off with a wave. “Oh Samara, please. You really are too much. Though I’m sure he is a decent enough young man, his background credentials don’t really give me any leanings in that sort of direction.” Her mother gave a shudder and Sam shook her head.

“Seriously, Mother, you do amaze me at times. Did he have to give a DNA sample to pass the Leighton property sniff test?”

“Of course not. It’s just that one can’t be too careful.”

Her eyes seemed to roll on their own. “Of course, I’d forgotten for a moment how exclusive a Leighton property can be. Can’t have the wrong kind mixing with our pretentious asses.”

She caught the muscle in her father’s jaw twitch and her mother lips tighten. Okay, maybe she went too far with that one, but they pissed her off with their elitist bull. Still, there was no need to argue all the time. It was tiring them all out.

Thankfully, it was then that the limo’s door was pulled open by their driver and Sam blinked against the brightness of the New York afternoon sun. She turned back to her parents. “Bye, and thanks for lunch. She smiled at her mother. Don’t worry, Mom. I shall be a model neighbor. No loud raves.”

Her mother gave her a glare, then softened and smiled back. “Just you make it to my dinner next week. I will call you tomorrow.”

She started to exit, but was stopped as her father grabbed her hand. “Speak to you soon. And be careful.” He palmed her a few bills.

“Dad, no.”

“Stop it, Samara. Don’t fight me on this. Now is not the time to go getting proud.”

She raised a brow and let out a sigh, easing the money from his hand into her own. Maybe he was right. So far what had her pride gotten her anyway?

• • •

Sam leaned back on the loft’s elevator wall and closed her eyes, fighting hard to push down on her anger. She shouldn’t have let her father get to her like that. But the paper and then her art and finally bringing up Charles? It was just too much. They all missed him, but for her father to use his death like that? It was just wrong. The thought of her brother brought a pain too familiar to her chest that she wished she could just rip away. Sam suddenly wanted to scream. But she took a breath and started to count instead. She had to keep control. It was all she had. She just had to keep it in place a little longer. Make it upstairs and then she could let it out in her own way. Her own safe way. In front of her canvas.

That is if the freaking elevator door would just close!

She should have known that having a family lunch with her parents would be a nightmare and prepared better for it. Sure, she knew her father would be up to his old tricks and manipulations and have something planned for her, but the guilt thing was low, even for him. When would he just let the past stay in the past and let her be her own woman?

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, already knowing the answer to that question. Never. He didn’t do it with her mother and he wouldn’t with her. Sure, he placated her mom with the short leash of letting her run a part of the business, but that was just to keep her quiet and the family image stellar. Keep everything in control and hold onto the power — and now he wanted to do the same with her. Sam knew he felt he’d lost it for a while when they lost Charles, and now it was her turn to pay the piper.

Sam made a tight fist, her newly manicured nails digging into her flesh. She told herself she was fine and besides, it was only her due and Leightons always paid their debts. Biting at her top lip, she felt a light sheen of perspiration form. She could handle this. She’d learned her control from the Leighton best; it was in her damned blood. No matter what he thought, somehow she would live her life on her terms.

Finally the elevator door began to close, and Sam let out a long breath of relief. Great, she’d be out of these freaking heels soon, could get out of this constricting skirt. She started to undo the button that was digging into her side when a large hand reached out and stopped the door from closing.

“So this is the clothing optional car?”

A voice like wheels on uneven gravel rolled over her.

“I want to paint you.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before her brain could catch up to stop them. And there it was. Samara was trapped. Alone in the elevator, skirt half undone and looking into the dark, dangerous eyes of her silent rider. Oh holy freaking hell.

I want to paint you.
Did she really just say that? Out loud?

“Excuse me?” Sam heard the confusion in his gravelly voice — or was that amusement? Her mouth opened to a wide “O” as she felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. After brunch with the parents could this day get any worse?

She shifted; her spine stiffening as she forced her well worn mask back into place though inwardly she shook. There was no way in hell she was addressing her earlier painting comment. Her first time speaking with her silent rider and that was what she said? Just perfect. “Sorry, I was just, um, talking to myself and, well, adjusting.”

To that, her silent rider raised a dark brow and stepped into the car, filling most of the usually ample space. She watched as he readjusted his frame, moving the large box he was carrying from one hand to the other. His corded arms were barely restrained by his thin black tee.

He seemed to make light work of the heavy looking wooden box. And despite herself, Sam swallowed as she studied the muscular lines of definition that the tee highlighted, her eyes turning into an invisible brush as she studied the light and dark shadows his muscles made, the way they led her eyes from one to the other, up his forearm to his biceps and from there across his broad shoulders. She squinted and thought she could just make out the faint shadows of a tattoo banded across his upper bicep.

The rider shifted and Sam moved, easing to the side and tilting forward slightly to see what button he would press. When he didn’t press any as the doors closed, her senses once again jumped to full alert. So what, he lived in her building — that didn’t mean he couldn’t also be some mad man following her into the elevator. All she knew of him was what she had seen as she saw him zipping in and out of the garage on that sleek bike of his. And, yes, during the few side-eyed glances, she slipped when she’d happened to catch him picking up his mail or slipping out of the building as she sat on the bench across the street admiring the view. Never during any of those times had they exchanged words.

Sam pulled her purse closer, and made sure her cell was in emergency ready mode. She noticed his eyes shifted as he rolled back from the balls of his feet to his toes then back again. “Can I get a floor for you?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound steady. There was no way she was getting off on her floor alone with him.

He slowly turned around. “No, I’m fine.”

She felt her brows knit together. Fine? What the hell did that mean? It wasn’t like there was an abundance of people he could be visiting on her floor. There was just her and the hermit-like sculptor who barely opened the door for Season’s Express food deliveries. She narrowed her eyes on him further and felt her lips twist. Just then the elevator came to a jarring stop, sending her swaying as the doors swooshed open, making her refocus her thoughts. Time to get a move on.

The rider took a step and balanced his box in one hand while putting his hand out to hold the door open for her with the other. Sam took a cautious step forward. “After you, Miss Leighton.” Sam froze, her breath catching and stopping in the middle of her throat. As her name flowed from his lips, a fissure of desire ran down her spine and all she could think of was summer heat and burning Bronx asphalt.

She looked up at him, prepared to go either for her cell or his balls, whichever seemed the best choice. She went for neither as she met his gaze — he was all golden marble and fierce dark eyes. It was then she noticed the small scar above his eyebrow, but somehow it just made him that much more fiercely handsome. She’d give him one chance, then it was on. Cell or balls. She was ready. “How?”