Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) (21 page)

Sam let out a groan. She had forgotten. Seems they were definitely on the fast track with this Peter thing. “Really, Mom. I’m sorry, but can’t you go without me?”

Liv shot her a look and then gave a slight glance to Mark and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, Samara, but that is not possible. We have a reservation and I don’t think it will go over well with Peter.”

Sam looked over at Mark and he gave her an easy grin. “It’s fine, Samara. I’ve got work to do. Besides, I’ll be seeing you. It’s not like I’m not right across the hall.”

Howard coughed and turned to Liv, seemingly irate. “So now we house bikers too? What the hell kind of building are you running over here, Liv?”

Sam looked at Mark, stricken, but he thankfully burst out laughing, turning to Howard and slapping him on his back. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Leighton.” He turned to Sam’s mother and offered her his hand. “Mrs. Leighton, you have an amazing daughter. I’m honored to be her neighbor.”

They shook hands. With that Liv nodded and took Sam’s arm possessively. They both watched as Mark walked back to his bike and smoothly got on, putting on his helmet. Without a backwards glance, he revved and headed down the block.

Sam dropped her mother’s arm and silenced her father with the Leighton look of fury as they entered the lobby.

“Don’t give me that look, Sammy.”

“Then don’t start, Dad.”

They entered the elevator and Liv stopped them both. “I don’t want to hear it from either of you. Sam, you’ve now got about fifteen minutes to pull it together and make yourself presentable. And perk up, we’re going to Bergdorf’s. We can pick you up some new makeup. I’m thinking a new blush would do you a world of good.”

• • •

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make your party last night, Liv. It was terribly inconvenient for the league to have their benefit on the same night. But alas, being on the board all these years I could not beg off,” Dominique Moss said by way of apology.

“Really, it was no problem, Dominique. Your son represented you very well,” Liv said, putting the woman at ease as she sat her tea cup gently back on its saucer.

Sam tried her best to pay attention to the two women and wipe away the erotic images of Mark that were currently running though her mind. She should be thinking of the beautiful tea service set before them and not Mark’s fine, strong hands as they stroked up the side of her body. Or the pretty little cakes with the artfully done initials and not Mark’s broad chest, glistening before it came down on her. She blinked. Really, she should be concentrating on the sugar biscuits and not his delicious, strong thighs that could hold her up and keep on pumping until he had wrenched every last drop. Oh hell, this was not a good look at all. Sam picked up her napkin and wiped at her brow.

“You know the committee would really benefit from having someone like you, Samara. Some new blood. Time for us stodgy old biddies to move on. Make way for the young ones. Am I right, Olivia?”

Sam felt a nudge at her side and blinked, turning to her mother.

“Sam, did you hear Dom? Don’t you think being a part of the New York League would be fantastic?”

Sam narrowed her eyes on her mother. “I don’t know, Mother, it really doesn’t seem to be my sort of thing.”

Liv frowned. “Of course it is, dear.”

Dominique leaned in and gave Samara’s hand a pat. Sam stared at the woman for a moment. She was lovely. Around her mother’s age and beautiful, but for some reason dressed older and more conservatively than she needed to be in a vintage St. John suit that was way too warm for the season.

“Now, Olivia, maybe she just doesn’t know enough about us yet. That’s okay.” Dominique smiled. She had her son’s full lips, but when she smiled the only part of her face that moved were those lips, thanks to very liberally placed cosmetic enhancements. “Besides, Samara’s candor is what I like about her. That’s what I told Peter. Enough of all this running around wild. You need to find a woman from a good New York family with a strong hand. And I, of course thought of your daughter.”

“Of course.” Sam’s mother nodded and Sam suddenly had the distinct urge to scream — better yet, to run. What, was she up for auction or something?

“I tell you, these children need guidance. Peter has been hanging around with some quite undesirable characters. Clearly, we had to put our feet down.”

Sam stayed silent as the encounter with that dude Stephan during the brunch with Peter came to mind. There was something going on there. She wouldn’t put even money on it, but long odds, yes. It was something in Peter’s tightening when Stephan came around. And she had a feeling Dominique was up on what was going on. So how was she to come into play with this little charade? Sam frowned, suddenly feeling more dirty than she had even felt before. Why was she doubting Peter and what right did she have either way? She was using him just like he was using her. He could live his life in any way he wanted. And his damned mother didn’t have a right to manipulate them both into a corner.

Sam picked up a biscuit and bit down, letting the rich sugary taste explode in her mouth. Instantly her brain overloaded with the thought of the earlier morning, and just about every body part of Mark’s once again came flooding into her thoughts. Big. Strong. Smooth. Hard.

Oh fuck.

She took another bite and her eyes shifted between her mother and Dominique busily plotting her and Peter’s next few months. She let out a low breath. With the way this tea was going she was either going to be telling one of these women off within the next fifteen minutes or popping off into the ladies, tugging off her sensible control combo and finishing herself off if she couldn’t get enough of these damned cookies or back to her building and Mark soon.

“I want to paint you.”

Mark stared, tight lipped, at Samara standing in front of his door dressed like she was about to receive the Queen of England and had no business to be asking about painting the likes of him. Once again it was late in the evening. He was just back from a meeting with his new client about having his boys starting at a club next week and was considering ordering dinner when the knock came at his door.

“Now where have I heard that one before?”

“Very funny, smartass, but you do owe me a painting.”

“I don’t think I owe you anything, Miss Leighton. The way I figure it, we’re square.”

Samara’s brows drew together. “Come on, Mark, don’t tell me we’re back to the Miss and Mr. stage.”

At the sound of her saying him name something in him broke apart. He’d gone over the morning — and the few moments he’d had with her parents — countless times that afternoon and he’d become hardened to it. He guessed he’d dodged a bullet by not being recognized by her parents. But honestly, why did he expect to be? He wasn’t anyone to be remembered in either of their lives. But still it stung, especially for his mother who had given so many years to Leighton Industries and in the end lost her health and had nothing to show for it but heartache and mounting bills.

Mark frowned as Samara looked up at him with cautious eyes. “Are you angry with me for the way my parents acted earlier? Listen, I know they can be God awful snobs.” She paused, shifting nervously. “Hell, we all can be.” Her eyes narrowed, giving him a bit of a challenge. Was she right? Was he also being a snob in some way? “But they are who they are and I can’t change them. I can only be me.”

He sucked in a deep breath. How could he be angry at her for the way her father acted? It wasn’t her fault. Besides, she was clearly his princess. His most valuable doll to be encased in glass and put on a shelf. Not to be taken down and devalued by the likes of someone like him. “No, I’m not mad. Your father is who he is.”

Her thoughtful smile seemed to travel across the doorframe and whisper on his lips. “And with that you speak the truth. My father is not going to change.” Her lashes came up and she caught Mark in a penetrating stare. “And neither am I.”

He looked at her hard, trying his best to see past the wall she was putting up. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

She tapped her foot and he looked down.

“So,” she said, now infinitely brighter.

“So what?”

“So are you going to pose for me?”

Mark let out a growl and ran a hand across his chest. “Miss Leighton, I thought we already went over this.”

Sam laughed, big and loud, the full-bodied sound filling him up and practically expanding throughout every part of his body. She leaned forward and poked him in the chest. “You just bring your big handsome self over to my place in a half hour and we’ll see what I can cover, Mr. Full Of Yourself Thorn.”

Mark watched, shaking his head as Sam turned on self-assured heels and headed for her door.

“But I was just going to order dinner,” he yelled after her before she closed her apartment door.

She opened it back a bit and gave him a heart stopping sexy look. “No need to worry about that either. I’m sure I can rustle up something over here that will have you plenty satisfied.”

Mark felt an instant tightening in his groin and shook his head, at the same time that laughter bubbled up in his chest. If this was what the being tossed around on a Samara Leighton roller coaster felt like, well then, he might as well hang on tight and enjoy the ride for all it was worth.

• • •

“I don’t do full frontal nudity,” Mark said as he followed Samara into her apartment.

“Oh, what a disappointment. I had already planned on getting six figures for this one too. Oh well. Guess I can always work from memory.”

Mark reached out to grab her arm and turned her around. “Watch it there, Shorty.” He knew it was just an excuse to touch her. Touch her anywhere and right now even her wrist would do. Touching her was all he’d thought about in the twenty seconds since she had opened the door looking so adorably luscious in a black tank top, cutoff jean shorts, and her bare feet. And in her bare feet, he was now looking over the top of her head and for some reason it made him just want to take her in his arms and hold her for as long as she would let him. She leaned up on her toes and stuck out her tongue.

“I’ve got you here now. What I do to you on canvas or off is up to me. Creative license.”

He pulled her toward him, cupping her rounded bottom just under the edge of her shorts and grinding her to his already aching erection. “I’ll be the judge of just how creative you are.”

Her eyes widened, but she shook her head and patted his chest, pushing back. “This is why I don’t deal in live subjects. Too many opinions.”

He let her go, slowly releasing her and easing her down his body. “And that’s a problem?” he said, following her into the living space. He stopped short when he saw the spread on her kitchen island.
How in the world did she do all this so fast?

“Yes, it usually is a problem. I’m an artist. We don’t like outside opinions. You either take it or you leave it. And if you leave it, you keep it moving.” She shrugged. “It’s our way.”

Mark stared at her, not fully believing that her stance on outside opinion was entirely due to her being an artist. He’d watched her long enough to know there was something deeper there. Samara Leighton had been hurt and it wasn’t due to opinions about her work. But he kept silent. He could go along with it. Like he’d told himself, he was along for the ride now.

“And this?” he asked again, walking over to the island, his mouth starting to water.

She grinned. “I can’t have you working on an empty stomach. I’ll have you know I’m quite the adept orderer and I have accounts at all the best restaurants.

He looked at the spread. She certainly didn’t lie about that. There were thick cuts of steak and potatoes to go with it. Braised greens, as well as macaroni and cheese. A fruit plate with some whipped chocolate confections on top and she had a dark wine airing out off to the side with two glasses. He stared opened mouthed not knowing whether to dive into the food or swing her around and kiss her for it. “Damn. I was just going to order a burger.”

Suddenly her eyes went dim and a furrow marred her brow. “I’m sorry. I could order you a burger if you want.”

Mark rushed over and put his palms on her cheeks, making her look up into his eyes. “Shit, now I see what you mean by not taking criticism well. Are you crazy? I’m just telling you because I was only going to order a burger and this is more than I could have dreamed of. Why would I pick a burger when you’ve set me up with steak?”

He watched her blink, the light instantly coming back to her liquid eyes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, and Mark felt his chest lighten. Why was he so connected to this difficult woman? He knew the risks and yet here he was, willingly putting himself out there at every turn, volunteering to have his heart most assuredly broken. Was it worth it? All for just one smile? Sam leaned up on tiptoe and her lips brushed against his ever so lightly. It was like a brushstroke from a wayward angel. Mark let the joy seep in and take over every cell of his body and when he opened his eyes Samara was staring at him, confusion and wonder in her expression.

“What?” he choked out.

She shook her head. “I just have never met anyone like you. You are a complicated neighbor to have, Mark Thorn.”

He nodded, remembering their past and not daring to think of their future. “As are you. Now can we eat? I don’t know if I can take the torture of you and this food much longer.

• • •

Sam knew she was a little too quiet as they ate, but honestly, she didn’t trust herself to find the right words and not potentially ruin the mood and send Mark off and running back to his apartment, or worse, motoring off into the night never to be seen again. She took another bite of her steak as thoughts whirled around in her head. That damned tea with her mother and Dominique Moss had scared the hell out of her and once she’d finally left the two of them at her mother’s apartment, probably working on booking next year’s reception hall, she was an emotional wreck. She was also on pins and needles. Her body and, she hated to admit it, her heart were screaming at her to get back home and be near Mark.