Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) (7 page)

She swallowed, trying hard to ignore the instant shiver that ran through her body from his warm hand on her leg. “Sure. Just get me home in one piece, okay?” She fought to keep her voice steady, but hoped that the wavering could be owned up to the bike, the wind, her teeth chattering, whatever.

“You just hold on. You have nothing to worry about when you’re with me.”

His words brought her up short and she leaned back, almost losing her balance. She gave him another stare, glimpsing what she could — his strong arms and shoulders, corded neck, and a bit of his profile from around his upturned helmet. Who was he to say something so bold? As if anyone could ever keep such a promise.

She felt it happening and, try as she might, she couldn’t stop her spine from going all steely. Rod tight, even when Thorn shifted and his thumb brushed lightly over the hands she had wrapped tightly at his waist.

“Hey, you’d better lean into me. I’m about to open it up.”

Did he feel her stiffen? Was that the reason for the soft brush? Sam hoped not. She didn’t need his kindness or, worse, his pity. He could keep them both, but just then he revved and the biked jerked, forcing her to push back and then forward into his body with a satisfying thump.

“Hey, go easy.”

“Oh, Miss Leighton, I can guarantee you, I always do.”

She didn’t bother to hold back her snort and felt his chest shake with a small quiver of laughter that rumbled through his back as he once again went full throttle out into the cool New York night.

Despite it all, Samara smiled to herself and leaned in. This guy was too much. She peeked over Mark’s shoulder as the speedometer on the bike went from thirty-five to forty to — Shit. Better to not look at the speedometer and focus on the sights around her. She fought to tamp down on her fear as the unfiltered city whizzed by. Dark and mysterious and still full of life, she loved it — even if at times it didn’t love her back.

She had to admit that right now she felt more a part of it than she had in a long time, with the wind whipping around her sides and back and Mark insulating her front as they speared down the West Side Highway. Sam turned right, admiring the Hudson and the view of New Jersey. It was as if it was watching its always partying cousin and shaking a reproachful head, saying, “Time to get some rest. This youth won’t last forever.”

Sam slowly turned back to her left and looked at the old prewar warehouses now turned luxury condos mixed with the new skyscrapers, already filled with new tenants just itching for a piece of that Big Apple dream. So many lights still on, twinkling back at their New Jersey counterparts as if to say, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” The thought gave her an immediate lump in her throat and she turned away swallowing it down.

What did any of them know? What did she know? One day you were there, the world at your feet, and the next, nothing. It’s like you never existed. Better to not dream or bank on tomorrow. She stilled her mind. Where did that come from? She had been doing so good and now this. This, she couldn’t have. Not these dark thoughts. Anything but these. Sam let out a long breath, leaned in and nudged Mark with her shoulder. “Hey, I’ve seen you go a lot faster than this just leaving the building. What, are you a chicken?”

“What?”

“Come on, I want to ride! Stop treating me like some delicate flower.”

“Don’t tempt me, Miss Leighton. It’s been a long night and I think I’d better take you home.”

Samara let out a sigh as he slowed down and hung a left off Clarkson. Damn, they were almost home.

“You’re disappointing me, Mr. Thorn.”

He leaned back toward her, speaking over his shoulder. “Now that disappoints me,” he said, his voice a low purr.

Smoothly, Thorn navigated the twist and turns of the streets while Samara tried her best to hold on and ignore the powerful extra friction the cobbled streets of lower Manhattan gave her. At a stop sign, a dark, oversized SUV pulled up beside them just before they were about to turn left and the driver, dark haired, light eyed, and thick necked, gave Samara the once over and back, clearly hung up on her legs. Sam could feel the change in Thorn as he went from Mr. Easy Rider to Man of Steel in about a nanosecond. She nudged him. “Hey, it’s cool, killer. We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Mark chuckled and seemed to relax, but still, he didn’t turn until the Rover pulled off and turned right, going the opposite way from them. Pulling into the building’s side garage, they headed smoothly past the attendant on duty. Samara blinked as her eyes adjusted to the overhead fluorescent lights. She tightened her hold with her hands and thighs, not knowing what else to do as Thorn eased the bike into a back corner spot next to a late model black Mustang.

He cut the engine and took off his helmet, turning toward her. “So.”

“So.”

He just stared.

“I could use a little help taking this off,” she said, gesturing to her helmet.

There was that smile, and once again something in the back of her mind nudged at her. How was it that someone who seemed so tough could smile so easily? He went to ease off the bike, but her legs were still tight around him and she had to reluctantly loosen her hold. There she was, suddenly open and way too exposed. She pushed down on her skirt as he reached out and took her hand gently in his. Her legs were shaky and loose like overcooked spaghetti and she had to fight not to reach out and grab his shoulders. In the end the shoulders won. She couldn’t stand on her own, and his arm snaked around her waist, steadying her.

The tension in the air was thick and palpable.

Sam licked her lips then knocked at her head breaking the spell. “Um, a little help please, Mr. Thorn.”

Thorn nodded. This time the smile was dropped. He was now an emotionless mask and just big hands and long fingers coming her way as he helped her with the strap at her chin.

Samara looked down, her stomach doing a flip as she felt the vulnerable exposure of the helmet being removed. On instinct she smoothed her hair down. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You think you can walk?”

“Of course I can.”

It seemed her pithy answer brought his emotion back because a little smirk quirked the corner of his mouth. “Okay, Miss Independent, let’s go.”

Sam took a few steps, fighting to stay upright, and she was happy to feel his solid hand come to the small of her back and steady her. They made it past the attendant to the back basement freight elevator.

Feeling more herself, Sam pulled away from Mark, not fully at ease with him taking up all the space. But it didn’t escape her notice that he seemed pretty comfortable and at ease, pressing their floor and leaning back on the railing. It was as if they were an easygoing couple on their way home after an evening out. The thought had her stomach fluttering and thoughts of swirling butterflies fighting for space filling her mind. She grimaced.

Mark looked up from his boots to meet Sam’s eyes. “Calm down, it was just a ride. No need to get yourself all in a twist, Miss Leighton.”

With that, her chin hitched up on its own accord. “Who said I was in a twist? I’m perfectly fine.”

For that she got a smooth, but no less infuriating nod. What the hell did that mean? But before she could ask, the elevator stopped, coming to a lurching halt and sending her swaying, her body teetering toward Mark’s. All too quickly his arms were out and he was solidly steadying her on both sides. But not before she was close, too close, his face to hers, their mouths mere centimeters apart, if only she would just … fall in.

Again.

She glanced up. His dark eyes melted her, that warm liquid feeling slowly easing through her body. She licked suddenly dry lips. What he was putting out with those dark eyes was more than she could take. They were all fierceness and fire mixed in with a softness, a vulnerability, and a longing for something more, something she knew she’d never be able to deliver. It pierced at her. In him, she saw herself reflected back. Slowly she closed her lids and as her body stiffened she forced herself into an upright position, at the same time he tenderly eased her back to standing. On instinct, she clutched her arms around herself.

Sam blinked and looked around, breaking the short spell. “Shit. What now? Are we stuck?”

Mark turned to the control panel and gave a low cough. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Give it a minute.”

Samara watched Mark press a few buttons as she went to her bag and pulled out her cell. “Seriously? All the money I pay for service and no signal in a stupid elevator.”

Mark turned from the elevator phone and quirked a sharp brow. She gave him her own quirk back. He mumbled a few words then hung up. “Don’t worry, this should be short. According to Carlos, this elevator’s been acting up a lot lately. A repairman is on the way.”

Her eyes went heavenward. “They need to hurry it up. I just want to get out of these shoes and in my own bed.”

Well, that got the sexy smirk she was used to. “Funny, you didn’t seem all that tired when you were tearing it up on the dance floor in those shoes or when you were going after Nine.”

“Nine?”

“That guy at the club.”

She stared at him a minute, not thinking it was all that smart to engage in this line of conversation, but how could she resist? “Okay, I’ll bite. Why Nine?”

Mark leaned back and gave her an up and down, lingering a while on her black leather ankle boots then slowly making his way back up her legs, his dark sooty lashes fanning open, breezing across her chest and finally hitting her sharply between her eyes. She would not reel back.

“It was his real shoe size, though he was faking it at the club with an eleven.”

She couldn’t help bursting out laughing. “That is funny as all hell. Men do that? How is it you think he was padding?”

Mark shrugged. “He was slipping a little so I knew. I just know these things.”

“So what are you, some kind of secret agent or something or do you just have a men’s foot fetish?” She raised a brow.

“No, nothing like that. I’m just … ” And there was that look. Sam swallowed and instinctively crossed her legs. “Observant.”

Samara cocked her head to the side, sizing him up. She could find out exactly what he did from her mother if she really wanted to, but that would be taking liberties and just like something her father would do. Besides, she kind of liked this whole man of mystery thing he had going on at the moment. Sure, he looked tough, but to make the rent here he was probably some closet fight club slash investment banker slash secret millionaire slash trust fund baby just playing at being a tough guy. A background check could really be a disappointment. Guys like the one that actually sent her stomach fluttering were only in her dreams. And the better to leave them there.

“So, Mr. Observant, let’s put that to the test. Prove it.”

His dark eyes went to the latticed ceiling for a moment as if to say, “Is this woman really testing my mad skills?” and then landed securely back on her. She leaned back against the freight elevator’s padded walls and gave him a smug nod.

He let out an impatient sigh. “Okay, Miss Leighton, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Did I stutter, Mr. Thorn, or are you not up for the challenge?”

He grinned, letting out a puff of air. Then he licked those full lips, momentarily biting the bottom one and then letting it go.

Sam sucked in a short breath. “You don’t know anything.”

Mark looked up at her sharply. Did she insult him? Because that wasn’t her intent. She was just teasing a bit. Sam was about to apologize when he started to speak.

“You’re five foot nine, about a hundred and th — ” It was now her turn to give the sharp look and he stopped mid word with an apologetic smile before he continued. “Fine. I’ll move on. Your shoe size is a ten, but an eleven would make you much happier, so, yes, those shoes are probably killing you right now.”

She twisted her lips. “Okay, so you’re observant. So what — ”

“You have chocolate brown eyes that change colors when the light hits, showing hints of gold around the irises. Your hair is the most fascinating — a mahogany with three hints of brown that go to red in the sun.” She swallowed. “You straddle the line between two worlds, more like three, going from the world of Samara Leighton, daughter of real estate mogul and self proclaimed king of New York, to the woman I saw tonight, the party girl — short skirt, high heeled boots, barroom fights.” He stopped and just stared at her.

“And … ”

“And?”

“You said there were three worlds that I was straddling, So, Mr. Thorn, what about the third world? The third me that you say you know so well?” Her arms tightened around herself and she blinked rapidly.

His eyes lowered. “I’ve said enough. It’s late.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t get to stop now. Obviously, you think you have me all sized up after one meeting and one night. You’re just like everyone else. So go on, tell me the rest. What about the other me?” Her voice was rising against her own sense of control.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” She threw up a hand. “No need to be sorry now. Don’t wimp out, just keep going.”

With that, his control seemed to snap and he bounded forward, pushing off the side wall and coming to stand in front of her. A solid wall of uncompromising muscle. But her eyes lifted and held. Mark lifted his hand slowly, and still Sam refused to flinch and instead just tilted her chin up and steeled her resolve as her lips tightened and his nostrils flared in primal response.

“The third one,” he ground out as his thumb stroked, surprisingly soft along her jaw line. Fuck. She would not puddle up right here in this elevator. Sam glared as he continued. “Is the one I see when you don’t think anyone is looking. The one who goes to the park at dawn to catch the early morning light. Eyes all soft, brush or pencil in her hand. Taking in all the things that most others don’t see. The one with the paint splattered sneakers and a mixture of unrecognizable colors underneath her expensive nail polish. It’s the one who would rather be in front of a canvas over the opening of the latest club or walking the red carpet. I think that’s the you that you don’t want anyone to see. But I see her. I’ve seen her.”