“Thanks again. I think.”
He just grinned wider. “You really should be. You are gorgeous. But then it’s not like you have to work, huh?”
Sam opened her mouth, but Peter piped up. “Isn’t that your friend signaling you? Looks like your table is ready.”
It was now clear that Peter didn’t like this intrusion and tension was starting to radiate from his every pore. Sam looked over to Stephan’s friend, a tight lipped older gentleman who, though trying to look young and hip, there was no denying his discomfort in his overly tight skinny jeans and made to look vintage overpriced tee. Stephan turned back to them and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Yeah, I’d better go. Boy’s gotta think of his career.” He focused on Sam and was all manly charm all of a sudden. Wow. This one could give the wrong girl whiplash. “I hope to see you around, Ms. Leighton. We could do some real damage together.”
Sam didn’t bother to hide her displeasure at his comment. But Stephan didn’t bite and flipped to Peter. “Hit me up, Mr. Moss.” And with that he was gone.
“What was that all about?” Sam asked.
“What?” Peter was back to diving into his steak and eggs, which she knew were now cold.
“That guy. He seems like a piece of work.”
Peter wiped his mouth and put his napkin on his plate, giving her a hard look, his eyes suddenly holding something deeper than she’d ever seen. Something dark. But then he blinked and it was gone. He was back to public Peter. “He’s a nobody. Just a hanger on, always trying to make it in any way he can.”
Sam’s eyes swept over at Stephan who was now seated at a table and chatting it up with the older gentleman about what was clearly more than business between the two of them. She suddenly felt for Stephan. New York was full of his type trying to make their way and coming up on the rough side. Swimming with the sharks was dangerous business. But then Stephan glanced her way and gave her a hard predatory sweep of his crystal blue eyes. They pierced through her with a challenge of beauty, decadence, and all that was alluring about New York. She gave him a brief hard look back before turning back to Peter, sudden memories of the not so distant past at the forefront of her mind. She took stock of all three of the men in this situation and had a hard time trying to figure out who was the shark and who was the guppy.
Chapter 8
As soon as she slammed her door, Sam instantly regretted it, and then chided herself for worrying about it. What did she care if Mark Thorn knew she was home and in a door-slamming mood? She swiped at the air, swooshing her arms around. Stupid invisible tether. Despite his ease with a bike and his way around a sandwich, she’d made it clear that she was not his business, so why should she care what he heard or thought?
Sam turned away from the door and looked out at the windows, taking in the blazing sunlight. She’d already lost so much of the day, waking up late and then dealing with Peter. Well, she’d waste no more — it was time to get to work.
Stripping out of her jeans and sweater, she went about her ritual of putting on her old coveralls and her hair up. Sam walked barefoot over to her work area and was confronted by the revised alley painting. Something pulled in her stomach and she twisted her mouth. The fact that it was so right was all wrong. Frowning at the added colors and vibrancy in the light of a new day, Sam carefully moved the easel over and put it in between a painting she had done two weeks before of the Westside Pier after midnight and the one of the subway station over on Hudson. She liked them both fine, but now knew that there was something off with the older paintings. Maybe it was just her mood. Maybe, it was always her mood. She took a step back.
No, it was the light.
The light was wrong. And there was no life. The old works looked dead. She rubbed a frustrated hand over the back of her neck and let out a breath. She needed to get out. Stripping her overalls back off she let them drop to the floor and shimmied back into her jeans. She slipped on her old paint splattered Keds and tugged a well-worn Yankee cap on her head. Swiftly, she grabbed her sketchpad and already filled supply tote and headed for the door, this time making sure not to let it slam as she went for the elevator.
Sam let the sun warm her face and the beauty of the city’s architecture take her away from her thoughts as she strolled uptown along the Westside streets. Despite anything else, she did love this city. There was nothing like it. The hustle, the constant change and growth, it was always home. It was also still always surprising, the way you could turn a bustling corner and in an instant find yourself sitting on a bench somewhere in a secluded park lost in an hidden oasis, invisible to everyone except maybe the bum sunning on the adjacent bench.
By the time Sam looked up, she had walked aimlessly for many blocks and found herself on the pedestrian walk along the piers, the cars of the Westside highway speeding at her back while bicyclists, joggers, and the occasional retro rollerblader whizzed by her front. She continued to walk out to one of the few unoccupied benches closer to the water and took a seat. The foot traffic was high with tourists, and she was lucky to have the spot. It was probably a mistake coming out here with so many people, Sam thought, as she normally preferred it when it was quieter, not so many prying eyes. She was sure her time would be better spent working on a piece she had been preparing. But for some reason the thought of the stagnant formation she’d had planned just didn’t appeal anymore.
On the water was a small cluster of sailboats that had gathered not too far off shore, bobbing lazily, the sun casting a perfect beam of highlighted light between them. Sam got an instant pang of anxiety from that long ago weekend out on the island. Fighting with Julian and then —
She stilled her mind, shifting her thoughts to the view at hand. Those thoughts. They were useless. Sam looked back out on the water. These were just boats. Pretty boats out on the lovely water, owned by pretty people just like any others.
She pulled out her sketch pad and started to draw, her pencil lightly going over the slightly roughened paper while her eyes darted up and down from the water to her pad. She squinted as time moved on and the sun lowered, shining into her eyes. She let out a slow breath. It was good to be out.
And then she heard it. A roar. It pulled her up short, causing her to catch her breath and, damn it, her nipples to tighten as an instant pull ran deep and low in her groin. She turned around just as a silver motorcycle went by, revving its engine. A rumble of stirring desire thrummed straight through from her midsection to her toes. She jerked her head back. Stupid girl. What are you going to do? Salivate like a trained dog whenever you hear a bike?
“Get a grip,” she mumbled to herself and was grateful for it being a busy New York day as no one paid any attention. She looked back on her little cluster of boats, and squinted. A man had come out on one of the decks, trailed by a young woman. The man was wearing jeans and a loose fitting tee and the woman was in cut off shorts and a tight tank. She seemed to be moving fast, following him and gesturing with her hands. Sam looked down at her page and continued to sketch, adding in more shadows before the light was gone. She looked back up and the couple were now kissing, locked in some tight embrace, and Sam’s belly clinched tight, right along with them. Her mind raced to the night before and her dark rider suddenly coming to light. What was she thinking, kissing him like she had? It was playing with fire and she knew all too well the dangers of that, but still she stepped in feet first, no protective gear at all. Sam felt her brows draw in sharply.
And what was her mother thinking selling that apartment to him anyway? Did she not know her at all? But of course she did. Liv Leighton knew just what she was doing. Her mother knew she was done with the heartache that she’d had it with bad boys. But maybe her mom thought, reading her exploits in the tabloids, that she may need a bit of a reminder that the wild life wasn’t right for her. Give her something to compare Peter to. Well, message received, Mother.
Loud and clear.
Sam looked back up at the couple on the boat. They now looked more intimate. More entwined. Her mouth curved. She hated being played. But she sure did enjoy playing with her new neighbor. Samara started to draw an S curve when her pencil snapped. The man on the boat had pushed the woman back and started to walk away. Sam’s stomach tightened. The girl was standing there stunned for a moment, or at least that’s what her body language told Sam, but then she began to move toward the man again, giving chase. “Don’t do it,” Sam said softly. “Don’t ever beg.” Sam swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched the girl go behind the young man and wrap her arms around him again. This time he turned and took her in his arms. Sam looked down.
“That’s beautiful.”
“Huh?”
Sam glanced up. It was an older woman, maybe in her seventies, hair, a bright candy apple red only a bottle could achieve and face, pale and deeply lined, but all made up like church on Sunday. She wore a navy tracksuit that had a silk red poppy pinned to the right breast that matched her hair perfectly. Sam couldn’t tell if the woman was dressed for tea or working out.
“I said your work is beautiful.” She squinted at Sam’s page and then back out toward the boats. “If not a little dark. You do like to hang in the shadows, don’t you?” The woman gave her a crinkled smile.
Sam looked down and blinked. The woman was right. She had started out so light, but as per her usual she had once again stayed overly long in the shadows and what had started as a sunny day scene now almost looked like it was full on night.
Instinct told Sam not to get upset. This is what happens when you work outside. You invite in all sorts of criticisms. Besides, the woman was right — and maybe not just about the sketch. Sam shrugged. “I guess I do. I tend to get heavy handed.”
The old woman laughed at that. “Don’t we all at times, dear?”
It was then that there was a small cough from over the woman’s shoulder. The older woman rolled her eyes and Sam looked to see that she had a health companion with her. “I’d better be off. Seems my break is almost up. I will look for you another day.”
Sam smiled wistfully as she looked back to the boats. The couple was gone. She let out a breath. Maybe they had gone back under to their cabin. Sam let out a breath and sent out a silent wish for the young woman inside, too many memories flooding back to her mind.
She started to pack her things back in her tote when her phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Are you going to fill me in?”
“Fill you in on what?” Gabby always seemed to start conversations as if they were already in progress.
“On what’s going on with you and that new hot neighbor of course. Don’t go acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve had more than enough time to assess the situation and get back to me with the details and still, over eighteen hours later, nothing. I’m losing it over here. You know, like the rest of New York, I practically live through you. Except for with me, I want the real deal and not that trash they print in the tabloids.”
Sam couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. From anyone else, the mention of the tabloids and the exploitation of the rest of the world would hurt, but from Gabby it was cool. She was her friend, there for her when no one else was. A true sanctuary, always having her back and guarding her closest secrets. When it all went down on The Island, Gabby was her shoulder to cry on. Any time of day or night. Even letting her hide out with her and her roommate, Steven, uptown when the pressure got to be too much. Steven put her back together with fun talk and margaritas while Gabby gave her the real talk she needed to get back in the game. The latter was something her therapist would later identify as a crutch. Oh well, it didn’t matter to her. It was all love. And something she would never forget.
“So, the guy.”
Sam rolled her eyes to the now low and heavy sun. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Oh please, you’re so full of it. I got to thinking and you know my gut doesn’t steer me wrong.”
“Oh really?”
“Well, it doesn’t steer me wrong when it comes to other people and men. Now hush. We’re not talking about me. And the more I replayed things in my mind, the more I got a vibe.”
Sam startled. “What kind of vibe?” How could there be a vibe? Gabby had barely come in contact with Thorn.
“Just a vibey type of vibe.” Sam could hear the smug assuredness in Gabby’s tone and it was starting to grate on her nerves. “There was something in that across-the-room chemistry between the two of you. Sparks were about to fly. And then the encounter with that guy and how he came to your rescue … that will definitely not be the end of things.”
Oh hell. She hated that her friend was so on point. “Well,” she squeaked out.
“Well what?” Gabby said excitedly. “See, I knew it!”
“Oh, stop going on, will you. It was nothing much. Just a kiss.” A mind blowing, heart stopping, practically orgasmic kiss, but still, technically just a kiss. Well, two kisses, actually.
“Come on. Nothing is just a kiss.”
“Please, chill. A kiss can be just a kiss.” But as she said the words, she could practically feel Gabby’s eyebrows rising from over the phone. She answered with a decided, “Humph.”
Sam heard the laughter bubbling in Gabby’s voice. “You’re too much. I’m just saying that nothing is just a kiss no matter what you think — and that’s especially true when it comes to guys like him.”
“What do you mean guys like him?”
“Just that I know how you are with guys like him. He has bad boy written all over him. Just the type to push your buttons and, better yet, your father’s. Hey, I give you points for stopping where you did. Now let’s see how long it lasts. Let’s seeeee, it’s now what time? Five-fifteen?”
Samara growled. “Oh, shut it, Ms. Know It All. Bye.”
Buttons pushed indeed.
• • •
Mark nodded his thanks to the cashier as he picked up his coffee from the corner deli. He’d had to get out of his place and clear his mind. As it was, some woodwork, a workout, his business meeting and a ride did nothing to clear the image of Samara Leighton walking back into her apartment where a waiting Peter Moss sat. “She’s not for you.”
Yep, in that moment he was back to being that helpless, rejected kid all over again, hearing big old Howard Leighton’s voice. As Samara had closed the door and he heard the click, it took all he had to not push back and fight and say, “Hey, look this way. I’m here. You are for me.”
What an idiot he was. Of course Samara Leighton wasn’t for him. One look in those gorgeous, calculated, player eyes and he knew she was every bit the shark her father was. Yeah, she had her share of demons and sure she tried her best to hide her true nature playing at this downtown scene, but he saw her make her choice today and her words, if not her actions, were perfectly clear. She wanted her space and specifically space from him. The rough boy from the Bronx who was not quite up to her station.
Mark checked the lid on his coffee and backed out the deli door. He did a quick swivel turn, ready to make his way up the block, when he almost barreled, chest to chest, into a startled looking Samara Leighton.
“I see you’re still going way too fast.”
Her voice was like a beacon signaling him right back into her orbit.
Freaking perfect.
And just when he was getting a couple of miles out of her range. He swept her a glance. She was back to looking her downtown artist, every girl self. There were no traces of the chic city chick who he caught slipping out with Moss earlier. Not that he was watching, much.
“Hello.” He stepped back to let her into the store, but she paused. “Are you going into the store?”
She shook her head, seemingly distracted. Was it him or did she lo
ok a little flushed?
“You alright?”
And with that question, her eyes instantly became a cool plane. It was amazing how she could turn it off and on. He suspected not many people caught it, but it was there. She gave him a friendly smile. “I’m good. Just heading home. I was just wondering what time it was.”
“It’s about five-thirty. Why? You got somewhere you gotta be?” As soon as the question was out, he instantly wanted to kick himself. Who was he to ask her what she had to do with her time? But thankfully she must have been distracted and let the comment sweep by.
She looked down at his coffee cup and back up at him. “I see you’re an evening drinker too.”
He frowned, not knowing where she was going.
She continued. “No use both of us drinking alone. I was just about to make myself a pot. Why not join me?”
“Really, a whole pot? It’s getting a little late for that, isn’t it?”
She grinned and did that sweep down and back up with her lashes thing that she did so well. Damn. Wasn’t he just thinking of how pissed he was? Funny, how she seemed to fade all that out. Turning it to white noise in the background.
“Oh come on. You should know from your few run-ins with me that I don’t do watered down anything. Now would you like to join me?”
His eyes narrowed as his groin tightened. This was a mistake. He knew it, so why was he moving forward, leaning into it.
Mark stared into her challenging eyes and could see despite her casual dress and easygoing appearance, for some reason Samara Leighton was out for trouble — and suddenly all he wanted was to be the one to give it to her.
“So?”
He took a step toward her. Crowding her a bit, testing the water. She didn’t back off, but then again he didn’t really expect her to. Why would a shark show fear? No, she just stood there and angled up her chin. Going all in. Brown eyes turning to flame.
Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) Page 8
