“And you’re a good judge of people, are you?”
Her face clouded then. It was just for the briefest of moments, but he caught it and instantly regretted his words.
She shook her head and looked at him, the cloud now gone from her expression, but not her eyes. “I’m getting better. Let’s just say that experience has taught me not to be so liberal with giving the benefit of the doubt. I’m more of a ‘show me your character and I’ll judge you then’ kind of person now.”
Mark nodded.
“What does that mean?”
“What?”
“That nod and the face.”
“What face? I didn’t make a face.”
“Oh, you made a definite face.” He did a nod and a shrug that had her drawing in her brows and pulling a frown. “Really, Mr. Thorn, you were judging me for being judgey?”
He shook his head. “I was not and I did not make a face.”
He watched as her toes began to tap.
“What’s that?”
“What?” she said.
“The toe tapping. You getting a little annoyed with me?” he teased.
She stopped mid tap and crossed her arms. “No, I’m not. I’m just trying to figure you out. I asked you a question a while back and you clearly evaded it and now you’re trying to turn things around to me.”
He leaned against the back of her couch and looked at her. “There is nothing much to figure. I work in security with a Y not an S so I make enough money, but not money like the fat cats on Wall Street with the big S as in securities. I was in the Army for a while, thankfully got out unscathed, went from there to work private security where I was indeed, as you say, reckless. But I got forcefully slowed down when I wasn’t as lucky as I was in the Army and got shot in a stupid wrong tagging mix up. So I paid the price there, but that’s okay ’cause I learned some good lessons and in the end it all worked out. I got it together and met back up with some good guys from my Army days with my particular skill set and now I’m looking to expand my small security with a Y operation into something bigger.”
She looked at him, wide eyed. “Damn, that’s a lot in a small synopsis. You’ve seen a lot for someone so young.”
He shrugged. “Not really. There are plenty that have been through worse and more. I’m lucky.”
Her eyes had gone soft but thankfully she didn’t come any closer. He didn’t think he could take it. “Bigger how?” she asked.
He frowned at her question, not understanding at first, then nodded when he got that it was a question about his business. “Just bigger. We’re a decent sized operation now. Working clubs. I was also scouting for a new client when you saw me last night. In addition we do private guarding, but I think cooperate work is where we’ll go next.”
He couldn’t help but notice that she frowned then. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“You’re tapping your foot again.”
With that she stopped and stared at him, challenging him with her eyes as if she was looking for something.
Shit, it was downright unnerving.
“And?” she said.
“And what?”
“And what else do you do? You chose this artist’s building and that apartment for a reason. What was it?”
He wanted to run. He couldn’t tell her it was for her, could he? It would be the end for him — or maybe the beginning. He took a deep breath, his mind buzzing. “I dabble in a little woodworking.”
She suddenly dropped her arms then opened them wide. “See, was that so hard? I’d love to see your stuff sometime!”
He shook his head. “I’m no artist like you. I just needed some space where I could spread out a bit.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, stop being humble. I’m sure you’re fantastic.”
For some reason, just hearing that small bit of praise, even though she’d never even seen his work, was a lighted candle to his heart. He felt new. Reborn.
“See, this is better. I hate being in the dark. Especially after … well,” she said, a little sheepish and so cute. He fought the pull. The pull to kiss her just one more time. In the fog of his mind, he could hear her still talking while his mind went other places. “ … the alley and then the elevator. At least now I feel like we’re more on even ground. Not that it will happen again, but if things did … arise. I’d like to feel at least now I know you.”
With that Mark could not help but burst out laughing.
Samara frowned. “What is so funny?”
Mark stepped forward, ignoring every single warning bell that was going off in his head, perfectly willing to block out the clear signs that said Danger, Caution, and Falling Rock Zone as his hands seemed to rise on their own volition and he reached out to graze that perfect peach cheek. His thumb inched to the side and rubbed across that plump bottom lip, silencing her as she looked at him with surprised eyes. And then she did it. Her lips stretch wide and his world exploded in color.
Chapter 10
Six thirty-five and once again he was kissing her. But they were just talking. Having coffee. Really, she did only invite him up for coffee and talk and now he was kissing her. Shit, Gabby would swear this was planned.
Samara fought to keep the words running through her head and to bring some sort of balance to her brain. She knew she had to put a stop to this, but it was hard. Oh so hard, as Mark’s lips were melding into hers and she was now leaning in toward him like some sort of inflatable man shaped life raft tossed off the deck of a passing ship.
She sighed into his warm breath. Why fight it? Thinking was overrated anyway when you had a man this delicious and your chest was pushed up against his chest and his chest was so wonderfully rock hard that it could be sculpted from marble and your lips were perfectly melding with his lips. His lips that were soft and kissable, but just firm enough to send fizzures and sizzles to every erogenous zone that you ever knew about and three others you didn’t.
Mark’s tongue snaked out and intertwined with hers at the same time his hand came around the back of her neck, pulling her deeper into him, forcing her head back. Her eyes fluttered and she looked up, surprised to see his own briefly flutter open too and gaze at her with open admiration. Something snapped. A flash of desire, mixed with anxiety, mixed with a sense of déjà vu that she didn’t understand. Sam jolted as if shocked and Mark stilled, instantly releasing her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. She watched as he wiped his palms on his jeans. Now that was a first.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s fine. Um, the coffee is probably now cold. Would you like me to make you another one? You know, I was thinking that sketching you could be fun. You have the most interesting planes in your face. But first, um, let me get that coffee.” Damn, she was rambling. She didn’t ramble. Sam turned away, already heading toward the kitchen when Mark reached out his hand to stop her.
That wasn’t a charge of electricity she felt and even if it was, she sure as hell wasn’t acknowledging it. Her chin lifted, and her eyes met his.
Mark let her go. “No. I get it.” He nodded. “A sketch, huh?”
She smiled. “Well, I’d rather paint you. All in due time, of course.”
He smirked, flashing those devilish teeth. “As if you have enough paint to cover me.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “How about you let me worry about what I can cover.”
He paused at this, the heat sparking between them. “How about you show me some of your work first?” Sam stiffened a bit and he held up a hand. “Or is it private? If it is, I understand.”
She let out a breath. At least they were on easy — well, easier ground. “Sure, I mean, well, I usually don’t like to show unfinished work, but I invited you up — can you just give me a minute?” She held up a finger.
“No problem.”
Sam ran to the refuge of her studio space which suddenly felt like a cage. Why did she go and bring up sketching him? Damn it for letting him get all up in her head. She should have just let him leave when he wanted to leave earlier. It was safer that way.
She spun around the space, looking at her pieces, feeling the usual mix of pride and anxiety that she always got whenever she thought of showing anyone her work. Then her eyes hit the canvas with the motorcycle rider and she froze. No, she didn’t want him to see that. If he knew he was the influence, she’d be mortified. She reached out to move it to flip it and hide it, but frowned as she tapped at the canvas with her index finger and found it still slightly tacky. No way she was risking it. Not even for her ego.
“Shit,” she ground out.
“Can I help?”
Sam lowered her head. Was timing ever on her side?
She turned to the open framed doorway.
“I thought, well, it sounded like you needed a little help.”
Sam let out a breath and shook her head. Forcing herself not to block the painting, she stepped aside. “Nope. I’m fine. Just making sure everything is right in here.”
She could tell he wasn’t going for her cheeky attitude. Something about this man made it feel like she couldn’t fool him, but still she had to try. Had to guard herself.
“So can I come in?”
“Sure, come on in. There’s nothing much to see really. Everything is a bit of a mess, but that’s the way it is when I’m working. I’m preparing for a show so I’m working on a few pieces at a time. I’ve got my still life by the water, on the table, a few portraits, the alley.” Shit, she was rambling. Again.
And he was silent.
She watched him, her nerves churning. He was walking around her studio slowly. It was as if he was some deep thinking art critic out to give her a review. He paused over each piece. Getting close and stepping back. Hunching low down to the ground so that the muscles in his wide back stretched his tee just to the point of straining, as his jeans hung a bit lower. He then tilted his close shaved head to the left and then the right and when she was just about to jump out of her skin he stretched back up and started the process all over again with the next painting.
Oh jeez. Why didn’t he say something already? If this was what her show was going to be like she would lose her mind. And he hadn’t even gotten to the motorcycle rider. Sam’s palms got sweaty.
“I’m going to make another cup of coffee, you have at it,” Sam said, turning on her heel and leaving the room.
• • •
Mark watched her steeled back retreat. Good, maybe now he could think up something to say and stop being this silent clown. But seeing that painting with the motorcycle rider snatched any words from his mind. What the hell did it mean? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t sound either incredibly arrogant or all out stupid? But it wasn’t arrogance or fear really that silenced him; it was the fact that he was humbled. Humbled over the fact that she was thinking of him enough for it to in some way have influenced her work. He didn’t know what to say. And yes, he knew it was him. He’d know his bike anywhere. Stepping up to the painting he peered closer. Was that? Freaking A. It was even his tattoo, the shadow hinted at, peeking from the rider’s tee. He frowned and rubbed his forehead, his hand unconsciously going to his brow.
Mark mumbled, “This woman could unwittingly be the death of you.”
He heard an indrawn breath and looked up. Samara was staring at him, holding two coffee cups with the coolest expression he had ever seen. “Trust me, Mr. Thorn, when it comes to death anyone can tell you that I don’t play around and I’d never do it unwittingly.”
Something in her expression made his eyes narrow. He had hit her and hit her hard.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
She shrugged. “And I really didn’t mean for you to see that painting, but I wasn’t thinking clearly when I invited you up here, so I guess we’re even. It won’t happen again.”
His brows shot up. “What won’t happen again? Has my invite been revoked? Don’t you want to know what I think of your work?”
She stared at him for what felt like a long time before she opened her mouth. “Not really.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Better to develop that thick skin now, because I’m sure the art world can’t wait to eat you alive.”
“I’m sure they can’t. But they’ll have to get in line.” And in that instant he saw it. That hint of hurt and vulnerably that she tried so hard to hide. She needed to be the one that threw the first punch since the world had kicked her down so many times already.
He stepped forward, not quite sure what he was going to do — reach out or leave her to herself. Leaving was probably the right thing to do. He knew it was the smart thing. But he looked down. She was gripping the coffee cups so tightly he was afraid she could shatter the fragile glass. He leaned in toward her ear. “Well, Miss Leighton, they’ll have to get past me first in order to get to you and I don’t plan on letting that happen.”
He watched as she drew in a breath and her chest rose and fell.
“I know it doesn’t matter and I know that I really don’t know all that much about art, but you are one talented ass woman.”
He saw something in her visibly release and she looked around, setting the cups on a nearby work table before turning back to him. Something flashed in those eyes. Something he couldn’t read.
“Miss Leighton, you’ve got to give me more to go on than that. I’m really not a mind reader.”
She blinked, lowered her lashes, and shook her head. “What time do you have, Mr. Thorn?”
He frowned and glanced at his watch. “Five after seven.”
She then gave him the sexiest, most kick ass, most dick hardening, most bring him to his knees smile of his life.
“Just perfect. It’s almost dinnertime.”
Chapter 11
He was like a ripe fruit bursting to fullness on her tongue and she wanted to drink in all of his rich juices in one gulp. Sam pulled back, scanned Mark’s full lips, chiseled cheeks, and dark fiery eyes, and before he could protest she leaned back in. But he leaned in too and they met in a clash of tongues and teeth and all breathless energy. He sank into her. God, he was so hard and muscular and Sam was hit once again by the force of his rock hard chest and strong arms as they circled around her body. She was so excited, she was ready to explode, and Sam knew she had to find some cool, just a little sense of control or she’d go ripping at his shirt like a wild animal. But obviously Mark felt it too, because in that moment he rubbed against her, his essence, hard and full as he moaned against her lips. “Jeeze, I’m going to lose it, here and now,” he said, pulling back, away from her.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Samara growled against his lips. “There is no way you’re getting away from me now.” She tipped up on her toes, took his bottom lip between her teeth, and gave it a tug. The man was delicious. Delicious and dangerous and decadent like rich chocolate and she wanted him no matter what it did to her diet. She leaned in and pushed up against him, her already hardened nipples getting just that much harder through the lace of her bra and the thin rib of her top as they grazed against his chest some more. She angled the rest of her body in and groaned. He was hard and huge all over. Her hands, spread wide across his chest, practically itched to trail further down. She took a deep breath. Was this what her coffee rouse was all about? Not long ago, she was brunching with Peter Moss. Daddy’s golden boy. But Mark was everything that Peter was not. He was clearly the stuff of her fantasies. The thing that literally got her juices flowing. And, if truth be told, now her muse.
Could he be just what she needed or was he just another diversion? A road to her further destruction? But then his lips started to wander down to her neck
and all conscious thought vanished as a shiver ran through her being. The shiver was automatic and uncontrollable as he brushed over just the right spot and his hands, oh damn, his hands, were firm and sure as they cupped her behind and pulled her in closer to him, one traveling up the side of her waist to graze the underside of her breasts. She was melting. And melting meant a loss of control. To bring herself back and not to completely puddle out, Sam let her own hands roam as her lips went to the corded muscle at his neck. She found his pulse point and suckled. He moaned and she didn’t resist the slight smile that came to her lips. Her hands veered downward between them and as she reached for his hardness she was rewarded with another moan, one that verged on a groan. Her smile went wider.
“You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?” he whispered against her ear.
“What, and you aren’t?” she breathed.
“As you can tell, I am,” he ground out as if torn between pleasure and pain.
She couldn’t help running her hand up the length of him, enjoying every inch. But then he reached out, grabbed her hand and pulled it to her side. “No, sweetheart, not so fast. You’ll undo me. And I like to take my time.”
Something in the way he said it, that low rumble, had her just about ready to explode right then and there, fully dressed in the doorway of her studio. That sure voice of his — so full of assuredness and a promise and definite satisfaction. She wanted more. She pushed against him. “Who says we have time?”
But then Mark leaned in and with sure and steady hands pulled her tightly to him. “Like I said, I don’t like to rush.”
And suddenly she was up, being lifted and now floating as Mark carried her easily from her studio back toward the living room. Out of her peripheral view, she saw the painting with the motorcycle rider retreating in the distance, while her own rider carried her off to her fantasy.
Sam knew she should say stop, but there was no way that word was leaving her lips. Her lips were primed and ready for something else. Full and swollen, wanting nothing more than to be on his. To feel him again. She leaned in and inhaled him. Sam pressed her lips to his slightly rough jaw, enjoying the feel of the scrape against her tender flesh. Sam closed her eyes and relished the sensation of being in the air, supported by his strength, surrounded by his scent. But then she was falling, tumbling, being gently lowered to the couch below. She opened her eyes as a moment of fear gripped her — but there he was. All wide and solid and staring back at her.
Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) Page 10
