Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance)

by Jackson, K. M.

  Seduction’s Canvas

  K.M. Jackson

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Kwana Jackson

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6133-8

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6133-7

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6134-6

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6134-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com/ostill; 123rf.com/Nataliya Litova

  For Will … forever and always

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  Acknowledgments

  As always, my first and last thanks are always to God for this and so many uncountable blessings.

  To my amazing friends and family, thank you for the unwavering love and support. I am forever grateful.

  To my writing buddies at RWA/NYC, thank you. To my PIC, my critique partners, Jen and Jeanine, Jax and also the Twitter posse for holding me down during this one. You all rock it out!

  I’d like to give a special thanks to Elissa for all her fabulousness and to Bruce for showing me how to hold on while letting go.

  Endless thanks to the Crimson Team and my editor, Jennifer Lawler. You all are incredible. And extra special smooches to Jess! Thank you so much.

  Finally, with all my heart, to my husband and my love, Willie, thank you for the best years of my life and for teaching me how to downshift. *insert wink here*

  Chapter 1

  There are two types of men: users and losers. The quicker you get that into your head the safer your heart will be.

  Samara Leighton stopped her rapid fire thumb touch texting and let her fingers pause over her cell phone’s keyboard, her eyes briefly shifting to her father as he continued his rant.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about this Hamilton Heights project. If these people keep pushing back, this could be the end and potentially cost us millions. And now this.” Once again Sam’s father slammed the tabloid on the limousine seat between them. “The last thing we need right now is bad press. It’s a goddamned mess!”

  Sam willed her budding headache to the back of her mind on an inward sigh. As if she needed to see the tabloid again. She already knew how she’d looked when the cagey paparazzo snapped the pic of her going for that chick’s weave. Like a raving nutter, that’s how. Not one of her better moments, no. But the woman had hit her trigger and she’d hit it hard.

  “Howard, please,” Sam’s mother, Liv, chimed up from the seat across from them, visibly nervous.

  Really, was this verbal lashing and all this drama what Sam had signed up for when she’d agreed to a little family lunch?

  She glanced back down at her phone and frowned. And was she being too harsh with Gabby? Sam thought for a moment then shook her head. No, Gabby would prefer her to tell it like it was instead of sugarcoating the situation. Better to get her to finally pull her head out of the clouds when it came to men. So much less pain that way.

  She heard the sharp click of snapping fingers and raised a brow. “Hello! Earth to Sam,” her father, Howard Leighton said. “Are we interrupting you with our clearly less important family business over here?”

  Sam stifled back her first response and was just about to go for her not much better second one when the limo suddenly jostled to the left, sending her, her father, and her mother tilting at odd angles.

  “What the hell!” her father yelled out as his driver, Combs, mumbled his apologies over his shoulder and said something about the mayor and road work. Sam steeled her back, leaning into her seat. She gave the text one last wistful look and pressed send before turning to her father, and putting her Leighton “ready for anything” game face firmly in place as he hit her full on with her most recent failing. This time featured in the New York Standard.

  Just perfect — and when she had been doing so well too. Living back in New York for the past year, keeping her nose clean, painting, and staying pretty much undercover. No more poor little rich girl. At close to thirty, Sam was getting a little long in the tooth for that moniker anyway, another thing the tabloid was quick to point out. But all it took was one well placed comment and a thrown drink and it seemed she was right back where she started. The not-so-darling of the New York scene with everyone ready to paint her with their usual brush. When would she get out from under it?

  Sam thought once again of leaving New York, but knew running away was not the answer. This was her city just as much as it was her father’s, the so-called king of New York, and despite him, she’d show him that. She was determined. No, running away for her. Not again. Sam snorted to herself as she half listened and half stared at her father, begrudgingly noticing the similarities between the two of them. The creamy brown complexion and the flashing dark eyes. She fought back a sigh. No, the Leightons faced problems head on, they did not run away.

  “Sam, are you listening to me?”

  Sam closed her eyes for a moment then nodded. The car suddenly lurched left once again and Sam’s brows drew together, her ears perking up and her senses sparking to full alert as the roar of the motorcycle’s engine came bearing down on them.

  I want to paint you.

  The words tumbled over in her head. She had imagined saying them to him so many times that they almost seemed to be a mantra by now. Damn, what was it about this guy that just the sound of a motorcycle made her salivate? Ever since she’d first locked eyes on him as he sped too fast out of her building’s underground garage all those months ago, it was like he was the north to her south magnetic pole.

  Sam’s frown deepened. She knew she needed to get over herself and quick, but there was something about him that she just couldn’t shake. All those times that she watched him glide by on his bike or confidently stride out of the building as she sat in the park across the street, her sketch pad in hand, it was so not her. She was drawn to him, tethered as if by some invisible string. And she hated it. It needed to be cut.

  Hell, life was binding enough. Already she was being strangled by her father, the past, the restrictions of it all. The last thing she needed was to be saddled with some bad boy biker infatuation, no matter how deliciously sexy that biker may be. No, she knew a guy like him — or any guy for that matter — would be no good for her. But especially him. Something about him, though she hated to admit it, scared he
r a bit. The idea pulled her up short. It had her mind spinning, but she knew it was true.

  From the looks of him, he didn’t seem to be the type of man who would consider being her subject, let alone her anything else. He was too raw, too meaty, too … she didn’t know what it was … real? Either way, sticking with her quiet paintings was easier and infinitely safer. Poor little rich girl indeed.

  Samara turned from her father to look out the side window as the car made its way down the narrow cobbled Soho street. She gazed at the old warehouses and factories, now converted to chic art galleries and exclusive designer boutiques and imagined them for a moment as they must have been in a time of a New York now almost long forgotten. The motorcycle’s engine revved again. It was close, too close. She looked back, out of the corner of her eye, and there it was. Wheels spinning. Chrome shining. All silver metal and black fiberglass. The bike moved forward and Sam swallowed. She knew that rev.

  Next, strong thighs encased in well-worn denim filled her field of vision. Sam’s gaze shifted up, past his muscular arms tightly wrapped in a thin black tee, and onto his unseen profile hidden behind his black helmet. She let out a small breath.

  Yep, she knew that rev. Just as she knew way too well what he looked like behind the darkened face shield of his helmet. She’d seen him from afar and put the striking image to memory many times over as she glimpsed him entering and exiting their apartment building. The rigid profile was seemingly carved from granite. Clean shaven angled jaw, buzzed head, a strong forehead, dark slash of brows, stark against his light tan skin. All punctuated by a hawk-like nose that looked as if it had seen the end of fist once, maybe twice, all leading to full lips that —

  The rider turned her way and Sam blinked, pulling back as if there wasn’t the barrier of the tinted windows or his tinted helmet shield between the two of them. It was as if he knew she was staring at him. And suddenly, time stood still. They were now in slow motion together, alone on a wave of wind on the bustling New York street.

  For one beat, then another, they looked at each other through their own protective shields. Then a horn honked and Samara blinked again, startled, as he turned away. And just like that, whoosh, time sped up again and he was off. Speeding ahead of them, crossing over in front of their car and causing the limo to lurch yet again, this time as her father spit out a curse, causing her mother to scold him with a, “Really, Howard, was all that necessary? I remember it wasn’t too long ago that you were a young man with a restless spirit.” Sam couldn’t help but grin as her dark rider sped around the corner, disappearing into the alley on the side of their apartment building. Still, it didn’t stop her from catching the piercing glare her father gave her mother at her last comment.

  “We all know what a restless spirit will get someone, now don’t we, Liv? Besides, that jerk could get us all killed. What, does he have a death wish or something?” Samara’s father’s stinging words brought her attention away from the rider and sharply back to the here and now, she felt the gut punch that took her back to the past as an image she’d rather forget flashed in her mind.

  She turned to her father with insolent eyes. “Don’t we all?”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he growled. “You know, I’m sick of what you may consider your quick wit. It’s not cute anymore and if you haven’t noticed, none of us is getting any younger.”

  “Sweet. Way to keep it real, Daddy.”

  “And how else should I keep it? It’s not like you’re doing any less by letting yourself get caught by the paparazzi like this. Hell, from the looks of this picture you could be any common trash from just about anywhere. When are you going to grow up, Sam? You’ve got this family’s reputation to protect. But what should I expect, it’s not like you ever did care about the family.”

  Sam let out a deep breath through her nose. Things were quickly heating into the danger zone. Her eyes flitted over to her mother who was starting to fidget in the plush leather seat. Liv bit her bottom lip and her petal pink manicured nails twisted at the pearls draped around her neck.

  “Hell, you won’t even let me give you a bodyguard — and if these photos are any indication, you surely need one.”

  “I don’t need some overgrown babysitter, Dad.”

  “Really, Sam. Don’t you?” Her father slammed down on the tabloid with a resounding crack, and Sam noticed her mother jump a bit. She bit back on a retort and glanced down at the paper. The headline jumped out at her. The bold red letters stating; “Leighton Smackdown” had her stomach knotting again. But despite the uneasy feeling, all Sam did was raise a brow. She would not kowtow to her father’s tirade, even if he did have a point. There would be no clutching of pearls from her. Yes, the photo was a problem. There was no way she should have gotten caught up like she did. It was stupid to let her emotions get the best of her. Being manipulated like that made her a fool and an easy target. Something she vowed to never be again after Julian.

  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.