Damn it. He had to know. “Why would you want to have coffee with me? I’d think you’d have had your fill this morning.” As soon as the words left him, he knew he didn’t want the answer and took a step back, away from her, starting off toward the building. But damn her and her long legs. She found it no problem easily staying in step with him.
She shrugged by his side and out of the corner of his eye he saw her lick her pink tongue lightly over her top lip. “Oh, you don’t know me well enough yet to pretend to know what fills me.”
And with that he blinked.
And she laughed.
Shit.
“You are too cute. A little easy but cute.”
Mark tried to be mad at her teasing but couldn’t. He let out a low snort, bordering on a laugh. “Okay, you got me on that one.”
“Now come on. I owe you.”
He shook his head. “It was just a little morning coffee, Miss Leighton.”
“So we’re still there? In the formal Miss and Mister stages? Despite being friendly last night?”
He studied her profile as best he could and still couldn’t figure her out. What did she want from him? Didn’t the brunch with Moss go to plan? “I thought you made it clear last night and this morning that this was exactly where we stood.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, like she was trying to find the most tactful way to find her words. Finally, she spoke. “You’re perfectly right, of course, Mr. Thorn. But that guy at the club … ” Her voice faltered a bit. “You were trying to be helpful and I was rude.”
“No, not really. You just made it clear that you wanted your space and that you didn’t need … saving.”
She stopped and he turned to look at her. “Well, I do and I don’t.” Her eyes were full on flame with that comment. He stared at her long and hard. What was with this woman? One minute pushing him away, the next kissing him for all she was worth. He swallowed the lump in his throat at the memory of her long ago innocent smile.
“No, Miss Leighton, I don’t think you do.” Then his raised his hand. “And as you can see I have my coffee.”
She snatched the cup from him quicker than he could react and he was usually pretty quick. He watched open mouthed as she stalked over to the corner trash and dumped it in. Turning back to him with a self-satisfied look, she cocked her head. “Well, now you don’t. So you’ll have to join me.”
“What the hell? I just paid for that.”
Then she smiled. That smile that took him back and made him melt. “Trust me. I’ll serve you up something better than anything you could ever pay for.”
Mark sucked in a breath as all his senses went on alert and he fought to tamper down on his growing passion. She was playing him and he knew it. He turned to go back into the deli when she stopped him with a delicate touch that zinged through him with the force of lightning.
“Come on and join me. Can’t you see I’m just trying to be nice? Besides, you bought me that sandwich which was thoughtful, thinking of my stomach like you did.”
He grinned and swept her with an up and down. He knew just how to get her to back off. Time to put this right back into the category she expected. “How do you know I wasn’t thinking about other parts of your anatomy entirely?”
She stepped forward and leaned up toward him, almost meeting him nose for nose. “Nice try, Mr. Thorn. You may look tough and talk a lot of game, but there is something more to you and I intend to find out what it is. Besides, like I said, I feel like I owe you one and I always pay my debts.”
He licked his lips, proud of himself for successfully fighting the urge to pull her in and show her what she could get for challenging him with that saucy a look.
Chapter 9
Sam tucked her cell away in frustration. Five fifty-seven. Freaking Gabby. Going and putting ideas into her head.
It didn’t matter that the ideas had already been there. What mattered was that there was someone else cosigning on the bee in her bonnet. A bee that she hoped she was way past and too mature to be buzzing about at all. She inwardly sighed as she studied Mark’s profile in the elevator. Maybe she should just back out, say she did in fact forget an appointment. It’s what he expected of her anyway. She could feign a date and slip on some heels and head to a movie or up to Gabby’s. She bit the inside of her lip. After all her resolutions to be done with him, talking to Gabby and then seeing him had sent her down this path. Asking him for coffee had just popped out of her mouth. And then when he dared to decline, well, it got her Leighton hackles up and she would not be denied.
But now that he had called her bluff, her doubts were back.
She was just about to come up with an appropriate excuse when the elevator door smoothly slid open on their floor. Crap. Of course now the elevators would be working perfectly.
Sam swallowed and stilled her nerves as Mark stepped back, gesturing for her to exit first. “Are you always such a gentleman?” she asked, raising a brow.
“Why? Would you be surprised if I said I am?”
She cocked her head as she thought about it. “Not surprised really, just refreshed. It’s not something you see that much of nowadays.”
“What, Loafers isn’t all that big on chivalry?”
Sam didn’t bother to answer, but instead swiped a swift glance down and over his pristine re-editioned shell tops. What were they, a size twelve, thirteen? That, paired with the loose but not too loose jeans he was wearing had her thinking of retro nineties hip hop videos and smoky underground jams. She imagined he’d know just how to get down to the beat of any music.
They made it to the end of hall and stopped in front of their respective doors. Samara paused, taking in the stream of waning sunlight that cut from the back hall window across the grey carpet and over her paint splattered feet.
“You really don’t owe me anything,” Mark said. “And I’m sure you want to get on with your evening.”
Her head jerked up. Was that uncertainty she caught in his gravelly voice? It pulled her in and made her want to sink into its deep warmth. Any last thought to fake a prior engagement fled. “No,” she croaked out. “I definitely owe you a coffee. Now come on in. Consider it a proper welcome to the building.”
She watched as his mind seemed to do a back and forth warring thing for a moment. Something going on between his pride and his curiosity. “What, are you afraid of me?”
And with that question, that maddening one brow of his shot up as he spoke up, puffing out his broad chest just a little more. “Open the door, Miss Leighton. I take it strong and dark.”
Samara held her breath as she watched Thorn take the first steps into her apartment. His wide shoulders filled her doorway and she took an involuntary step back, sucking in her breath. He paused and grinned. “You having second thoughts now? You seem to do a lot of that when it comes to me.”
“Oh please. It’s just coffee, Mr. Thorn.”
He nodded. “Cool. I understand. We’re neighbors and that’s mighty neighborly of you.”
She watched as he stepped further inside. Damn, he was large. So large that she swallowed as the image of wrapping legs, arms, and whatever else she could get all around him flashed in her mind. Maybe it was just refreshing to her that she was around a man that she could actually look up to for a change. They seemed to be becoming more and more of a rarity for tall women like herself and she really wasn’t into hanging around sporting arenas doing a tall date troll.
Besides, most men, even if they were taller than her, somehow came up short, yet another thing her therapist said she should work on. Funny, she didn’t think it was her problem. She thought it was theirs, always too eager and ready to bow down to the Leighton name. No one was ever in it for just her. Sam looked up from her musings and noticed Mark’s puzzled expression.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
/> She impatiently shook her head as she plastered on her practiced face. “Nowhere,” she said, stepping deeper into her loft. “Come in, make yourself comfortable.”
Mark stood for a moment, full lips a flat line and his dark eyes, tough to read as they swept the large space, taking in her vast apartment. She knew he was sizing it up, comparing it to his own. She also knew the dimensions of both apartments and hers was large, the square footage of two apartments converted into one. Looking around, she hated the feeling she suddenly got. She’d thought she was long past caring what another person thought of her, but for some reason with him she did. With him, she found herself knocking the wall down with one hand as she readied the next brick for building with the other.
As she suspected, Mark commented. “This is some setup you’ve got here,” he said finally, turning to her. “The light is amazing. I can see why an artist lives here. It must be perfect around midday and even at midnight with these windows and the Hudson.”
Sam was momentarily stilled. The way he was looking at her, as if he was imagining her deep at work, caused heat to creep up her neck and make her cheeks go all warm.
“It’s fine,” she said, hoping she sounded cooler than she felt. She stared into his surprisingly nonjudgmental gaze. “Actually, it is perfect. I chose it just for these windows. There is no place else most days that I’d rather be.”
Thorn nodded, but she couldn’t help but notice he seemed to look a little lost as if he was a young kid who suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands and feet. Something twisted in her gut and she nervously gestured toward her overstuffed couch.
“Please, sit down.”
She watched as he ambled over to her ridiculously large sectional. It was a favorite piece of hers even though her mother, with her refined European taste, called it a monstrosity. But there were many nights that she ended up there, exhausted after a night of painting with the dawn’s light looming, and she’d just throw a cover over herself and go off to sleep.
Thorn took a seat, seemingly warming up and more comfortable, spreading his big legs wide and leaning his arms back. Looking up at her, his lips parted into a wide grin.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“I like your couch.”
She felt her nose scrunch. “You do? Most don’t. Some feel I should have something sleek and modern to be more in balance with the space.”
He looked around, then gave her another one of those up and downs that curled her toes. Maybe she ought to talk to him about those. “I can see how some would think that, looking at you from the surface. But I see you more as the woman with the paint splattered shoes and the overalls, remember? That woman would like this couch. It’s comfortable. Besides, you don’t seem like you’re that into balance. You’re an either in or out type of woman. No fence straddling.”
A smile threatened to bloom on the inside of her. Could it be that he actually saw past what others saw? No. A warning went off in her head and had her flipping closed the shutters that were easing open on her heart. She couldn’t let herself be that open. It was too easy and there was no way she would be that easy, that exposed, ever again.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a couch. It serves its purpose.” She knew her voice was a bit harsh but it was better. With the way he was going and the way she was feeling she’d end up losing her cool and offering up her soul to him within the next ten minutes.
• • •
Thorn frowned. Shit. What had gotten into her? Talk about hot and cold. One moment she was coming onto him like a hurricane, the next she was completely closed off. He once again took note to tread lightly around Samara Leighton. There were landmines at every turn.
Samara stalked toward her kitchen. Like his, it was large and open, but unlike his, hers was all smooth light cherry wood and stainless steel. None of the darker tones of his apartment which was clearly decorated with more masculine tastes in mind. But still, he wouldn’t call hers overtly feminine, he would say it had that woman’s touch. Or maybe it was just her touch. It was both warm and cool at the same time and for some reason he wanted to reach out and touch each surface in the same way that he wanted to reach for her.
Her beautiful bowed lips pulled tight as she quickly pulled down coffee from a cabinet and then went over to a large monstrosity of a coffee machine — one that looked more fit for a local gourmet coffee shop than any apartment. Her eyes were intense and her fingers were quick and expert as they went from apparatus to apparatus, the machine kicking up, making whirring and popping noises.
“I really didn’t think that a simple cup of coffee would be such an operation.”
Mark got up and went toward the kitchen island, for some reason no longer able to sit the half room’s length away. At least he found his composure and stayed on his side of the kitchen counter.
She turned. “This is no big deal.”
No big deal. If she only knew what a big deal this was. Right now as she was calmly fiddling with that NASA contraption of a coffee maker, there was all out mortal combat going on between his mind, his heart, and his primal nature. All he wanted was to reach out and touch her. Stroke her. And here she was talking about no big deal.
Mark tried his best to rein in what he was feeling as he watched her expertly make two cups of coffee — or he guessed it was some type of espresso latte hybrid. Either way, it was done with a flourish of a pretty leafy thing worthy of a seasoned barista. He fought not to lick his lips. God, she really did have the most amazing hands. Fingers long, tapered, almost delicate. But quick and sure. It wasn’t hard to just imagine swirling his tongue —
“So tell me,” she said, pulling him out of his thoughts, causing his head to jerk up from his about to be inappropriate thoughts.
“Tell you what?” he answered as she slid the white porcelain cup across the counter to him. Her brown eyes were sure, steady, and clearly assessing. He took the cup, but not before letting his own fingers briefly brush across her own. The lightest contact and he eased back away, along with the cup. Her eyes shot up to meet his and for a moment there was that spark once again. This time he knew he wasn’t imagining it. He looked away. Just what he needed, something warm and real to remind him of what he couldn’t have. Mark steadied his will and his voice before he looked back up at her. “What do you want to know?”
He watched as she raised her own cup to her lips, her full bottom lip cupping under the rim and her soft pouty top lip going over the edge. She closed her eyes a moment as the warm liquid slid down her throat. When she opened them back again, she met him with an easy smile and gave her lips a delicate lick. He was ready to break into a cold sweat. “I want to know everything, of course. It seems my life is an open book to just about anyone. So the deck is not evenly stacked. Time to even up the score.” She leaned forward, sucking him in with a not quite smirk and those alluring brown eyes. “Time to learn all about the mysterious Mr. Thorn.”
Mark hated the fear that came over him. It wasn’t like he could tell her everything. She’d probably either laugh at him or send him packing from her apartment and find a way to get him kicked out of the building, branding him some type of stalker. Shit, who knew, maybe he was. It didn’t matter that he had lived there first. He should have run for the hills or at least the Bronx the moment he saw her.
Then he saw her laugh more than heard it as she glided around the counter, coming his way. For some reason in that moment everything in him wanted to back up. Mark swallowed.
“I think I’d better go.”
“No need to look like that. It’s not like I’m going to bite you,” she teased.
Mark fought to get his composure in check. This was ridiculous. “Of course you won’t.”
She let out a low but still somehow ladylike snort. “How do you know there wasn’t a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence?”
It was his turn to let out a snort. He stared at her. Saw a glimmer of the Leighton cunning flash behind those tiger eyes. He let out a breath that centered him to his toes. Cunning he could handle. It put him on more level ground.
He put his cup down. “Like I said, I think I should go.”
Sam seemed shaken for a moment and reached out for him. Those slim fingers touching the edge of his tee then grazing his wrist. It was feather light, but felt like an iron cuff slipping into place. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding.” She looked down at first and then her eyes swept up and she looked at him from beneath those long, thick lashes. He bit back a groan.
Screwed. He was screwed and he knew it. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his thumb to her beautiful cheek. It looked so perfect and lush. Like the most beautiful peach he had ever seen in real life. He reached forward, his hand twitching, at the same time as the unbidden memory of the harsh slam of reality came into focus.
She was not his. Could never be his. He looked around at her beautiful artist loft. Dressed down in all the right ways, but still classy enough to remind him of who he was and where he’d come from. It didn’t matter if she was serving him, making him feel at home — she was still out of his league.
She bit her lip. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He fought to make the words casual.
She whispered to him, “Come on, Mr. Thorn, what’s your secret?” He smiled at that and shook his head rather than do what he wanted which was sit her down and tell her all.
“Why is it you assume I have secrets? Is that some sort of fantasy for you?” He eased away from her grasp and walked around the back of the couch, looking up, taking in the double height of the space, the skylights, the large windows. He leaned in and glanced around the corner at her workspace. The distance from her was doing his head and his body good.
She walked confidently toward him, her long jean clad legs pulling him right back into confusion. “No, not at all. I’m not being nosy either. I just sense something from you. Something you’re holding back.”
Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) Page 9