Free Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) by K.M. Jackson Page B

he’d be filling his hands with those delicious looking thighs. Yeah, there were worse positions to be in. He frowned, his chest tightening, but really were there? This was dangerous and Mark knew it. He was setting himself up for certain heartbreak doing foolish things like fighting for Samara Leighton and kissing her in darkened alleys.
    Walking over to his work table he flipped on the overhead task light. Normally, he worked on small furniture pieces and industrial objects, but as of lately he’d been stuck on one subject. With care he lifted the unfinished project. It was still only partially done, but even in this state you could make out the sleek lines of the woman’s form in the soft rosewood. Mark let his fingers gently graze over the still roughened wood, starting with the slope of her head, its long flowing hair down her back. The regal curve of her long neck; in Mark’s mind he could still see the pulse there as Samara looked at him expectantly, willing him to come forward. The slope of her glorious back as it curved to her pert behind and flaring hips. Mark’s breath caught as he remembered how they rocked back and forth on the dance floor sending his heart thudding in time with them. Then down to the sleek, going on forever legs. The ones that had him following her anywhere and everywhere. Like a nomad trying to find a place to call home.
    His fingers stopped moving and he abruptly put the figure down.
Time to get a fucking grip.
So you live across from her. It’s no need to lose your god damned head over it. With a final swig of his beer, Mark shucked off his jeans and headed toward his bathroom and a shower. The water was blessedly hot and though the steam was welcoming to his muscles after dealing with those two idiots in the alley, it still did nothing to clear his head. Running a soapy cloth over his body and coming in contact with his rock hard erection, he knew that only one thing, well; he feared in this case, one person could truly ease the intense ache as he needed. Mark groaned as his hand took a life of its own and his mind filled with carnal images of endless legs, glistening skin, and pouty lips that he now knew fit perfectly with his own.
    He let out an uninhibited moan as he imagined those long legs wrapping around his waist, those lips melding with his and those big almond eyes looking up at him lost in ecstasy. But then there was a click and in his mind he saw those eyes shift and like touching a burning hot poker, he jumped back, instantly releasing himself, letting out a frustrated growl. Shit! Why was he even torturing himself with this? He leaned his head against the cool tiles and let out a ragged breath. He knew dammed well why.
    Samara Leighton was a ghost of his past and somehow he had to find a way to exorcise her or merge her forever into his future.

Chapter 7
    Samara woke to an incessant pounding in her head. And then a chiming and then a buzzing. Oh God, what to address first? The chiming. She tossed the duvet off her body and swung her bare legs off the edge of the bed, heading for the hall intercom.
    “Yes?”
    “Miss Leighton, there is a Mr. Moss here to see you.”
    Samara let out a low breath and swore to herself. She looked back up at the intercom, frowning. “What time is it?”
    “It’s eleven o’clock, ma’am.”
    She paused and turned toward her living room, squinting against the streaming sunlight, trying to remember why it was she agreed to this brunch. “Ma’am?” the doorman said expectantly through the box on the wall.
    “Sorry. Tell him to give me a few minutes and I’ll be down.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She was just about to head toward her bathroom when there was that buzzing again followed by a knock. What the freak? Had the doorman let Peter up even before their conversation was done? Sam went to her door and looked through the peephole.
    There, filling her vision, was a slightly distorted, but still no less disarming and early morning toe