Through The Lens (Creative Hearts Book 1) (26 page)

Back was the sun and the sand. And there was Tai and Tong and even little Sunee. And then, oh my, there she was, with her tongue sticking out at him on the boat, shocking and pink for all the world to see. Another of her by the water, with the flower tucked in her hair, looking playful and shy. And then some she didn’t remember him taking from when she was just scouting locations—even one where she was barefoot, feet up and pecking away at her laptop, brows knit, deep in concentration.

“Why, Ale? Why would you do this?” she asked, turning to him, tears threatening and her heart hammering in her chest. There was his declaration of love big and bold, not hiding in the shadows. He had put his heart into the exhibit, and he was ending it with images of her?
 

“You can’t tell me you don’t know why. Now turn around and look.”

But Mika didn’t want to look. Her breathing was coming fast and once again, that rush of blood coursed through her veins, washing out the murmur of the crowd. “I don’t think I want to.” She closed her eyes against his piercing ones.

“Now, Mika,” Ale’s voice rumbled close to her ear as he turned her around. “You’ve never been one to back away from my challenges.”
 

Oh, he was good. She couldn’t help the small smile that came to the corner of her mouth or the feeling of pleasure and contentment that rippled through her body. He was back, and she was home. She relaxed her body and opened her eyes. There she was, larger than life, in black and white, eyes wide, vulnerable and oh so much more beautiful than she ever could have imagined as she looked up at Alejandro from under their magical tree.

“This is how I see you, beauty. How I’ve always seen you and always will. I love you and will forever if you will have me.”

Forever.
Mika stared at herself in the photograph and let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She started to laugh. Feeling free for the first time in so long, she turned to Alejandro and wrapped her arms around him. A smile widened her lips, joy blooming through her from head to toe.
So this was what letting go felt like.
 

She locked eyes with Ale as she had countless times before, feeling strength and bravery and, yes, the true promise of something that could be forever. Something she had only ever dared dream. She nudged him in the side. “So tell me Mr. Vargas, what do you think of an island honeymoon? You up for the challenge?”

The End

Thank you so much for purchasing and reading

 
Through The Lens
.

If you enjoyed
Through The Lens

you’ll love the next Creative Hearts novel,
 

Seduction’s Canvas
.
 

Turn the page for a preview into the sexy world of Samara and Mark.
 

Seduction’s Canvas

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 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 ground 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. Shit, 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 her 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.