Full Exposure

Full Exposure When photographer Lake Silva helps her best friend trawl online dating sites in her search for love, she is appalled by some of the pictures men upload. Totally unflattering! So Lake takes it upon herself to do something about it with a brainstorm for a new business venture—professional online dating photos. Slick, appealing, and sizzling hot...with Lake behind the camera lens! What she doesn’t count on is meeting one male client who stirs up more than just business sense in her. Hunter Dex is not Lake’s usual customer. He lives in a palatial abode, and he has ocean-blue eyes and a tanned, muscular body. Despite a photography exhibition of nudes also keeping Lake busy, she can’t help having dirty fantasies about Hunter. But such a gorgeous, rich playboy like him could never be seriously interested in a feisty tomboy like her...could he? Genre: Contemporary Length: 23,478 words

FULL EXPOSURE

Carla Angela

ROMANCE

www.BookStrand.com

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A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE IMPRINT: Romance

FULL EXPOSURE Copyright © 2011 by Carla Angela E-book ISBN: 1-61034-762-5 First E-book Publication: September 2011 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION To DeRohan, my number one shooter, and Alivia, my sister and my crazy-creative partner in crime.

FULL EXPOSURE CARLA ANGELA Copyright © 2011

Chapter One ‘Ridiculous! I mean, how does a guy think he’s going to attract a woman by giving her VIP access to his nostrils?’ Lake spun her laptop around on the glossy, white countertop to show the offending on-screen image to her friend, and business partner, Fenella. A determined flick of Lake’s chestnut plait over her shoulder served to emphasize her point. Fenella, carrying a tray of freshly baked chocolate brownies, emitting an intoxicating aroma, peered at the screen from behind. Her blonde fringe, as always, skimmed her doll-like violet eyes, tangling with her inky lashes. Fenella wrinkled her nose, which was currently decorated with a faint dusting of flour. ‘He’s not that bad. I think he’d be quite cute, actually, if it weren’t for the photo angle. I mean, he obviously took it himself. But his eyes are quite beautiful really.’ Lake snorted. ‘He’s into online dating. How dishy can he be?’ Fenella faintly arched an eyebrow, though there was a sparkle in her eye. ‘Careful! You know that’s how I met Bert. If he hadn’t put up an ad, we never would have met.’ She sighed and looked out dreamily in the distance. Lake smiled at her friend teasingly. ‘Yes, but not every woman has the problem of being so beautiful that the only way she can get a

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man to notice her mind is by communicating first via numerous emails before actually sending a photo!’ Fenella rolled her eyes, though every word Lake had said was true. With Fenella’s supermodel-worthy appearance, she tended to attract only oily millionaires and vain gym junkies rather than the shy, thoughtful types who matched her gentle nature. Online dating had been a godsend for her. Lake, with eyes the colour of melted toffee, was also attractive, though more in a tomboyish way, and she hid it well—always thrusting her russet-coloured waves under a baseball cap or covering up her body, toned from morning runs, in cargo pants and baggy tees. She was hardly one to talk about first impressions. But perhaps it was her way of shielding herself after her broken engagement to Chase— and her consequent broken heart. She far preferred playing Cupid these days than putting herself in the firing line. ‘Well, anyway,’ Fenella continued, ‘if I hadn’t signed up for online dating, you never would have come up with your new business venture, would you?’ Then she batted Lake’s hand away as it snaked over to the tray of brownies, though not before Lake managed to swipe one first. ‘I have to leave some for the customers!’ Fenella chided good-naturedly. The best friends ran a combined photography shop and café, known as Framed. Fenella, who loved to bake and somehow still managed to maintain a lithe figure, ran the hospitality side of things, while Lake ran the photography side—the camera repairs, equipment purchases, digital printing, photo restorations, canvas printing, and the like. Lake was always saying that a picture spoke a thousand words and was happiest with her eye behind the lens. Her new venture, an offshoot of their business, was styling people’s photos for online dating sites. When Lake had been there to support Fenella while trawling through the online prospects pre-Bert, she had been appalled by the sorts of photos many looking for love uploaded.

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There were photos of men on motorbikes, with beers in their hand, seeking ‘classy women’; otherwise decent-looking fellas, like the upthe-nose guy (whose name happened to be Hunter), who had uploaded shots of themselves with bad, do-it-yourself camera angles and the dreaded red-eye effect; plus stuffy, over-styled shots of men, sitting on armchairs, holding their chin with their hands, trying to look pensive. It was horrifying. Don’t even get Lake started on the writing. There were men who wrote descriptions of themselves without seeming even to take a breath—just an endless blur of words without any full stops. And others who started off with lines like, ‘My friends would describe me as arrogant, but I don’t agree,’ thinking that this would somehow attract a potential mate and not be like a red, waving flag. Still, it was the picture side of things that most concerned Lake. It appalled her. She’d put a small ad online and up on the shop window, advertising her photography services, promoting the fact that she could up their chances of getting a hit with Cupid’s arrow via better quality, professional shots. And she had already had a handful of bookings. Mostly shy, bookish types, like Bert, and a few guys who just had no idea how to market themselves, so to speak, in the love game. The fellow, with the up-the-nostrils photo, was booked in an hour’s time. Lake swallowed a chunk of brownie and then tapped her finger on the computer screen, leaving a chocolaty smudge. ‘I mean, does this guy think with a photo like this a girl, like, say, her over there might be interested? Or her?’ Fenella followed Lake’s chocolaty finger-pointing to a group of pretty, young things, gathered at a table, gossiping over coffees— skim milk, no sugar for all. Fenella sighed, wondering if she could at least tempt them with a brownie. As far as Fenella was concerned, too many women spent too much time worrying about their figures. But then she had nothing at all to fret about herself.

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‘I guess not,’ Fenella said at last, her eyes resting back on the picture of the up-the-nostrils guy, with his sea-blue eyes and blond hair. Well, what she could see of his thatch of hair from the camera angle anyway. ‘You know, he looks quite familiar actually. Maybe he’s even dropped in here before?’ Lake snapped her laptop shut, tired of looking at his amateur picture. ‘Highly unlikely! He would actually have had to venture out of his house and away from World of Warcraft for that.’ Fenella shook her head, her fringe dancing on her forehead, reaching to place the brownies from their tray one-by-one into the back of the glass counter display—next to pink-frosted cupcakes. ‘Oh, ha-ha. Just because a guy tries online dating doesn’t automatically mean he’s a computer nerd. Bert, for one, prefers books to computer games.’ ‘True. But so far your lovely fiancé appears to be the shining exception to the rule,’ Lake said. ‘By the way, you have flour on your nose!’ Then she reached over to dust it off, halting Fenella midtopping up the display cabinet. The brownies put away at last, Fenella dusted her hands. ‘So, are you at least getting a little excited about your photography exhibition on Friday night then?’ It was Lake’s pet project. Her pride and joy. ‘Excited probably wouldn’t be the right word for it,’ Lake mused, chewing on her bottom lip. ‘Shitting myself royally might sum it up better. What if no one buys anything?’ ‘Oh, I have no doubt it will all go fabulously, and you’ll sell a bundle of things,’ Fenella said, shaking her head. ‘Besides, I’ll be there for support. And Bert.’ ‘I know. It’s just it’s my first solo exhibition, you know! It’s absolutely nerve-racking. I feel so…exposed.’ Fenella winked at her. ‘And the exhibition hasn’t even opened yet. Oh, I’ve sorted out the catering side of things at the gallery, by the way, so you’re all set.’ ‘Excellent. Thank you!’

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The friends’ conversation was interrupted then by one of the girls from the gossiping group—with honey-coloured hair and fuchsiapainted lips—approaching the glass-front counter. She eyed the contents hungrily, like an online dater prowling prospective candidates in the cyber world. ‘Uh, excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to know how many calories are in those brownies, would you?’ The girl pointed at the chocolate chunks, now sitting innocently atop a white shelf behind the shiny glass. In a swift movement, Fenella sliced a brownie in half and dangled it before the girl, clutched between silver tongs. ‘Oh, hardly any, I think,’ she said airily. ‘Try it! Maybe your friends would like one, too?’ The honey-haired girl nervously pried the rich slice from the prongs and bit into it, smudging her perfectly-applied fuchsia lipstick. ‘Oh…oh wow. That’s good. Really good.’ It was almost like she was having a mini-orgasm on the spot. ‘Not many calories, you say? Yes, I think I’ll grab another four thanks—uh, for my friends.’ ‘Certainly,’ Fenella said, ducking behind the counter to retrieve the said brownies, happy her baked goods had once again found a home. Lake jumped up from her stool, tucking the shiny, white slither of a laptop under her arm. ‘Enjoy the brownie!’ she said to the honeyhaired girl, though she stopped short of asking her if she were single, as she may have a photo of a potential suitor for her in a few hours’ time. It wouldn’t be professional. In Fenella’s direction, she shot, ‘I’m off, okay?’ Fenella poked her head up over the top of the cabinet again, wielding her tongs. ‘Good luck!’ ‘Oh, I don’t need it,’ Lake said confidently. ‘But he might. If he wants to find his love match!’ ****

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Lake double, triple-checked the address. Yup, this was definitely it. She had to admit, it wasn’t what she’d been expecting. The last few houses she’d visited for her new online photography venture had been typical bachelor pads. The stench of stale beer and discarded pizza boxes had preceded them. But this…this was something else. It could only be Daddy’s house, surely. Not that of the type of person who took unflattering photos of themselves, with their nostrils as a main feature—albeit none-too-hairy ones—and thought it suitable selfmarketing material. The architecturally-designed, two-storey abode, set on landscaped grounds, had a Spanish feel, with white, rendered walls and an imposing entrance. A flight of steps, with black, steel handrails, led up to a ginormous, tan-coloured wood door, offset by spiky, bright green ferns on either side. Lake had to admit the building was slightly more palatial than her two-bedroom unit. Okay, it was a ton more palatial. But that didn’t mean the guy had a clue. Especially about finding a mate. Sucking a breath in, Lake looked for the door knocker and then realized there was none, locating instead a sleek, little, gray machine with buttons to the left of the door. An intercom. She pressed on it then waited, drumming her fingers on the thigh of her cargo pants. Almost instantly, the ferocious sound of barking started up, reverberating around the walls from inside the house. Paws could be heard bounding down a stairway. Oh dear! Lake was more of a cat person really. She fervently hoped the guy—Hunter, she reminded herself, not Mr. Nostrils—would do a good job of restraining his pet. A deep, velvety voice resounded through the intercom. ‘Just a moment.’ Lake jumped in spite of herself. It was the first time she’d heard Hunter’s voice. They’d so far only communicated by e-mail. A lot of the guys in the online dating world had seemed to prefer it that way. She hadn’t expected his voice to sound so…commanding.

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‘Uh, okay,’ she said in the vague direction of the intercom’s speaker, not used to communicating via such a device. Her unit’s wooden door didn’t even have a knocker. In fact, it often swelled in the weather and had to be forced shut with her shoulder—that was more the kind of entry she was used to. Suddenly, the handleless door swung open as if by magic, though more likely by remote control. It was like an open sesame to Aladdin’s cave or Hunter’s man-cave, so to speak. Hunter’s daddy’s man-cave, likely. Lake only had time to clock the grand hotel-like interior, including a floating wooden staircase, a black, man-like, metal sculpture to her right, and a contemporary, wispy, branch-inspired chandelier hanging overhead, when a ball of fur and teeth came barreling toward her, causing her to scream out at the top of her voice.

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Chapter Two ‘You’ve got a nice pair of lungs on you!’ Hunter, obviously. He padded down the stairs, looking, well, disheveled. He looked as though he should be the mansion’s cleaner, not a resident, and in no way did he look ready for slick photos to be taken of him in a quest to find love. Maybe he was one of those unscrupulous types in the online dating world who was actually married and really just looking for an extra-marital affair—or nine. Though it seemed strange that he’d go to all the effort of having professional snaps taken for such a purpose. Lake shrugged inwardly. None of it was her problem. She was just here on business, scraping together enough funds so that she could hopefully one day stage a second exhibition. Hunter paused on the final step. He had a pilled, navy, woolen beanie shoved on his head and dark shades shielding his eyes rockstar like. He wore a holey, paint-spattered, long-sleeved, charcoal tee, like he’d just been painting the gutters, and too-short, baggy trackpants, which exposed his ankles. He went barefoot. He was a good few feet taller than Lake. She noted his scruffy attire didn’t disguise the outline of a well-built frame underneath. Even though he looked like a total hobo, Lake still blushed, imagining he associated the volume of the sound coming out of her lungs with sex. Screaming in ecstasy, not fear. She shook herself, unsure why she would immediately jump to such an association in this man’s presence. When it came to her sex life, though, it had certainly been a while between cocktails. So she

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could forgive herself for her hormones being a little mixed up on occasion. ‘Sorry, but I didn’t exactly expect to be licked to death on arrival,’ Lake said, rubbing her wet cheek where the ball of fur and teeth, which had actually turned out to be a friendly golden Labrador, had slurped her with its tongue. Instantly, Lake felt herself blushing Ferrari-red again. Licking. Screaming. It was like she had sex on the brain. Pull yourself together, and be professional. Lake adjusted the backpack on her shoulder, which was carrying her expensive photography equipment, to provide time to compose herself. ‘I was mostly worried about my camera,’ she said, jutting out her chin. Hunter nodded unsmilingly, seeming to coolly assess her from behind his wrap-around shades. Lake felt his eyes raking over her body, as though stripping her naked, even though she couldn’t see them. The seconds seemed to pass like hours before he finally stepped forward and extended his hand in Lake’s direction. Immediately, Lake wanted to take a step back. It felt somehow too close. ‘I’m Hunter, by the way. Thanks for coming down.’ That velvety, commanding voice again, but up close and personal. Breathing in his un-hobo-like, woody, masculine scent, Lake took his warm, strong hand in hers. It was tanned—and rather large, she couldn’t help noting. ‘I’m Lake. Nice to meet you.’ She wished he’d take his sunglasses off but didn’t want to get him offside yet by asking. He was a client, after all. Hunter’s sunglass-clad gaze appeared to linger a little longer on her than was necessary, and then he finally released his grip of her hand. Immediately, Lake felt a flutter of disappointment, which she knew was ridiculous. This man was more unkempt-looking than Mary-Kate Olsen and was clearly too arrogant to worry about what she thought of him to get properly dressed for their meeting. She had to get a grip.

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Feeling two red spots burning on her cheeks nonetheless, Lake pushed on. ‘Well, before I get started with the photography, I usually like to get to know my subject a little more. Ask a few questions. Would that be okay with you?’ ‘Sure,’ Hunter said, shrugging and shoving his hands in the pockets of his track pants, tugging the baggy waistline down even farther. He wasn’t that much of a hobo, she noted. He had Calvins on. But he was still standing unnervingly close to her. The Labrador had since taken a position between them, resting at his owner’s feet. ‘Uh, where might be a good place to do it? Somewhere we can sit?’ Lake pushed on. ‘Hmmm…’ Hunter scratched his square jaw, which bore a faint, blond-tinged five-o’clock shadow. ‘Oh, I got it, follow me.’ Lake dropped into step behind Hunter, his Labrador obediently trotting after him, her Converse-sneaker-clad feet barely making a sound on the polished floorboards. Suddenly, Hunter turned back. ‘Want me to carry that? It looks kind of heavy,’ he said, gesturing at her backpack. Lake held her head aloft. ‘No, it’s fine.’ He had the look of someone who might run off with the expensive photography equipment she’d scrimped and saved for, although his prestigious address begged to differ. Still, he did have the air of a squatter. Lake was led down the spacious hallway to an open-plan living and dining area with a sleek kitchen, full of shiny, stainless steel, European appliances and, near the windows, a lengthy, white lounge with red throw cushions and a black shag rug at its foot. Black sheer blinds barely concealed the tennis court and swimming pool the space overlooked. Hunter pushed open a glass bifold door and continued outside, still barefoot. The Labrador and Lake followed after him. Lake felt the sun instantly licking her face like the pooch just had. Hunter finally paused near the gleaming, rectangular-shaped, blue-tiled pool in a covered outdoor entertaining area. There was a

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black wicker sofa and chair, both sporting lime-green cushions, and an outdoor bar. ‘Will this do?’ ‘Uh, sure,’ Lake said, not wanting to seem too impressed, dropping her backpack onto the black-tiled floor and taking a seat on the sofa. Though, in truth, it was shaping up not to be too shabby a day at the office. She leant down to pluck her clipboard and pen from her backpack. Here though, she felt like she should be wearing a white, skimpy bikini and oversized, gold hoop earrings, not a denim jacket, black tee, khaki cargo pants, and no bling. Not that pale swimwear would do her white-chocolate-like skin any justice—it just seemed fitting. Still, her job required she dressed for comfort, because she never knew what position she might have to get into to secure the right shot—kneeling, on her side, on her back. Lake blushed again, even though this time she hadn’t been as stupid as to say anything out loud. Really! Her train of thoughts today was shaping up to be equally as grotty as Hunter’s attire. When she looked up again, Hunter was behind the sleek outdoor bar. ‘Fancy a drink…or would you rather a quick dip first?’ ‘What?’ Lake exclaimed, before she could stop herself. Hunter threw back his head and laughed, flaunting his manly Adam’s apple. It was a deep, throaty sound. ‘I was only joking—well, about the dip. Unless, of course, you’re keen. I just thought a drink might help me loosen up a bit for the photos. And it’d feel rude to drink alone.’ ‘Oh, okay.’ Lake felt her shoulders relaxing. She guessed one tiny drink wouldn’t hurt, although it didn’t seem like Hunter really needed any help unwinding. He seemed fairly confident in his own skin, as dishevelled as its cladding was. ‘Well, whatever you’re having is fine with me.’ ‘Good. Hope you like red.’ Fortunately, she did. He went about fixing glasses of the bloodred liquid from an expensive-looking

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bottle. For a moment, it felt almost like she was on a romantic date. With a hobo. The Labrador padded over and nestled at Lake’s feet this time. She leant over and scratched its blond head, peering up at Hunter again. ‘What’s your dog’s name?’ He paused mid-pour. ‘Scraps.’ Scraps. Lake guessed it was better than…well…Flaps. Oh dear. Firmly, she focused her mind on the fact that Scraps was the sort of name someone as unkempt as Hunter would find suitable for a pet. Finally, Hunter reemerged from behind the bar, holding two wineladen, balloon glasses, curvier than Kim Kardashian’s behind. He handed one to her. Their fingers brushed for the merest of seconds, but Lake still felt a jolt of electricity, as though she’d touched an exposed wire. Lordy. She concentrated on sipping on her wine, letting the velvety liquid slide down her throat, as Hunter nestled in the black wicker chair opposite her. Maybe she’d once had a dirty dream about a vagrant before that she was unaware of or had a homeless person rub his thigh against her on the bus as a schoolgirl. There had to be some kind of explanation for the strange feelings this guy was stirring up inside of her. It was just too odd. Hunter himself took a sip from his glass then rested it on the coffee table between them, lacing his fingers in his lap, looking at Lake expectantly. ‘Well, should we get started then?’ ‘Oh, sure,’ Lake said, putting her wine glass down a little too quickly and picking up a pen, tapping it on her clipboard distractedly. ‘Uh, would you mind removing those first?’ She gestured at his dark shades, which were still firmly in place. She’d had to finally say something. It was beginning to be unnerving, communicating with someone but not being able to look into their eyes. ‘My sunnies?’ Hunter asked, an arched, blond eyebrow popping up between his shades and the rim of his beanie. ‘And what are you going to remove?’

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Lake felt her breath catch in her throat. He was teasing her, like a tongue flickering on a clitoris. It was his fault that her mind kept jumping to such murky places. She had to put a stop to it. It had gone beyond the realm of professionalism. Before she could jump up like a shot, Hunter had whipped off his sunglasses and laid them innocently on the table next to his wine glass. ‘Steady on.’ He flicked his gaze pointedly to the sudden balled fists on her lap. ‘Don’t get your panties in a twist.’ Panties. Oh, God. Could he have…X-ray vision? She’d been too busy to do the laundry this week so had been left with the very dregs of her underwear drawer that morning. She’d wrestled into a leopardprint G-string her ex-fiancé, Chase, had once bought her, but she’d never worn. They weren’t her style. Right now they felt unbearably tight, but she wouldn’t let on, not to this aspiring vagrant. She met Hunter’s gaze coolly with her own then immediately faltered, letting it drop, as though she was dangling on the edge of a diving board. Looking into his aquamarine-blue eyes was like plunging into the glittering pool in front of her. And never, ever resurfacing. Without his shades, she could see that he was drop-dead gorgeous, with honeyed skin, an angular nose—she barely noticed his nostrils—and a chiselled jaw. His worn beanie and holey T-shirt could no longer mask it. She almost wished he’d put his sunglasses back on. Lake did a mini-cough, allowing herself some time to pull herself together before continuing, aiming for a professional air. ‘Right. Should we get on with the questions then?’ Hunter licked his lips. They were perfectly proportioned and lusciously pink. Lake wondered what it would be like to rest her lips against them, nibble at them, suck on them, but then bit her own lip sharply to control herself, tasting blood. Jesus. She was getting way too carried away. No more wine. Even though, in reality, she’d only had a drop.

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Hunter’s eyes continued to penetrate hers. He propped an arm, covered by a long sleeve of charcoal T-shirt fabric, behind his head casually. She could still make out the outline of his bulging bicep. ‘Sure. Fire away.’ ‘Right.’ Lake looked down at her clipboard again, jabbing at the notepad clipped in place with her blue biro, suddenly feeling quite stilted and prim, especially next to him, Mr. Uber Relaxed. So chilled he didn’t even feel the need for footwear. She dared to look up again, steeling herself against Hunter’s hypnotic gaze, fervently imagining an invisible shield sliding up between them, like an electric car window. Aside from his shabby attire, she was starting to have a hard time believing he would have any trouble in the love stakes at all. ‘So tell me a little about yourself,’ she pressed on. ‘It will help with, uh, how to frame the photo—to be true to who you are.’ ‘Well, what do you want to know?’ Lake waved her pen about, as though it would somehow help to explain herself better. ‘I don’t know. What you do for work, your personality, what your passions are.’ Urgh. There she went again. This time, though, she had a better time extinguishing the embers threatening to fully lick her cheeks with flames. Hunter cleared his throat. ‘Well, work-wise, I guess you could call me an entrepreneur. I have various… business interests. Investments.’ Which would explain the palatial pad. So it wasn’t Daddy’s after all. ‘Personality-wise? Relaxed, but determined maybe? I don’t know. I guess you’d have to ask those who know me best.’ He gestured at the Labrador still perched at Lake’s feet. ‘Unfortunately, Scraps isn’t much of a conversationalist, though. As for my…passions?’ He seemed to hold Lake’s gaze a little longer than necessary here. Immediately, she flicked her eyes down to her notepad, scribbling something nonsensical as a distraction. The silence stretched out like bubblegum. Lake peeked up again.

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Hunter was looking into the distance now, seeming to consider this last part of her question with deep thought. ‘I’m passionate about art. Design. Anything that signals a degree of creativity, a unique frame of mind. A respite from the dog-eat-dog business world.’ Lake suddenly blew out her breath, not realising she’d been holding it in. She busied herself with taking another sip of wine, even though she’d sworn herself off it just minutes earlier. It filled her with a false confidence momentarily. She leaned forward, pen poised again. ‘And what are you looking for…in a partner?’ Hunter’s tongue flickered over his bottom lip, leaving it slick with moisture. He cracked his knuckles. ‘Similar to the last question, I’m after someone passionate. And creative. And I don’t mind a bit of feistiness.’ Hunter could well have been describing Lake herself. He pushed on. ‘Just so long as she’s passionate about whatever she’s doing, whatever dream she’s pursuing. A rare rose really. Someone who’s after my heart and not just my…success.’ Poor little rich boy. But she could understand he would be the type to attract undesirables in the same way Fenella did, though equally for his dripping wealth as his drop-dead good looks. It was a lethally alluring combination. ‘Is that what made you turn to online dating?’ Lake pressed. ‘Women throwing themselves at you for all the wrong reasons?’ ‘Throwing themselves at me?’ Hunter’s eyes lit up teasingly. He chuckled. ‘Why would you ever think that?’ Lake squirmed in her seat, unsure how to answer. She didn’t want to spell out the fact of just how gorgeous he was, that he was an uberhandsome wolf in sheep’s clothing. Finally, she simply just shrugged. For once, though, Hunter let her off the hook he was dangling her on. And now there was seriousness in his eyes, which sent a shiver through her. ‘I’ve played the field, but now I feel it’s time—to find The One. And I didn’t want to put off any women who might feel intimidated to approach me in real life. The cyber world seemed the

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perfect way to put everyone on an equal footing.’ Then, he slapped his track-pant-clad knee and, just as quickly, the mood changed. Lightened. ‘So, got enough? Should we get started on the photos? Take a few test shots?’ Lake nodded, setting her clipboard aside. It seemed that he was calling the shots at this meeting but, for once, she didn’t mind. The probing was leaving her even more hot and bothered. She couldn’t wait to get behind the safe vantage point of her camera lens. ‘Sure.’ ‘Want me to remove this, too?’ Thank God. The beanie. She hadn’t known how to bring it up. Swiftly, Hunter stood up to his full six-foot-three frame, which seemed a little extreme just for removing headgear. Then, as quick as lightning, his arm went up and, oh, God, he was tugging off the holey T-shirt, pulling it over his beanie-clad head, exposing luscious, tanned, bare-chested skin underneath that you could sink your teeth into, and a well-defined six-pack that would have done Michelangelo’s David proud. Try as she might, Lake couldn’t drag her eyes away. As a seeming afterthought, Hunter then pulled the navy beanie off his head, throwing it casually to the floor, revealing a crop of blond hair underneath, each strand upright like wheat stalks blowing in the breeze. His eyes remained determinedly pinned on hers. Lake was rooted to the spot. Riveted. Her breathing shallow. Then he took a step toward her, and another, and another, his shadow threatening to engulf her. He was inches from her now. He reached a hand toward her gently. His tanned digits lingered at eye level now—sucking distance. Then she felt the hand caress her cheek and heard herself suck in her breath deeply. Each finger felt like they set off mini-fireworks on her skin. And then, just as quickly, the warmth melted away, the fingers prised off, and they came back into view, waving about in front of her face.

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‘Got it,’ Hunter said, an offending, golden strand of dog fur being held up, coming into view. It must have been decorating her cheek. Darn Scraps. Lake felt the disappointment plunge through her, like gulping down a glass of icy water. Brushing off his hands, Hunter looked at her with a mischievous gleam in his eye, an aching meter’s length away from her now. ‘Well, I guess it would be unmannerly of me not to bathe before having my photograph taken…’ Then he promptly swivelled around and sprinted forward, his arms outstretched and his head tucked in, and dove into the pool’s glittering depths, still clad in his track pants.

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Chapter Three Hunter rested his jaw on a muscled, tanned arm, bent over the edge of the pool, and smiled up at Lake. His hair was as slick and wet as she now felt, well, downstairs. He cleaned up well. ‘Care to join me?’ Hunter asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye—as blue and seemingly bottomless as the water he’d just dipped into. Lake was at least thankful he’d only gone topless and hadn’t skinny-dipped in. Wordlessly, she felt herself being drawn forward, taking slow steps toward the pool as though against her will. As if he was a human-sized, chiseled magnet, and she was a sorry paper clip. At the pool’s edge now, she looked down into the blue-green depths but was distracted by her own reflection to his right, her image swaying gently as the water moved. Her titian hair, her liquid paperwhite skin, her comfy, photography-suitable attire… Photography. Of course. That’s what she was there for, after all. Her head jerked back up again. ‘Just a moment,’ she murmured, avoiding his eyes, before doing an about-turn and firing off in the direction of her backpack, which was resting by the sofa. Bag now in hand, she rummaged through it, gently pulling out her Canon EOS-1D Mark IV. She caressed the cool, black metal and the almost phallic lens as though it was a long-lost friend. This is what made her tick. Not an alpha male with a casual disregard for appropriate attire. No. This is what she was all about. Then, swinging the camera strap over her arm, she strode back to the pool’s edge, Hunter’s eyes glued to her every move.

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A meter from the edge, she held the camera up to her face, zoomed in on Hunter’s image, his expression serious, and pressed the shutter. Click! Click! Wow. He made quite the photography subject. Lake couldn’t help feeling a buzz. With these pictures, she’d have all the girls swooning. She’d have done her job. She rested the camera strap on her arm again and grinned down at Hunter. ‘Great start.’ Hunter raised a blond eyebrow at her. ‘Great hardware.’ Then, in a swift movement, he pushed himself up with both arms and leapt out of the water, as nimble as a merman. His black track pants now clung tightly to his legs like the type of leather pants Russell Brand might wear. Not to mention how they clung to Hunter’s package. Lake dragged her eyes away only to find herself zooming in on the water beading on his muscled chest instead. She shook herself sternly as though to wake herself from a reverie. ‘I’ll just go change. I won’t be a moment,’ Hunter shot in her direction, padding off in the direction of the house, his footprints squelching on the large-tiled floor. It took all of Lake’s willpower not to chase after him and rip his track pants off and have him right then and there. But instead she crashed onto the outdoor sofa as though all the life had been sucked out of her, petting Scraps absentmindedly as the minutes ticked away like seeming hours. When Hunter reemerged he donned a cornflower-hued, V-neck Tshirt, which enhanced his eyes—no holes or paint splotches in sight— slim-line, faded denim jeans, and black canvas shoes, with a white trim. No laces. His blond hair, now dried, was mildly spiky, as though hair gel had been quickly run through it. He looked decent. Respectable. Okay, smouldering hot if Lake was questioned under oath. ‘These a bit better than my painting clothes?’ Hunter queried, gesturing at his attire and shooting Lake a lazy grin.

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Oh. So the paint stains on his top earlier had been fresh. He didn’t just have a habit of dressing like a hobo. ‘You paint?’ Lake probed lightly. ‘Try to. I wouldn’t call myself an artist though. I prefer to leave that to the professionals.’ ‘Huh,’ Lake murmured, nodding, not really knowing what else to say. But she was impressed. Maybe there was more to him than just a scorching body, hypnotic eyes, and a velvety, commanding voice. ‘Okay, so let’s do some more photos then. I thought the steps by the water fountain had some good light if you don’t mind sitting over there. I want it to look natural.’ For him, she didn’t need studio lights. Just the bare-naked rays of the sunshine licking his face. She fervently wished it could be her tongue leaving its trail. ‘Sounds perfect,’ Hunter said, thrusting his hands in his jeans’ pockets. He strode toward the spot she’d referred to. Lake wasn’t sure if it was just the clean, fresh clothes and tidy hair playing tricks on her, but he seemed different now—lighter, more appeasing, obedient. It was like he was ready to behave and less likely to flip the switch on her and cause all kinds of trouble. The portraits of him didn’t take long. With his handsome features, well-honed body, and quiet confidence, Lake couldn’t take a bad photo of him. Not that she’d let on to him. When Lake finally swung the camera strap over her shoulder again, job done, she brushed away his requests to see the digital images on the screen on the back of her camera. ‘Not till I have, uh, worked on them,’ she said. It was a lie though. In reality, she didn’t need to work on the photos at all. They were perfect as they were—raw. Naked. Just like she imagined he was. In clean clothes, he looked like a Ralph Lauren model. But a small part of her wanted to make sure she saw him again. Although she told herself it was because she couldn’t make her job look too easy in front of paying clients by producing photos there and then. She had to drag out the process a little.

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‘So, when will I get the shots? I want to put them up on the site as quickly as I can.’ So he really was keen to find a mate, as he’d said. Lake almost wanted to ask him what was wrong with her. Why hadn’t he even considered the possibility that she might be The One? She was feisty and passionate, driven. But she knew a girl like her could only be a plaything to an Adonis like him—even if he didn’t always have the best taste in clothes. He’d said he no longer wanted to play the field. No, he needed someone long-term who equaled his beauty, likely coming in the form of Latin curves poured into a cleavage-revealing, body-con dress, accessorized by long, dark, wavy hair, and full lips, not a tomboy like her. Lake pressed on. ‘I could have them done by tomorrow. I’ll include a few larger files for you, too, in case you want them for other purposes than just the net. You never know, you might want them for professional headshots in the future or something. I could maybe burn a disc and drop it off to you sometime tomorrow?’ ‘No, I won’t be home. I have a few errands to run,’ Hunter said a little too quickly. So he didn’t want her back at his abode again. He’d already tired of her as a mild distraction for an afternoon, probably usually spent counting piles of money. ‘But maybe I could come by and pick them up from you while I’m on the road? Where will you be?’ It was Lake’s day off from the shop, but she was still going to be busy putting the final touches to her exhibition photos. She preferred not to be interrupted while she was in the flow, but it would have to do. The quicker she got this distracting hobo-turned-Adonis out of her life, the better. ‘Sure. I have a day off. I live at Orangeblossom. It’s not too far from here actually. Want me to jot down the address?’ Hunter nodded, licking his lips. ‘I know the suburb.’ Lake rummaged in her backpack for her notepad again, scrawled the address on a sheet of paper and ripped it off, handing it to him,

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although not before adding her phone number in enlarged handwriting at the bottom. So he could ring and let her know he was on his way, Lake told him, more so in truth informing herself of her reasons. Again, their hands brushed as the paper was exchanged, causing an electrical current to bolt straight from his fingertips to her nether region. Prising away her hand, Lake ducked her head and quickly murmured, ‘I’ll let myself out,’ before heading back toward the glass, bifold door, hips swiveling. **** It was late. Lake was on her laptop by lamplight in her bedroom, knowing she should turn in, that she had a lot of work to get through tomorrow, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen and the photos of Hunter. Particularly the shots of him in the pool, like a halfnaked merman. Who was this mysterious guy? What made him tick? He certainly wasn’t the type of man to sign up to online dating or to, in fact, be photographing. He was much more than just a pair of none-too-hairy nostrils or someone with a knack for photographing himself in the most unflattering of lights. Lake’s butterscotch eyes raked over the screen and his dripping wet frame depicted. From his ocean-like peepers and shadowy jaw to his well-defined pectorals and bulging arms, she drank all of him in. While the photo didn’t show it, when he’d emerged from the pool, her mind’s eye had captured the faint, manly snail trail, snaking down from his bellybutton to below the water’s surface, like an arrowed sign, saying, ‘This way.’ It made Lake feel hot and heavy just thinking about it Crash!

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Lake jumped, slamming her laptop shut ashamedly. Her heart beating, her gaze was pulled toward the open window of her onestorey unit. Then she let out a sigh. ‘Cupcakes!’ It was just her ginger cat—an attractive redhead like Lake— jumping inside for the night, knocking over a small pot of lavender on the window ledge in the process. Really! This was her signal to go to bed, to pry her hungry eyes away from Hunter’s photos. She was like a junkie wanting her fix. Powering off her laptop resolutely, she walked around her double bed to the window, picked up the lavender pot, pushing the tiny amount of fallen soil back in, and scooped Cupcakes up into her arms, carrying him to his basket at the foot of her bed. He was the only bedroom companion she needed. She didn’t need her heart broken again by any man. Human. Lake was obviously more tired than she’d given herself credit for, because moments after she’d crawled into bed, she was asleep. But it wasn’t a sound sleep exactly. Before long she was writhing about, clutching at the starched, white sheets with sweaty hands, softly moaning. In her dreams, it wasn’t Cupcakes who’d pounced through the window, but Hunter, like a creature of the night. In his packagehugging, faded jeans and V-neck, blue tee, revealing just a hint of manly, tanned skin and tufts of blond hair, he’d climbed through the window and gently called out her name, like a finger tracing its way down her spine. She’d awakened immediately, at least in her dreams, propping up on her elbows, albeit paralyzed, superglued to her pillow-top mattress. Her strappy, deep purple, silk nightie betrayed her, though, by falling from her milky shoulders, revealing her erect, rosebud nipples beneath. She wanted to protest, to tell him to leave immediately. But she couldn’t speak. The cat had got her tongue, so to speak.

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In her dream, he’d gazed at her with those X-ray-like, piercing blue eyes and then, in a single stride, was standing at the foot of her bed. His eyes now fixated on her nipples, he slowly—tantalizingly— unbuckled his chocolate-hued belt. Then, changing the tempo, he thrust off his jeans, quick as a flash, so that they pooled somewhere below the foot of the bed in a denim-coloured heap. It was then that, at last, a sound came out of Lake’s lips. A gasp. Because just like Hunter had to chosen not to wear footwear earlier on, it also seemed that he preferred not to wear underwear—at least in her dreams. Standing to attention now, straining against the outside hem of his T-shirt, was a thick, vein-riddled shaft, like an irresistible lollipop. His crown jewels. A soft moan bubbled out of Lake from deep within. Before he removed his T-shirt, Hunter was kneeling on the bed, tugging at Lake’s nightie. All Lake, in her dream, could do was obediently sit up and put her arms up over her head and let him pull it off, so that the cool material skimmed over her skin, causing it to break out in a rash of goose bumps. A second later, though, she was distracted by his full, pink lips drawing closer and closer. Lake sucked in a breath. Then she felt wetness on her right nipple. He’d plunged his mouth there and was sucking and sucking. Like it was a chocolate ball, and he wanted to get to the sweet, honeycomb centre. Lake felt slick between her thighs. Trying to take control, she clawed at the T-shirt fabric on his back. Instead of taking the hint to finally remove it, he stopped nipplesucking and pinned her arms up past her ears on the bed with his hands. Then that beautiful mouth of his dipped toward her own, and it was like a rocket landing when it made contact, sizzling like a hot plate. His tongue thrust in, exploring every nook and cranny of her mouth.

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Then, disappointingly, he stopped again, removing his hands and lips from hers, leaving her freezer-cold for a moment. But it was only to rip off his T-shirt and just as quickly help her discard her panties. Then Hunter had her thighs clamped between his own, the warmth of his skin against hers pushing her temperature to boiling point, and with a suddenness, he plunged into her wet centre, massaging her handful-sized, milky breasts simultaneously as he rode her. And rode her. And rode her. In her dreams, Lake felt every thrust like a shockwave reverberating through her. She clutched at his toned buttocks, pushing him in deeper. And deeper. It was an exquisite feeling. Then she felt herself at the edge as though dangling on a cliff top, looking down. Then, suddenly, like a tsunami, a flood of ecstasy was washing over her, engulfing her every pore, her every cell, causing her body to shudder under his as wave after wave hit, his own body echoing her rhythms. Finally, Hunter flung himself beside her, breathlessly, satisfied… Then, mid-pant herself, Lake’s eyes had suddenly snapped open, the night air now cool on her skin, her nether region still throbbing. Tender. Raw. All at once she was alone again, sans Cupcakes curled up in his basket at the foot of her bed. Lake’s eyes peeked over at the black, rectangular alarm clock on her bedside table. It flashed 12:03 a.m. in red digits. Darn. She’d only been asleep for an hour, and she was already having dirty dreams about Hunter. Brushing away her disappointment that it was all just a dream, Lake threw back the covers, padded out of bed toward the window, and slammed it shut. Just to be sure. Then she nestled back into bed, avoiding the wet patch, willing herself to concentrate on counting sheep instead and strictly not uberhot wolves in sheep’s clothing or Adonises in bedraggled attire. Still, she couldn’t help from feeling a pit of dread in her stomach at the prospect of handing over those slick, glossy photos to him. As

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soon as he uploaded them, he’d no doubt have hordes of women beating a path to his door. Right now, she much preferred the idea of him marketing himself via his up-the-nose shot than anything she’d helped produce. Darn it all.

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Chapter Four Lake ran a quizzical eye over the black-and-white photo held up between her fingers in her darkroom’s dim, red lighting. She hoped to use the picture as a replacement for another she wasn’t entirely happy with in her exhibition. She bit her lip, tracing the naked, feminine curves in the photo with her eye, pulling at her ponytail absentmindedly with her other hand. The headless woman captured sat with her legs drawn up to her chest. She looked vulnerable. Stripped bare, literally and otherwise. At her feet lay a thorny rose, symbolizing beauty and danger, with the power to cut deep, and cast aside was an abandoned, glittering engagement ring. Lake hoped it suitably conveyed the gut-wrenching, dark flipside of love she was aiming for. And what the audience at the exhibition opening wouldn’t actually know? That the headless woman was her. Lake had put the camera on timer and set up the lighting, as well as posed for the shot. It was selfportraiture. Deciding she was, at last, happy with the quality of the redone image, Lake gently put it aside on the work bench. She’d take it to the gallery later for display. Then, snapping her thin, white plastic gloves back on, she dipped her fingers into the tray of watery photographic fixer to dislodge another replacement photo. While Lake used digital photography for her day-to-day work, in her spare time she loved the old-school process of printing from film, despite the foul-smelling chemicals that came with it. The quality of the image, the grain of the film, the magic of the whole process… Lake liked to think of the familiar process as her own form of

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meditation. She had blacked out the windows of the old toolshed at the back of her unit to create her own makeshift darkroom and spent every spare moment there. She didn’t like anyone to disturb her midprocess, except Cupcakes, who was now winding his way between her legs in a vigorous figure eight. Knock, knock! Lake jumped, almost pushing over the tray of fixer in shock. Who the heck could that be? A salesperson, trying to sell her insurance? Girl Guides proffering cookies? Better just to ignore it and hope they’d go away. ‘Lake, are you in there?’ The voice sounded slightly muffled from behind the shed door, but its owner was unmistakable, that silky and commanding sound. Hunter. An image from her dream—him buck naked at the foot of her bed, his manhood standing to attention—flashed through her mind. Immediately, Lake’s skin prickled and grew hot, like she’d just rolled in poison ivy. How the hell did he know she was here? Had he been wandering around her unit, checking out just how un-palatial it was compared to his abode? Darn! Of course. She’d put her mobile phone on silent while she worked. She must have missed his call, letting her know he was on his way. She could still ignore the door-knocking, insurance salesman or not, and pray he’d go away. Maybe she could even slip the disc of photos for him under the door, which she had tucked away in her work-apron pocket, and say that she couldn’t be disturbed midprocess? After all, she’d expected him to come by much later. But, no, that wouldn’t seem professional. Besides, her last photo was in the fixer, so it wouldn’t wreck the image if she allowed him to open the door, bringing in the sunlight with him and his manly,

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intoxicating, un-hobo-like scent. She had no excuse. There was nothing else to do. She’d keep it brief, and soon he’d be out of her life—for good. No doubt in the arms of some curvy brunette or willowy blonde. Not a pale redhead with comparatively miniature, handful-sized breasts. So why did her nether region quiver all the same? Snapping her gloves off, she moved toward the door, stepping over Cupcakes in the process. ‘Coming!’ she called out, before instantly clapping her hand over her mouth. Why, oh why, couldn’t she have thought of a better, totally nonsexual word to say at that moment? Thank God for the dim, red lighting. She could always blame the blush no doubt creeping over her face on that. Lake waited at the peeling, paint-ridden wooden door, her hand on the handle, sucking in deep breaths. Then, squaring her shoulders, she flicked her wrist to open it, pushing on its frame. The door creaked a little on its hinges in protest before fully opening. The sunlight pierced her in the eye before she could focus on Hunter’s back-lit, hulking frame a few steps from the doorframe. Today, like after his dip in the pool before the photo session, he looked clean-cut and pin-up worthy in a fitted, black tee and those same faded denim jeans, which hugged his frame. There wasn’t a hint of vagrant about him today, unlike their initial meeting. The radiant, golden light encircling his frame contrasted with the wicked, devilish thoughts she’d just had of him. Why the hell would he need to market himself online for love? She’d have him right there and then on the concrete path. But she knew she wasn’t his type. Besides, she was just as unsuitable as the gold diggers he’d said he tended to attract, because her heart had been smashed into a million pieces by Chase. Irreparably. She could no longer ‘do’ relationships and came with too much baggage. Funny that she’d gotten herself involved in the online dating world then—in a professional sense at least.

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Hunter stepped inside the shed-turned-darkroom, causing Lake to stumble back, her pulse quickening, before he pulled the door shut behind them both, plunging the room into inky darkness again, bar the dim, red glow from the bare lightbulb. Lake knew of other dark places she hoped Hunter would plunge into, at least in her fantasies, but she shook the thought away. She had to concentrate on breathing to start with. Her eyes adjusting again in the gloomy lighting, she still made out Hunter’s blue-green eyes raking over her, with the hint of a smile playing at his full lips. ‘Nice pussy.’ Lake’s hand shot up to her mouth, a gasp bursting out of her. ‘Sorry?’ Seemingly unperturbed, Hunter shoved his hands in his jean pockets and nodded slowly toward her feet where Cupcakes had taken up residence again. The pussy cat. Blushing again, Lake looked down, trying to cover for herself jumping to the usual sexualized conclusions. She really did have sex on the brain. It was odd. ‘Uh, yeah, he’s a beauty, isn’t he? Cupcakes I call him… not very boyish for a tomcat, I know.’ Hunter leaned forward to scratch the top of the ginger cat’s head, who purred like a trooper, moving now to nestle at Hunter’s tan, leather-shoe-clad feet. Traitor. You could never trust the male species to be loyal. Still, she couldn’t stop from inhaling Hunter’s masculine, woody scent as he bent a little too close to her crotch to pet the cat. What she wouldn’t do to have him heavy-petting her right now… Oh, God, she had to stop or she would spontaneously combust. Finally, Hunter looked up again, a blond eyebrow arched. With no more petting to be had, Cupcakes strode off, his tail in the air, before nestling in a corner of the makeshift darkroom, watching the pair with curious eyes. ‘Wonder how he and Scraps would get along, eh?’ Hunter asked, nodding again at the cat. ‘Indeed,’ Lake said, lobbing a smile back. She still had to be courteous. Professional. He was a client, not a sexual object. ‘So, if

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you don’t mind me asking, how did you know I’d be out here? The shed’s fairly tucked away.’ ‘Your mobile diverted to the photography café. A girl called Fenella, I think, answered and told me where to find you. Said you were busy getting ready for an…exhibition. Is that right?’ Darn Fenella. If she wasn’t trying to fatten her up with calorieladen treats, she was trying to push her into the arms of eligible bachelors. Well, actually, no. Fenella was just trying to help Lake’s new online business venture to be a success. But Lake was jumpy and irrational because she had Hunter standing before her, exuding oodles of testosterone, who could well have been a six-foot-three dildo rather than just a client for the effect he was having on her. Oh, he was waiting for an answer from her. ‘Uh, yes. I’m holding an exhibition. Tomorrow night actually. My first solo one, so it’s a little bit nerve-racking.’ Hunter nodded, and then his eyes pinned on something behind her. Still fixated, he moved forward, brushing past her. It was like rubbing up against a solid wall of muscle. A shiver ran through Lake, stretching out its tentacles from her scalp to the tips of her toes. Now at the workbench, Hunter gently held up the object of his fixation—the photo she’d lain aside, whistling through his teeth. Oh, God. The way he was staring at the photo with his X-ray-like vision, Lake felt as though she’d just ripped off her clothes then and there, not like he was just looking at a photograph, of which he didn’t know who the subject was. At last, he said, ‘Beautiful…this is a beautiful piece of art.’ He thought her body was…beautiful? No, he thought the image reflected back was beautiful—as a piece of art. Not a piece of arse. There was a difference. ‘Where’s your exhibition?’ he asked casually, looking over his shoulder at her again. ‘Uh, Fox Gallery. Near where I work. Tomorrow night. It’s small but chic. Quite well-known in art circles actually.’

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Hunter nodded. ‘I know it.’ Huh. Lake hadn’t expected that. But then he had said he dabbled in painting, when he wasn’t uberbusy doing big business deals. Hunter addressed her solemnly. ‘So can you show me…how you do it?’ Do it. Lordy. ‘Do what?’ Lake asked, feeling her pale forehead crinkling. ‘Process the photos. The old-school way. I’d love to give it a try, if you’re not too busy.’ ‘Uh, well, actually…’ She was busy. Not that Lake could concentrate on her exhibition now, though, with this hulking clitoristease hanging about. ‘The only problem is I don’t have large-sized gloves for you.’ Large. He’d be extra-large in other places, at a guess. ‘Hmm…’ Hunter cocked his head to one side, as though deep in thought. He tapped his finger on his jaw. ‘I’ve got an idea.’ Then he closed the gap between them in an instant, circling his hands around her waist, holding onto her arms at the wrists. Pressed against her, he felt like a human-shaped electric blanket, with a very firm mattress underneath. So warm and comforting. Protective. She could hear his steady breathing in her ear and feel the soft puffs teasing the tips of her ears. She could practically taste him. ‘You can be my hands,’ his deep voice said into her ear, reverberating right through her. Lake had to fight back a moan. Be professional. A silent mantra. The damp spot she could feel in her underpants betrayed her, though. ‘Uh, okay.’ Wordlessly, she snapped her gloves back on, the thin, white plastic reminding her of condoms and things being slid into deep, dark places… Really! She must control herself. Remember that she was a business person and that he was a client. There was nothing unusual about someone being curious about the traditional photography process, and it was her fault really for not having an adequate array of glove sizes…

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She grabbed for another negative and slid it into the optical apparatus. ‘So, this is the enlarger…’ Instantly, her grubby mind turned to penis enlargers, of course. Not that she reckoned Hunter would need any such help in that department. She could just detect the imprint of his package through his jeans at the small of her back, and it seemed quite generously-sized, if she did say so herself. It hadn’t just been the stuff of her dreams. She bit her lip in an effort to control her wayward mind and focus like she was trying to get the enlarger lens to do. Composing herself, Lake showed Hunter through the process of how the negative was projected through the lens onto sensitized photographic paper. Sensitized being exactly how every cell and pore on her body now felt. Lordy. Then, with his hands still clutching onto her wrists, she swished the image in various trays to complete the process, watching another image of her naked figure coming to life. Her fingers dipping in the trays of watery liquid encouraged her mind to wander to further deep, dark places. At the fixer tray, their bodies pressed against one another, her train of thoughts really went off the tracks. She imagined finding a confidence she didn’t have with this Adonis and slowly turning around, so their bodies were still melded together, her straining breasts pressed up against his chest. She imagined looking right into his pool-blue eyes and whispering, ‘All work and no play makes Lake a dull girl.’ Then leaning forward and suctioning his full lips between her own, before thrusting her tongue down his throat. Hungrily. Desperately. And he’d, of course, respond in kind. His hands would then reach up, plunging under the fabric of her khaki-green, long-sleeved tee, cupping her breasts. Then, in a swift movement, he would move his big, tanned, strong hands from her breasts to her waist, plucking down her tight, black jeans and turquoise briefs, and ever so gently, lifting her up on the workbench. There, he’d surprise her by lowering his head, only to lick the insides

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of her vagina like it were some kind of delicious dessert they’d sell at the photography café. Her nether region slick and pulsing, he’d stop just as she was about to climax. Then he’d stand up again, addressing her with those hypnotic eyes as he quickly unzipped his jeans. His manhood would be thick, throbbing, and pointing toward the ceiling. Then, he’d plunge into her cavern of wetness, their bodies banging noisily against the wooden benchtop in rhythm, sprinkling the trays’ contents about the place… ‘Ohhhhhh!’ Lake jumped. Her russet hair, which had been scraped back in a ponytail, now pooled around her shoulders. Hunter had pulled away, and she whipped around, seeing him holding up her hairband teasingly. ‘I just wanted to see what you would look like with your hair down,’ Hunter said, his eyes running up and down her frame. ‘And it looks…nice. Well, from what I can make out in the darkness anyway.’ Nice. It was the kind of word you’d use to describe your grandmother’s tea set. Or a colour of paint. Not a woman’s crowning glory. Lake’s fingers immediately went up, snagging in her hair protectively. ‘Thanks. Uh, anyway, I hope you enjoyed the tour of sorts…’ Unfortunately, it wasn’t a tour of her body. ‘But, I’d really better get back to work, if you don’t mind. You know, with the exhibition coming up tomorrow and everything.’ ‘Sure,’ Hunter said, his eyes still fixated on her, as though drinking in the image of her fine features and her russet-coloured waves splashed about her shoulders, photographing it with his mind’s eye. ‘Oh, before I forget…’ He reached into his pocket for a wornlooking, black leather wallet, pulling out a wad of notes. ‘For your services.’ The papery notes were pressed into Lake’s hand, crinkling against her fingers, making her feel like a prostitute. Even though the only sexual favors she’d given him had been in her mind. And it was him

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that had been doing her the favor. ‘Sure. Well, uh, good luck with everything. I hope you meet plenty of women.’ She could have kicked herself in the shins for saying that last bit. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if she did so in the dark anyway. Hunter shot her a lazy grin, nodding at her. ‘Thanks. Good luck with your exhibition. I’m sure you’ll do well with such beautiful imagery.’ Lake just nodded, barely able to breathe. This was it. The last she’d see of this fair-haired, blue-eyed god. She hadn’t even gotten to sample a taste of his salty skin, even the tiniest of licks. That would now be another woman’s job. That and much, much more… The green-eyed monster threatened to rear its ugly head. Shakily, Lake pushed open the door, and Hunter fell out into the sunshine again, as though enveloped by it. With a final nod of his head, he disappeared into it as though he’d never existed, except in her mind’s eye. Lake closed the door heavily behind her, shutting him out forever, breathing in deeply. Even when his footsteps had faded away and the only reminder of his earlier presence being the faint woody scent that lingered, Lake still didn’t realize that she hadn’t given him his disc of photos, which was his whole purpose for being there.

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Chapter Five The sound of Lady Gaga from her iPod powered Lake’s feet forward, her breath coming out in short puffs. Around her, yellow and orange leaves glittered on trees, announcing fall had arrived, and crunched underfoot on the narrow, stone-ridden, dirt path. As soon as Hunter had left, Lake had stood statue-like in the darkroom, not knowing what to do with herself and all of her nervous energy. She’d hastily finished the last of the photos she’d wanted to redo, and then she could do no more. She could no longer focus on work. The exhibition. All she could think about was imagining Hunter’s hands on her and his giant, throbbing— Lake scolded herself for allowing her mind to divert off-track again. As soon as she could, she’d chucked on her sneakers and hit the ground running—literally—heading for the track amid Brownhill Creek Recreation Park, bordered by a grassy hill on one side and a caravan park on the other. Copper-coloured butterflies winged their way past her head. Focus. On Lady Gaga and what she was warbling. One foot hitting the ground in front of the other. But her mind betrayed her by focusing instead on her most recent client and how his member might taste in her mouth… Jesus! Lake was surprised by a fellow female runner in a bright pink singlet and navy leggings, rounding the corner toward her at speed, with a black Scottish terrier by her side. Lake almost fell off the track, which was languidly winding its way up the hillside, in her efforts to let them pass.

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Once they’d gone, Lake paused to one side on the dirt track, bending her right leg behind her and holding onto the toe of her sneaker to stretch her calf. Perhaps she just needed some fuel to stay focused, motivated, to stop her mind from straying into dark, dangerous places. She’d slotted a sachet of PowerBar energy gel under the waistband of her black leggings and now plucked it free. Ripping open the sachet, she sucked on the apple-flavored liquid inside, setting off on the path again at a brisk walking pace. The saltiness, with a hint of apple, flooded her mouth. She sucked harder on the sachet, teasing the contents out with her tongue. Suddenly, the taste reminded her of cum, apple-flavored cum— Hunter’s cum—or how she imagined it might taste, deliciously sweet and sour. This was ridiculous. Tossing the sachet in a nearby bin, Lake turned around and set off full-pelt again for home, not even stopping when a stitch knifed into her side. She had to get rid of this pent-up tension once and for all. **** ‘Lake!’ Hunter called out, knocking on the front door of her unit, which he’d left just an hour ago before returning, realizing he hadn’t gotten his promised photos. It was a good excuse to come back at any rate, and she hadn’t been in the darkroom. The unit was red-brick and ’60s in style, with quaint, white shutters and a neatly clipped rose bush out the front. For some reason, it reminded Hunter of Lake and her no doubt neatly clipped, rosescented bush. He tried again. ‘Lake!’ His knuckles rapped against the wooden door a little more heavily, and then suddenly, it gave way under the movement, creaking slightly open as though he’d tapped a secret code

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on the swollen wood. Oh, how he wished he had the password to make Lake’s legs part with such ease. She was a fiery one. She made his pulse quicken. If only she knew just how much. He’d had his eye on her for a while, longer than she knew, and he’d gone to great lengths to get her attention. Hunter peered inside the unit—straight into a tiny lounge room— where a vintage-looking, olive-green, velvet sofa was a centerpiece, and there was a dark, wooden bookshelf to his left, adorned with quirky trinkets like a china owl figurine and a silver-framed, blackand-white print of a beach scene, with earthy strands of beads strung over one side. He stepped inside, almost jumping out of his skin when something soft and velvety rubbed against his leg. He looked down. Oh, the cat. Of course. Kneeling down, he tickled the pussycat under its chin and looked into its unblinking, green eyes. ‘Where’s your master?’ Cupcakes gave him a haughty look as if to say, ‘Who says she’s my master and not the other way around?’ Typical feline. Then the cat sauntered off with his tail in the air—still purring though. Hunter took a few more careful steps inside, not sure whether to stay, secretly poke around and find out more about her—hoping she returned soon, pretending he’d just arrived—or do the right thing and leave. Mid-thought he stopped, his head cocked to one side. He’d heard a noise coming from the far end of the unit—a splash of water. It sounded echoey like it was coming from a bathroom. Unable to help himself, Hunter found himself tiptoeing forwards, through the lounge and light-flooded, compact kitchen toward a white-painted bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. Feeling utterly compelled, Hunter pressed one eye up to the crack between the door and the doorframe and swallowed hard. He’d found her. Oh, how he’d found her.

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She was lying in an antique-looking, maroon bath, with a white lip and gold claw feet. The wet tendrils of her russet hair clung to her shoulders and snaked around her perky, cream-coloured breasts, like some kind of creeper. Water beaded from her collarbone down to her rosebud nipples. Hunter could imagine sucking those perfect strawberry tits. He felt the front of his pants growing tight, uncomfortable—his jeans imprisoned his member as it grew in size. Lake’s head was tilted back, resting against the bath’s ledge, and her eyes were closed. She was seemingly content. Her arm, he suddenly noticed, was thrust below the water’s surface, deep, deep below, moving slowly up and down. Hunter could feel the perspiration beading on his own forehead, as much from the steamy room as from the steamy scene before him. Then Hunter forgot to breathe for a second as a soft moan suddenly wafted from Lake’s pink lips. Her whole body now began moving along with the rhythmic pace of her arm, whose fingers were no doubt doing their own nimble work below the water’s surface, picking up speed. Her back arched back now, her breasts pointing toward the ceiling, like ripened honeydew melons. Lake moaned again, louder this time. The sound ripped through Hunter. He wanted to touch himself. To imagine that her hands were on him and that they were in this together, that they were pleasuring each other, but he daren’t move and be discovered. And then he heard it. ‘Oh, Hunter…Oh, God, Hunter!’ His name. His actual name. Wow. He liked the sound of it on her lips. It was like his member was plunging deep into those pillowy lips. She was fantasizing about him. He’d actually had an effect on her already. His quiet, steady efforts had paid off. She was flailing about now, the bottom half of her head of hair, a dark mahogany now that it was wet, dipping in and out of the water, her eyelashes fluttering open and shut, like she were having some kind of episode.

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Then she let out a moan that seemed to come from her pert bellybutton region and reverberated right through her. The sound bounced off the white-tiled walls—a moan of absolute, exquisite pleasure. Hunter felt his own eyes half closing, deep in the moment with her. Then they flickered fully open again in time to see the trickle of bubbles form on the top of the water above Lake’s nether region. She’d come. Oh, how she’d come! She lay back against the wall of the bath again, panting, her left arm, beading with water, hung over one side. Her ribcage moved up and down, her breasts bobbed in the water like bountiful buoys. It took all of Hunter’s physical control not to fling open that door, kneel on the wet bathroom floor, cup one breast in his hand, and run his tongue along the floral-scented flesh before sucking hard on its nipple, luxuriating in the strawberry sweetness. Lake’s serene, unmoving face suddenly crinkled into a small smile. As though she were running over the fantasy again in her mind and reveling in it. The thought warmed him. He’d done that. He’d made her feel all hot, heavy, and happy, at least in her mind. With suddenness, an idea hit Hunter square between the eyes. He’d leave her a gift. The perfect gift. A gift especially for her. Though he didn’t want to have to drag his eyes away from her— from drinking in every inch of her tantalizing, naked flesh—he had to. He was an intruder. Turning away, his member still throbbing, he tiptoed toward the front door and out back to the darkroom. **** Lake adjusted the framed photo on the beige wall for the umpteenth time and then stood back. Overhead spotlights sparkled on the glass, lighting up every inch of the naked, feminine silhouette

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captured beneath it in black and white. Finally, she nodded to herself. It was, at last, about right. ‘Need any help?’ Lake jumped instinctively, lost in her own dreamy world, before turning in the direction of the lilting Irish voice. A young, dark-haired man with pockmarked skin, who worked at the gallery, had his head poked around the doorway, with a thick eyebrow cocked quizzically in her direction. Finally, Lake shook her head, wiping her hands on her black jeans absentmindedly. ‘All good. I just have one more to hang up, and then I’m done. I’ll be out of your hair!’ ‘Not a problem at all. Anyway, you know where to find me if you do wind up needing a hand! And, of course, good luck with the exhibition tomorrow. Or perhaps “break a leg”?’ ‘Gosh, I hope not,’ Lake said, mock-grimacing. ‘Ha. But yes, thank you. Fingers crossed it all goes well.’ The young man disappeared again, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the aluminum spiral staircase. Being such a perfectionist, Lake was quite happy to do her own picture hanging, but she was grateful for the help offered nonetheless. And she realized she’d been too lost in her own world to even be slightly embarrassed by all the photos of her nude in front of the young man. Tomorrow night would be more of a test, though. She was hopeful people would see through any titillation to the art itself, to the photography she was proud of. She turned back in the direction of the little raised stage area where there were draped silky, midnight-blue curtains and a dark wooden double lectern, where the pièce de résistance would hang above, suspended from a picture rail—a massive shot of her sitting cross-legged, her nipples standing to attention, and a bouquet of dark roses in her hands, strategically covering her nether region. The faceless figure looked vulnerable. Open. Ready to love again. Lake only hoped the gallery visitors would get it.

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She reached for the metal ladder and tucked it under her arm, carrying it to the tiny stage area. Then she grabbed for the massive framed photo—the pièce de résistance—resting against the bottom of the wall to her right, biting her lip as she viewed it one more time before hoisting it up the ladder with her under her arm. Resting the picture on top of the ladder, she slid its silver molding hooks over the picture rail so that it hung against the silky curtain backdrop.Then she took a few tentative steps down the ladder to view it from another angle. Adjusting the way the picture hung a few more times, she made her way down the ladder again for the last time and stood back, her hands clasped in front of her. She was done. Finally. Well, until that night. Suddenly, as though all the naked images were crowding in on her, a tingling sensation swept through her, like an electrical current, crackling from the russet hair on her head to the groomed triangle down south. An image had just flashed through her mind from out of nowhere. A filthy one. Involving Hunter, of course. She’d imagined their stark-naked bodies, slick with sweat, entwined behind the dark wooden double lectern so that their feet were just poking out. She imagined the roundness of her lily-white breasts pressed against his hard, tanned chest and his tongue sweeping over her face, licking her cheeks and trailing down to the perfumed nape of her neck, as though she were scrumptious enough to eat. All the while he was driving into her with his solid shaft, with a firm self-assuredness, driving her to the brink of insanity, to delicious, mind-blowing exhilaration, as though it was all in the world he needed to do. Lake could feel herself growing clammy under her arms and her breath coming out in short, ragged puffs again, just like when she was running, and in the bath. She felt like she had an endless pit of sexual heat ever since Hunter had strolled into her life all hobo-like. She’d never felt like that before, not even with Chase.

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A door slammed down below, on the lower level, and it jolted Lake back to the present. The cold, lonely reality. She shook herself. She had to stop. She had to get a grip. Hunter was about to enter the online dating world with vigour—if he hadn’t already updated his cyber profile, which she hadn’t dared check—and would no doubt soon have a bevy of beauties to choose from. He was just a client of hers. Nothing more, nothing less. A good, quick-paying one who she would likely never see again. She had to drop it and just concentrate on her work. It was for the best. Relationships—sexual dalliances—weren’t her bag. Especially with clients. Lake let the thought temper the flush in her cheeks as she swiped at her tan handbag, threw it over one shoulder, and made for the door, flicking out the lights—on the gallery space as well as any wild, wanton fantasies she might be having. They were pointless, after all.

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Chapter Six His eyes raked the street from behind the picture-framing shop’s one-way mirror. People with unfamiliar faces wandered past, shuffling to and from their appointments. He felt like a pyromaniac, drawn back to the scene of a self-lit fire. In this case though, there was just one spark he was waiting for. One with russet-red hair, a lithe body, and a hungry passion in her eyes. He rustled with paperwork distractedly from his seat, attempting to look busy as his staff worked away behind him. When he glanced up again, the smell of glue and the blend of drilling, sanding and chatter immediately faded away. From the corner of his eye, he saw it. A flash of ginger hair and pale skin. Her. As expected. Hunter felt a throbbing in his left ribcage area—and the front of his trousers—drunk at the very sight of her. It took all of his willpower not to leap out of his chair, pelt across the road, scoop up her petite frame in his arms and kiss those cherry-sweet lips. He had to play it cool. A woman like her needed time. To trust again. To love again. And he’d be there, ready and waiting, when she was. **** ‘So, all sorted?’ Fenella asked, an arched eyebrow, intended for Lake, disappearing under her chunky blonde fringe. Fenella held out a caramel-coloured macaron on a white china plate in Lake’s direction.

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Lake snatched at the sweet treat eagerly. Late afternoon was always quieter in the café, so the pair was freer to chat. There was a group of mums with toddlers at one corner table and a businessman on his laptop at another, but that was it. Lake crunched into the macaron, tasting peanut butter. Mmmm. ‘Yes, all of the photos have been hung up, and I’m happy with how it all looks. So now it’s just, you know, sit and wait until tonight, which you know I’m terrible at doing. I mean, what if the critics say my vision is terrible?’ ‘Oh, they will not,’ Fenella scoffed, helping herself to a pale-pink macaron from the glass counter display. ‘You’re a beautiful photographer. And you have such a creative eye. They’ll be lined up for a piece of your work, you’ll see. I bet you’ll be such a success you’ll even have to quit this place. Sob!’ Lake rolled her eyes at Fenella. ‘I highly doubt it. I don’t think you’ll be needing to advertise my job anytime soon—not at all.’ ‘At any rate, you’ll be handing out plenty of business cards. Oh, how do the new ones look, by the way?’ Lake clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Shoot! Oh, my God. I totally forgot to pick them up. I just knew there’d be something I’d forget. Darn it!’ Abandoning her half-eaten macaron, Lake suddenly thrust a handbag strap over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to have to love you and leave you. The graphic design studio will be shut soon, and I walked here this morning, so I’m going to have to race home to get my car!’ Fenella shooed her away. ‘Go, go! I’ll see you tonight. No problems. I can look after this place.’ Turning sharply, Lake suddenly ran square into something hard, muscular—and searing hot. Lake looked up and into liquid blue eyes, feeling as though she was drowning in their very depths. She hadn’t even noticed the bell above the shop door jangle. ‘Hunter,’ she barely breathed. ‘What are you doing here?’ She had never seen him at the café before, though he’d obviously dropped by

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at least once, because he’d spied her sign about professional photos for internet dating. A slow smile stretched across his tanned face. ‘I was just in the area. Saw the café sign and thought I’d drop in for something sweet.’ Sweet. Why did he look at her as though the word was actually intended for her? Lake shook herself. It was her delirium. She was imagining things. ‘I didn’t expect you to actually be here. I thought you’d be getting ready for your exhibition.’ Hunter’s eyes crinkled at the corners teasingly. ‘Well, everything’s pretty much done now…’ Lake turned back, remembering her best friend. ‘Ah, Hunter, this is Fenella. We run the photography café together. You spoke to her on the phone yesterday.’ Hunter gazed over at Fenella and in one lengthy stride was in front of her, stretching out his hand in her direction. Her tiny hand seemed to be swallowed up by his big paw. ‘Pleased to meet you. You look kind of familiar actually,’ Fenella said. She nodded between him and Lake, her eyes gleaming mischievously. ‘How do you two know each other?’ ‘I’m a client of Lake’s. She did some photos for me this week.’ ‘Uh-huh, right,’ Fenella said, nodding, her eyes still twinkling. Lake mentally rolled her eyes. Typical Fenella, putting two and two together and coming up with one. She was the real Cupid around here, not Lake with her online venture. Lake turned back to Hunter, ignoring Fenella’s sudden enthusiasm. ‘Well, anyway, I highly recommend the chocolate fudge. In fact, have some on the house! But I actually have to run. I’ve got to pick up some business cards, which I totally forgot about, and I’m kind of running out of time.’ ‘Oh…need a lift?’ Hunter said it with a casualness, as easily as a shirt on a clothesline lifting in the breeze. But it sent Lake off kilter, like someone had kicked her hard in the back of her knees. Just the thought of sitting next to him in a moving vehicle, being mere inches from him, alone, turned her insides to soup. ‘I’ve got a bit of spare time up my sleeve now.’

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‘Oh, that’s okay, I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t want to put you out—’ Lake began. But Fenella jumped in, sly as a fox. ‘Don’t be silly. Take the lift! You’ll never make it there and back in time if you have to grab your car in between. And you’d be a sweaty mess anyway, if you did.’ Lake didn’t need a little pavement pounding to turn her into a sweaty mess. That much was already accomplished. But Fenella was right. Riding with Hunter was the sensible thing to do. Riding with him…good grief! Fenella quickly packaged up a generous-size slice of fudge in a white paper bag for Hunter ‘for the road.’ Then he assessed Lake again with those gorgeous eyes, saying smoothly, ‘Let’s go. Follow me.’ Hunter didn’t need to ask again. Lake immediately trotted behind his hulking frame like he was the Pied Piper with a magic pipe. Or at least something pipe-like. Her body was powerless to do anything else, her eyes glued to the movement of his muscles under the back of his navy tee and the sway of his tight buns in those faded denim jeans. Once outside, a gust of fresh air cooled Lake’s face—thankfully. Several feet away, Hunter paused near a car parked on the side of the road. A rust bucket. A red-orange coating, matching the colour of Lake’s hair, decorated its trim. The sagging tyres looked like they’d only last a few more blocks. Hunter turned back, his cheeks colouring slightly. ‘Ah, sorry about my ride. I wasn’t actually expecting to have a passenger.’ Lake was quick to hide her shock. ‘Oh, it’s fine. It’s got wheels, hasn’t it? I reckon it’s got real character, yes.’ Then she reached out to touch the rust bucket’s door handle. At the movement, the handle suddenly fell, swinging against the metal, attached by just one bolt now. Lake gasped. ‘Shoot! I’m so sorry.’ Instead of frowning, though, Hunter’s face immediately lit up. Then he tipped his head back and laughed. That delicious, throaty

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sound. ‘You thought… you thought…’ Hunter, bent at the waist, could barely get the words out. Lake put her hands on her hips defensively. ‘What’s so funny?’ Composing himself, Hunter straightened up, rearranging his features. ‘Ah, that isn’t my car.’ Biting his lip, he walked a few steps forward. ‘Um, this is actually mine.’ Lake followed after him, peering behind the bulky rust bucket to where a gleaming red sports car was parked innocently behind it on the roadside—a Ferrari, no less. Hunter rested a hand on its polished bonnet. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of show pony is all.’ He shrugged. ‘But, you know, to me, this is art. The sleek lines, the design. Not your kind of art, granted, but still art.’ Feeling a tad humiliated at her mistake, Lake muttered, ‘Like I said, so long as it’s got wheels.’ Then she ran over to the other side of the shiny car, grabbed at the door handle—pleased this time it didn’t fall sideways at her touch—and plucked it open. She then slid into its tan seat, breathing in the heady scent of leather mingling with Hunter’s own lingering woody aroma. Hunter jumped in beside her, the engine soon roaring to life like a lion of the jungle awakening. Lake told him the intended address and then sat back as Hunter zipped the sportscar through the traffic. Lake felt pinned to her seat in the vehicle, as though she were hurtling along a race track, even though they were actually doing the speed limit. There was an insistent throbbing between her legs, which wasn’t altogether to do with the vibration coming from the motor. They continued to wind through the streets, with Lake clinging to the sides of her seat—more to do with stopping herself from throwing herself at Hunter than any real fear. Then the car slid to a stop at a red light. Wanting to break the silence now that the engine had quietened, Lake turned to look at Hunter. ‘So tell me, where did your love of art—painting—come from?’

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Hunter’s gaze slid in her direction, his piercing blue eyes seeming to have a magnetic pull on her own. She was unable to break his gaze. He licked his lips. That tongue. Wet, pink, thick… Hunter turned to look back at the road again, allowing Lake to shake herself dazedly— and get a grip. ‘My dad really. He got me interested in it.’ ‘Oh?’ The traffic light changed to emerald again, and Hunter revved the engine, the Ferrari roaring back to life. Hunter spoke over the engine, his eyes still on the road. ‘Yeah, he was a painter. A brilliant painter, actually. Not that the art world discovered that until after his death.’ Hunter’s free hand suddenly banged hard on the steering wheel, his face twisting as though he’d just tasted something bitter. ‘He died a poor artist while some art dealers have since made millions from his work.’ ‘Gosh, that’s terrible,’ Lake commiserated. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that that’d be her luck too. Unlucky in love—and career. Someone else eventually profiting from her photo art. Just like some other woman would be the one to gain from her more professional marketing of Hunter… Hunter continued, ‘Dad was always trying to get me interested in art, you know, but I wouldn’t have a bar of it. It wasn’t until after he died that I really appreciated his talent. His passion.’ Hunter glanced over at Lake, his pupils opaque. ‘Whenever I see that kind of fire in someone else, it reminds me of my dad. And I’m really getting involved in the art stuff, too. Even if I’m not so good at it, I can appreciate others’ talent. I can give back, you know?’ Lake nodded, breathless. The car jolted to a stop, throwing Lake forward. Hunter nodded his head at an office building to their right. ‘Your stop.’ ‘Oh, yes,’ Lake said, fumbling with her seatbelt. It had certainly been an exhilarating ride. And she had totally forgotten her reason for coming.

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Unfortunately, the rest of the trip went by in a whir, from picking up the business cards to heading back home in Hunter’s sleek, bloodred sports car. Parked outside her front gate, the pair both sat in the car silently for a moment before Lake moved to go. It was so quiet Lake could hear her own heart beating. Like a drum. Then Hunter suddenly looked at Lake with those aquamarine eyes, leaning toward her, inching ever closer. She drank in the blended aroma of chocolate fudge and cologne, like it was vital oxygen. Every part of her throbbed, her lips puckered. She imagined him plunging his lips onto hers and then freeing her from her seatbelt and sliding her onto his lap, so that her chest jutted onto his, his hardness sliding into her wet heat, their bodies moving up and down, up and down… Just as quickly though, Hunter’s hand came into view, flicking her lock free. Oh, that was it. Darn it. ‘Good luck with the exhibition launch,’ he said, looking deeply into her eyes. A little too deeply so that Lake felt pinned under his gaze like an insect on display. ‘Ah, thanks,’ Lake said, feeling intoxicated. Then, snapping to attention, she suddenly unbuckled her seatbelt, slid from the leather seat, and tugged the door open, falling out onto the sidewalk and into the cool air. Hunter gave her one final penetrating glance before revving the Ferrari and roaring down the street, the car turning into a red dot on the horizon, leaving Lake trembling and alone.

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Chapter Seven Lake assessed her reflection critically in her bedroom mirror, her ginger cat brushing past her legs. ‘How do I look, Cupcakes?’ she asked, turning to hold out the knee-length, chiffon skirt part of her frock. The top section had fabric roses that trailed down from the thin straps, crisscrossing over her chest and down over her bare back. It was vastly different to the type of clothing she wore to the photography café or in the darkroom. Fenella had helped her pick it out. She said she needed to play up her role of the star of the night—the star artiste. It was definitely a much more feminine look than she was used to—pretty even—and decidedly less comfortable. Lake poked her feet out from under her frock, clad in red, satin heels, wondering how she was going to last the night in them. She’d even painted her toe nails fire-engine red, though she usually preferred to keep her nails bare. Finally, she looked back at Cupcakes. The long-haired cat appeared to give her the once-over and then wandered over to a corner of the room and took a seat, closing his eyes. Perhaps he was just mad he wasn’t going to be accompanying her on her night of nights. That or he was just a sucker for the heater at the far end of the room. Lake leant in closer to the mirror again, wondering if she’d put too much peach blusher on. She dragged a white tissue over her cheeks to pick up any excess, just in case. She was starting to get really nervous. This was it. People were either going to love her artwork or absolutely hate it. The proof would be in the form of the tiny, red dot stickers stuck to the picture frames

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at the end of the night. Or the lack thereof. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. She just had to wait it out. Giving herself another blast of floral-scented perfume, she dropped a gold tube of lipstick into her red satin clutch—another Fenella fashion idea—along with her mobile phone and snapped off the heater, while Cupcakes mewed in protest. Grabbing her set of silvery keys, Lake headed for the door. The less time she spent idling in her bedroom waiting for Fenella and Bert to show up, the less chance she had to ditch the red frock for a comfy top and a pair of jeans in a moment of panic. Waiting on the porch, she checked the time on her mobile phone. She was still seven minutes earlier than Fenella and Bert were due to arrive as her transport, like a fairy-godmother-induced coach. Darn. The night air was growing decidedly chillier. She wished she’d grabbed at least her thin, black cardigan, although she knew she wouldn’t need it in the crowded gallery. Well, at least she hoped it would be crowded. She’d sent out enough invites. Suddenly, Lake cocked her head. It sounded like a door was banging gently in the breeze. The sound was coming from out back. Where could it be coming from? Oh, God! It couldn’t be, could it? Lake’s mind raced. The darkroom! Had she forgotten to lock it since Hunter had turned her into a hot mess, from her steamy dip in the bath to roaring along in his Ferrari? Darn. She was well and truly losing the plot right now. The sooner she put time between her and Hunter having met in the first place, the better. Lake ran from the porch down to the side gate, unclipping it, and then along the concrete path, bordered by lawn, to the darkroom. Darn. She could see it from a few feet away. It was indeed the darkroom’s wooden door tapping against its frame in the breeze. Lake swore under her breath, just thankful the darkroom was out of sight from the main road and wouldn’t be too likely to attract curious strangers. And that the equipment inside wouldn’t be of much interest to the average burglar. But still.

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She pushed open the door, felt inside for the light switch, and flicked it on. The tiny room was immediately flooded in light. Lake breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be in place. The enlarger, the trays, the light-proof, black plastic bags of photographic paper… Hang on a sec. There was something resting on the projectorstyle enlarger. A single piece of paper. Had she left it there absentmindedly? Or—oh, God—had someone else? She took a few tentative steps forward, swiping at the paper fearfully, afraid of what she might discover. Her eyes squinted at the glossy whiteness, finding an unfamiliar, darkened image at its centre. Oh, God… Suddenly, the paper felt too hot to touch and slipped from her fingers. She must have imagined it. It couldn’t have been! She was going crazy. She had to be. Still, she licked her lips subconsciously, her downstairs area already pulsing. Shaking herself, she bent to scoop up the piece of photographic paper again and held it up in the light. Oh, God, oh, God, which she may have actually just said out loud. At the top of her voice. The image was exactly how she’d just imagined it seconds earlier. It was real. It was the darkened outline of a perfect, thick, totally suck-able penis. For the image to have been created, someone—a man—would have had to have unzipped his pants, put his crown jewels on the photographic paper under the enlarger, and shined the light on it, exposing it to leave this naughty silhouette. The person would have had to have known more about the craft of making a photo from film than they’d let on. Hunter. It had to be. Could he actually be interested in her? Or was he just playing games with her mind? ‘Lake? Are you there?’ Lake closed her eyes. It was just Fenella calling out to her, not Hunter. Phew. Fenella was likely wondering why the darkroom’s light was on at this hour, before her exhibition.

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Without thinking, Lake suddenly kissed the very tip of the darkened penis pictured on paper before placing it upside down on her workbench, slightly annoyed that the image wouldn’t fit in her purse without folding it. She would have liked to have had it near her. A security blanket of sorts for her for the night. A very naughty one. Even if she wasn’t exactly sure what message the “gift” was meant to convey, even if he was just teasing, the thought of it still warmed her. ‘On my way!’ Lake lied, calling out in Fenella’s direction. ‘Just checking a few last things.’ Then, exhaling a few times and fanning her cheeks, Lake opened the darkroom door and shut it behind her again, making sure this time to turn around and lock it tight. Fenella was waiting near the side gate, looking ubergorgeous, as always, in a body-hugging, strapless, jade-green number. She flashed her pearly whites at Lake and then whistled teasingly. ‘Looking hot, sista!’ ‘All thanks to you and your styling work. You’re not looking so bad yourself.’ Fenella gave her a wink from beneath her heavy fringe before linking her elbow through Lake’s, who was now at her side. ‘Got to keep Bert on his toes. Hey, you’re gonna knock ’em dead tonight, I tell you!’ Lake looked back at her best friend. ‘Let’s hope so,’ she said, grinning. She was still unable to shake the dirty, silhouetted image from her mind, nor did she really want to. **** The exhibition opening night so far appeared exactly how Lake had dreamed it would be—and that was just from her stance in the doorway. The space, which earlier in the day had seemed empty and cavernous, was now jam-packed from wall to wall with people. Like sardines. People with a passion for art. People with money.

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And there was her photography, dotting the walls, glistening under the lights. The naked, feminine images portrayed as raw and exposed, as she herself felt right now, set to be judged by the art world. Like a gladiator entering the ring. Tonight, she’d either be torn apart or victorious. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the people seemed to swoop. First the gallery director in a navy, pinstriped suit, with gelled-back, black hair, which looked even glossier under all the lights, and a whiter-than-white smile. He took her hand in his in a warm, bear-like grip. ‘Fabulous, darling! Such a creative eye. Such talent. Well done!’ Then he wet her cheek with a smacking kiss. Then a beret-wearing critic with a thin, porn-star-like moustache, who she recognized from a local art magazine, wanted to know all about how she’d come up with the vision for the exhibition’s theme, how she’d got the lighting just right, and who her mysterious subject was. The latter she had kept mum about and wanted to continue to do so, so she put him off the scent by giving the vague—she hoped elusive—response of, ‘Unfortunately, that I have agreed to keep between me and the subject herself,’ offering just the merest arch of an eyebrow. Thankfully, the critic had just scribbled furiously in his notepad some more and not probed any further. Finally she got a chance for a breather when Fenella, in tune to when she needed an ‘out’ as her best friend, grabbed her by the elbow and herded her toward the bar, agreeable Bert trailing behind them. ‘Champagne?’ Fenella asked Lake lightly. Lake nodded, trying to catch her breath. The excitement of it all— her exhibition finally happening—was just too much to take in. It all seemed to be going swimmingly. Perfectly. She’d even spied a blur of red stickers dotted about the frames. Her artwork was about to adorn the walls of other people’s homes. Providing them with life-long, artistic pleasure. It was such a thrill. A joy.

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Yet her mind also kept jumping somewhere else. To that darkened silhouette captured on photographic paper. Of Hunter’s member, undoubtedly. Exactly what it could mean— ‘Earth to Lake!’ Lake jolted back to the present as Fenella’s hand waved before her face. Fenella then reached for a glass of champagne on the wooden bar and handed it to Lake, advising her to ‘Put this down your hatch. Should help take the edge off!’ ‘Uh, okay,’ Lake responded, clutching the thin stem, her cheeks warming again at the memory of what she’d just discovered in the darkroom. She tipped her head back and let the fizzy, golden liquid tickle her throat, bubbling in her nostrils. Mmmm… It tasted divine— expensive—and it was like an instant relaxant. She could feel her limbs loosening up and her mind freeing. She took a few more hearty gulps, barely noticing Fenella raising an eyebrow at her. Lake put the champagne glass back down on the bar, now finished, and Fenella reached over to squeeze her hand. ‘It’s all going excellently. You’re going to be a star of the art world—I can just feel it! Don’t fret, like you always do, and just enjoy the moment, okay?’ Lake grinned back at her. ‘It is going kind of well, isn’t it? Who would have thought?’ she squealed, squeezing Fenella’s fingers in return. ‘And you of all people deserve it,’ Fenella responded. She arched an eyebrow. ‘If only Chase could see you now. He would be kicking his own sorry arse!’ Lake smiled. ‘And you know what the best news is? I think with all of this’—she spread out her arms wide—‘using my pain for art, I’m finally over him.’ ‘Good on you!’ Fenella said, her eyes shining, releasing Lake’s hand to give it an assuring pat. Bert, large-boned and tall with friendly eyes, pink cheeks, and sticky-up, brown hair, seized the moment to sling his arm over Fenella’s shoulder again and draw her close to him,

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showing off to the crowd that she was actually, proudly, his. Fenella leaned in to kiss his cheek affectionately. ‘Well, I might leave you lovebirds for the moment and duck out to the ladies if you don’t mind,’ Lake said, grabbing her satin clutch off the bar. ‘No problems,’ Fenella said, as Bert nuzzled into the top of her blonde head. Lake rolled her eyes teasingly. They were still so in love. She was happy for them. There was even now a teeny flicker of hope within her that maybe even she could one day be that happy again. God willing.

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Chapter Eight Even if she was the star of the night, Lake still had to wait in a four-person queue at the ladies until there was a free cubicle. After relieving herself she washed her hands at the basin, looking at her reflection in the vast mirror, which stretched up to the ceiling. Even though the night had worn on and she’d had some champagne, she was pleased to see she was still holding it together. In fact, she looked quite good, if she did say so herself, illuminated against the white-tiled backdrop. Her cheeks were flushed, her russet hair appeared to shine like copper in the bathroom lighting, and there was a real sparkle in her eyes. She looked…well…alive again. All thanks to Hunter and the fantasies he’d helped stir up in her. Even if the picture of his penis was the last thing she’d see of an Adonis like him. Likely he’d gotten his titillation. Lake made her way to the door, her satin clutch in hand, thanking a gushing female guest sporting a black, chin-length bob, for her compliments about her artwork—and her red dress—along the way. Back inside the exhibition space, Lake stood for a moment in the crush of the crowd, just drinking it all in, the walls throbbing with music and conversation, the visual feast of her very own black-andwhite, naked images adorning the place, the exquisite buzz of taking a risk and it paying off… Then she gasped. Him. H-I-M. What the hell was he doing here? They really ought to stop bumping into one another.

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Her mystery man paused amid the crowd then began languidly weaving his way toward her, his aquamarine eyes pinned on hers like a man on a mission, like something out of her dreams. She desperately needed another glass of champagne, but she wouldn’t make it to the bar in time. All that kept running through her mind at the sight of him was that huge, darkened, shaft-like silhouette, as though tattooed in her mind. He had his blond hair slicked back with gel, like he’d just emerged from the pool. He pulled off the look far better than the gallery director had earlier on. Looking decidedly un-hobo-like, he was also wearing a suit. A black suit, which hugged his muscular frame superbly, with a crisp, white shirt underneath, unbuttoned at the top. No tie. Lake felt herself weaken, like someone had shoved into her, sending her off-balance, as though she needed something to grip onto. She wanted him by her side right now as much as she wanted him to sail past her out the door, because she could hardly bear the disempowering, totally paralyzing effect he had on her. Just when he was mere feet from her, he was suddenly waylaid by a raven-haired girl in a black, leather-like, cut-out minidress, showing off ample bosom and endless toned, tanned legs. A stunning socialite Lake recognized from the local papers—obviously on the gallery’s invite list, not hers. Lake could barely stand to see the socialite’s paws all over Hunter like a rash. The man himself looked as though he belonged in an Armani ad, not just here at this small, downtown gallery. At Lake’s very own exhibition. The woman had cat-eye liner on, and right now Lake felt pretty catty herself, like she wouldn’t mind ripping out some of the woman’s glorious, glossy, black hair from its very roots. Looking down at herself, Lake suddenly felt too demure—too contrived, too prissy—in her rose-adorned, red chiffon dress. Why hadn’t she gone for something that screamed sex, like the socialite

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had, so that it reverberated off the walls? She was no match for that woman. Especially not in the chest area, even if the socialite’s rack wasn’t what God had naturally given her. It didn’t matter. She was every inch as glamorous as a man like Hunter required. Lake could only ever be a mere distraction. Lake’s earlier confidence had now seeped below the second storey to the bottom floor below. No beneath that. Deep down through the concrete foundation to the muddy dirt. She may as well just turn on her red, satin heels now and call it a night. The gallery could tell her how just how much she’d sold in the morning. Just as her mind was made up, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hunter give the socialite a chaste kiss on the cheek and then expertly maneuver her to one side as easily as though she was a silver ball being knocked away in a pinball machine. Almost without breaking his stride, he continued on toward Lake. Now Hunter was just a foot’s length away from Lake, still staring at her. She breathed in his woody scent as though to clear her head, but it only made her woozier. She wanted to throw herself at him. Suck on his bottom lip, like, forever. But there were oodles of people here. She had to be a professional. She didn’t even know what Hunter’s parting gift really meant. ‘So…’ Hunter said at last, a dimple carving into his tanned, right cheek. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ The words thrust Lake right back to the present. Instinctively, she whacked him on the chest with her satin clutch. ‘Fancy seeing you here, you mean! When I told you where my exhibition was, I didn’t think you’d actually turn up.’ Hunter gave a careful shrug of his shoulders. ‘Can’t a gallery owner keep an eye on his premises?’ Lake spluttered disbelievingly. ‘You…you own this place? C’mon! You didn’t say anything when I mentioned it earlier.’ Hunter shrugged again. ‘I prefer to keep my investments low-key. That’s why I’m what you call a silent owner of this place.’

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Lake saw the honesty burning in his eyes. He really did own this place, which shouldn’t have been so hard to believe to begin with. He seemed to have pots and pots of money, after all, despite his disheveled appearance earlier on. ‘Well, Ms. Socialite of the Year didn’t seem to give a damn who you were—or weren’t,’ Lake pressed on. ‘She still couldn’t keep her claws off you.’ Hunter leaned in close, causing Lake to almost faint at the proximity. ‘Oh really? What do you think the cause of her interest was in me then?’ Lake crossed her eyes, knowing she’d backed herself into a corner. ‘Well, of course, you’re quite the attractive, eligible bachelor.’ There, she’d said it. ‘Though for how much longer I don’t know now that you have actual professional photos for your online dating profile.’ ‘No, I don’t.’ Hunter moved an inch closer, daringly close, a smile playing at his lips. Lake frowned and then thrust her hands on her hips. ‘Are you saying my photos aren’t professional? I mean, look around you! This is an actual exhibition.’ ‘No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying you never gave me the photos. You took my money, but you never actually physically handed over the disc of pictures.’ Lake squinched up her forehead some more and then clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry. You’re right. How unprofessional of me! I totally forgot. My mind must have been…somewhere else. I—I can get them to you though. First thing tomorrow. I promise! I’m so, so sorry.’ ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ Hunter said, his eyes sweeping up and down her body, like the beam from a lighthouse. ‘I don’t think I’ll be needing them anymore.’ ‘Oh…right. Okay then.’ Lake was dumbfounded. Could he have met someone? A new plaything already? Or perhaps much more than

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just a plaything. The naughty silhouette must have been just a prank, after all. Hunter smoothly changed the subject, like switching gears in his gleaming car. ‘Did you know I’m also a silent owner of the pictureframing shop across from your photography café? Well’—he gave a throaty laugh—‘not so silent anymore.’ Lake felt goose bumps prickle her skin. The shop was where she’d gotten her nudes framed for the exhibition. ‘Wow…’ she said mildly. ‘You do have a passion for the arts when it comes to your business investments, don’t you?’ Hunter nodded slowly, his eyes dropping their hold on hers to linger on her mouth momentarily. Her lips tingled as though his wellproportioned mouth was actually now pressed against them, not just his gaze. Hunter continued, ‘I’m an entrepreneur but, like I said, I love art. I could just never really find enough real inspiration for my own work before.’ Suddenly, Lake felt a confidence zip through her, a braveness, and she held his gaze steady with her own. ‘And now?’ ‘And now?’ Hunter echoed. Lake suddenly felt the warmth of his strong hand pressing against the small of her back, pulling her so close to him that their lips were practically touching. ‘I’m feeling very inspired.’ With a swift movement, Lake suddenly felt her lacy, black bra being undone by strong, assured fingers. She gasped, clutching her hands to her chest automatically, trying to keep the bra from escaping toward the floor. ‘That wasn’t very nice…’ ‘What about the gift I left for you in the darkroom? Was that nice?’ Hunter breathed, his eyes gleaming mischievously. So it had been him. ‘I can be a very naughty boy when I want to be. In fact, ever since I saw your photos coming into the framing shop, and then at the gallery, I just had to know whose luscious, naked body was behind those pictures. And who would come up with such a unique vision.

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‘And as soon as I saw you returning to the picture framing shop through the one-way mirror from out back, where I only ever am, I knew they were self-portraits and that I just had to meet you. It wasn’t hard to find you, with the photography café being directly across the street.’ Lake felt stripped bare, barer even than the photos taunting her now from every angle. Hunter pushed on, ‘And that’s why I came up with the whole excuse about needing better shots for an online dating profile. I saw your ad in the shop window. Honestly, I’ve never tried online dating before in my whole life, nor do I want to. It’s not my style. It was just a ploy to get close to you.’ Lake could barely breathe. ‘So…you did all of that…really?… just to meet me? But you could have just dropped by the shop and said hello or something far simpler.’ ‘Well, you would have just dismissed me, Ms. Broken Heart, wouldn’t you have? Like your photos depict. Thought I wasn’t approaching you for honorable reasons.’ He raised an eyebrow at her. Right now, she wasn’t exactly thinking so honorably about him anyway. She nodded still. He was right. ‘And…what exactly do you want from me now?’ Her lips were trembling now as much as her knees. Her unrestrained breasts jiggled against her dress’s thin, chiffon fabric. ‘Come with me,’ Hunter breathed in her ear, gripping her hand in his. Then, quick as a flash, he turned, propelling her through the crowd toward the darkened stage area. Lake felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Would this be just like out of her dreams? The pair ramming into each other behind the double lectern? She may just hyperventilate… Instead of slowing at the lectern, he looked over his shoulder and then pulled her with him discreetly behind the silky, midnight-blue

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curtains, the pair falling against the windows together, Lake looking out onto the dark night. No one at the exhibition had appeared any the wiser. The general, throbbing humdrum continued. As soon as the cool curtain fabric fluttered against Lake’s skin, she felt Hunter’s hands at her back, unzipping her dress so that it fell like a red pool in the direction of her high-heeled feet. Her bra had fallen off with it, so all that was left on was her matching, lacy briefs, with tiny black bows at the hips, and, of course, her high heels. Immediately, Hunter rubbed an insistent finger against the fabric between her legs, where it was already damp. Lake gasped. Over his shoulder, beyond the glass, she could see into the dark, unblinking windows of an office building opposite, and down below, the streetlights and the now rain-slicked streets, where ant-like shapes scurried about. ‘The windows,’ she eked out, not wanting him to stop but knowing she should warn him. He ripped down her briefs, so that they fell at her ankles, and then ran his tongue from her earlobe down to the crack of her mouth, probing his tongue in ever so slightly. ‘Who damn well cares? I want you, and I want you now.’ Then his tongue plunged fully into her mouth. It tasted exquisite, just how she’d imagined. Lake tongue-kissed him back, every part of her tingling. She could feel herself letting herself go, wreathing against him, ripping at the buttons of his white shirt, fumbling with his belt buckle. Hunter, at last, tried to stop her hands. ‘No. Let me pleasure you first,’ his deep, velvety voice said at her ear. ‘No, I can’t bear to wait any longer,’ Lake gasped, pulling away from him momentarily. Too long they’d been playing this delicious game of cat and mouse. She wanted him inside her. ASAP. Now poking out of his dark boxers, Hunter’s member, in the glow from the streetlight, appeared as strong and lengthy as the enlarger-

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produced picture had shown. There’d been no tampering with that image. With a primal urge, Lake suddenly shook off the undies encircling her high-heel-clad feet and wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding his member inside of her, enjoying the feeling of it filling her up. Against her skin, he felt just like she’d imagined—strong and hard, in every which way. She felt herself opening up like a flower—a rose— against his touch. He smelled…mmmm…just like heaven. They rocked against each other, Lake mildly aware that the window behind them was steaming up, as they moved back and forth rhythmically, as though in time to the music. At the tipping point, Lake barely noticed Hunter sliding a finger into her buttocks and massaging her breasts with his other hand, as though wanting to be in contact with every inch of her. Then a feeling came over her like a tidal wave, with glass-shattering speed. She clung onto Hunter’s strong frame, digging her red-painted fingernails into his shoulders, and they both moaned with pleasure, wave after wave knocking their bodies about, like they were tiny ships in a fierce ocean. Moments later they were standing next to one another, breathing heavily, their hands entwined, the curtain still encircling them. But just as quickly, Hunter released his grip on Lake, buttoning his shirt back up again and re-buckling his belt, leaving her shivering, vulnerable, and out of sorts. He turned swiftly, pressing his lips hard against her mouth. ‘Come past my house tomorrow. Around noon,’ he said solemnly. Then, without another word, he pushed the curtain slightly ajar and slipped out, disappearing again into the night, leaving Lake all alone once more. Wanting. She hoped fervently that he hadn’t just gotten what he wanted and quickly tired of her. Suddenly she felt back at square one, used and abused by the opposite sex, like she would have to pick up the fragments of her rebroken heart, along with her red dress. She had no one to blame but herself.

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Chapter Nine Lake drummed her fingers on her crossed arms, sighing. She was standing outside Hunter’s imposing two-storey abode, feeling like the time had been rewound to a few days ago to when they’d first met, like they were fully-fledged strangers again. She’d pressed the intercom at least three minutes ago and hadn’t even heard a peep in response. She had been right last night. He’d gotten what he wanted from her and no longer wanted her as a plaything. She no longer served as a mild curiosity, like Cupcakes would play with a mouse before gulping it down. He’d probably even forgotten he’d told her last night to meet him at his place at noon. She’d brought the disc of photos with her in case that had really been what he’d summonsed her for. If he ever opened the door for her. Likely, right about now, though, he was probably in bed in the 69 position, stark-naked with that raven-haired socialite from last night, tonguing her waxed private parts and massaging her ample bosoms with his free hands while she sucked his member like it was a lollipop. They’d probably been having sex for hours. Since last night even, not stopping for a breather. Hunter seemed like the type to have an insatiable sexual appetite, a need for a constant parade of women. Lake couldn’t help from feeling a stab of jealousy in the pit of her stomach on a par with indigestion. Nope. She’d just have to be content with the memory of her and Hunter’s bodies entwined the night before, because she doubted she was going to be treated to a sequel. With Hunter, it was likely only a one-act show, not a whole theatre season.

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The only bright spot so far that day had been that the gelled-haired gallery director had rung her earlier on and informed her that all her photographs had been sold. Every single last one of them. She was a bona fide artist now. She should just forget about men and concentrate on her burgeoning art career. With a resolute toss of her russet hair, Lake finally turned to go, marching down the steps, over with Hunter’s childish games. Suddenly she paused. Had she imagined it? Nope, there it was—a faint whooshing noise behind her, like a door quietly being opened by remote control. She turned and, all of a sudden, a flood of warmth ripped through her, from the tip of her head to her toes. The door. He’d opened it for her. He was there! He had to be. Lake practically skipped back up the steps, poking her head inside to the vast, hotel-like entryway with the black, man-like, metal sculpture to her right and the ultramodern, wispy, branch-like chandelier hanging from up above. Golden-haired Scraps, his tail wagging vigorously, barreled into her almost immediately, but this time she was ready for him. Lake knelt down to scratch the canine behind the ears and pat his back. Meanwhile, she couldn’t help from looking about around her. Hunter was still nowhere to be seen. ‘Hunter?’ she called out. ‘I’m here. It’s Lake.’ Even just saying his name caused a tingle between her thighs. A hot, juicy, wet kind of tingle. Her voice echoed off the pristine, white-painted walls, but there was not a word of reply. Suddenly though, Scraps ran toward the foot of the floating wooden staircase and barked, as if he was beckoning her over, like Lassie or some such. Lake straightened. ‘You–you want me to follow you?’ she asked incredulously. Scraps barked again and then began bounding up the stairs. He paused midway, looking behind him, as though saying, ‘Boy, humans are no good at following commands like us canines.’ Lake remained rooted at the foot of the stairs, so the pooch barked again.

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‘Okay, okay, I’m coming, I’m coming,’ Lake said, taking a few tentative steps upwards, feeling slightly ridiculous to be following a dog, as well as slightly intrusive. ‘Hunter?’ she called out again, not wanting to catch him by surprise. ‘Are you there?’ She had a sudden thought as she made her way up the steep, narrow staircase, which was walled in and gave no clue as to what she was walking up toward, except for a view of an identical patch of white wall at the other end. What if Hunter did have the socialite in bed with him and wanted her to join them? She imagined the raven-haired woman in a sheer, black negligee, without any underwear underneath, kneeling next to Hunter on a king-size bed, with his finger rhythmically sliding in and out of her nether region while she smiled widely, encouragingly, in Lake’s direction. With Hunter’s other hand, he would wiggle his fingers at Lake, beckoning her over. ‘Come join us,’ he would say. Intoxicated by the mere sight of him, Lake imagined herself walking over to the bed zombie-like, stripping off her mohair, cream top and stepping out of her floor-length, charcoal skirt along the way. Then, with a small moan, she would fall on all fours on the bed in front of the kneeling Hunter, putting his upstanding shaft in her mouth, sucking hard as though her life depended on it, as though she could drain him of all his manly juices. At the same time, she imagined feeling the socialite’s own finger now sliding in and out of her own wet patch but not even minding, just to get a chance to taste Hunter again. Then, unable to bear it any longer, she would have pushed the other woman aside, forcing herself on Hunter, riding him to oblivion. Reminding him that she was all that he really needed, ample bosom or not. Oh. She was almost at the top of the stairs now. Scraps was looking back at her from the plush, cream-carpeted landing with a questioning look in his eyes, as though saying: ‘What are you waiting for, slow coach?’ Lake pulled herself up to the final step, a tad

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fearfully, unsure what she was about to find around the corner. Then she stepped onto the landing. And gasped. Her hands flew up to her red-painted lips—the red being the only reminder of last night. Well, on her body, at least. Her black-andwhite photos—her nude image from all angles—now lined the walls of Hunter’s second-floor landing, like his very own home-based, mini art gallery. How had he got them all? Had he…no, he couldn’t have…had he bought them all? So she wasn’t a successful artist really. She’d just found a man obsessed with her work. Her naked image. He was the only one, aside from Fenella, who knew she was the woman behind the collection’s mysterious figure, that she’d positioned the camera for the shots herself and posed for the photos. Slowly she walked along the landing, her tan ballet-flat-clad feet sinking into the plush carpet, trailing her finger along the multiple, black-framed pictures. There she was lying down, naked, with a rose decorating her bellybutton and the engagement ring left encircling her right nipple. There she was with her knees hugged up to her chest, the engagement ring now abandoned a few feet from her on the floor. There she was with a rose clutched between her teeth, a thorn piercing into her bottom lip, and the ring now on her middle finger, flipping the bird. There was a closed, white-painted door at the end of the landing, which the line of photos seemed to be leading her toward. Scraps, ambling just a few feet in front of her, kept looking back as though trying to hurry her up. Lake stopped suddenly. There was one photo missing, she realized—the massive display piece of her sitting cross-legged, her breasts pert, with a bouquet of roses in her hands, strategically covering her downstairs region. It was the last snap she had taken in the series. He didn’t have the full set. The complete story. The entire collection.

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Lake couldn’t help from feeling mildly disappointed. She hoped at least that the picture had gone to a suitable home. An art connoisseur who would relish the final moment the camera had captured. Scraps sat outside the closed door now, his head on his paws, just looking up at Lake with chocolate, puppy-dog eyes. He begged her to take another few steps with his eyes and open that door. Finish what she’d started. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said, nodding at the dog. ‘I’m going, I’m going.’ Leaning over Scraps’s seated frame at the foot of the door, her hand closed over the gold doorknob, and she slowly swiveled it to the right, the door making a clicking sound, releasing it. Seemingly satisfied, Scraps then got to his feet and loped away from under Lake, brushing past her legs, heading in the direction of the staircase, his job seemingly done. The door fell wide open and, once again, Lake found herself gasping. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, barely daring to breathe. The spacious, white-walled room had glinting candles on every spare surface. Smack bang in the middle of it was an upholstered, gilt Louis XIV king-sized bed, just like Lake had imagined, strewn with red rose petals—and, thankfully, no sign of the raven-haired socialite. Above the bed…the crème de la crème…Lake’s pièce de résistance. The final piece of the puzzle. The massive picture of herself, all naked like the other photographs, but for the rose bouquet covering her lady parts. There was no Hunter, but she knew he couldn’t be far away. So, unable to help herself, Lake flung herself on the bed on her back, lying spread-eagled, sweeping her limbs back and forth in the rose petals, as though creating a snow angel impression on the bed. He’d done all this. For her. Tipping her head back against the silky, white bed cover, she could see the giant photo of herself hanging above his bed from upside down and felt herself suddenly tingling all over, like she’d

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been resuscitated back to life. Come into the summer after a long, dreary winter. Then she heard the creak of a door softly opening near the far end of the bed. Propping herself up on her elbows, she peered toward the sound. There he was. Toned, tanned, taut…and deliciously naked, aglow in the candle-light. His hair was slicked back again, as though he’d just had a steamy shower. ‘You came,’ he said solemnly, standing in the doorway of what looked to be a white-tiled en suite. Lake licked her bottom lip subconsciously. ‘Not quite yet,’ she murmured. He still stood a few agonizing feet away from her. ‘Take off your skirt,’ Hunter now commanded, still standing in the en suite doorway, his muscular arms unmoving at his sides, but his member betraying his intentions by now standing to attention. Lake moaned, feeling helpless, raising herself to a kneeling position on his bed. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her floor-length skirt and pushed it down so that it pooled at her freckled knees. ‘Now touch yourself,’ Hunter said smoothly. ‘No…I want you. Over here. With me. Please,’ Lake begged. Hunter shook his head. ‘Do it,’ he said softly. So Lake slid a trembling hand into her pale pink briefs and began rubbing a finger against her clitoris rhythmically, moaning softly, her eyes pinned on his. ‘Please…’ Her voice was shaking now, as much as her nether region. ‘I can’t bear it any longer. Join me. Please.’ Hunter took a few steps toward her slowly, tantalizingly, as though he was moving through thick treacle. Lake couldn’t bear it. Then he was just inches from her, his throbbing penis almost touching her, almost, achingly, inside of her. He reached forward suddenly and plunged his hand down her panties, grabbing a hold of her busy finger. He pulled it from the pink fabric and directed it toward his mouth, staring into her eyes as he sucked on it, licking off every last

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drop of her womanly juices. Lake felt as though she might just pass out. Then he dropped his grip on her hand and reached to pull her mohair top over her head. At least, Lake thought, having economically-sized breasts meant you could go conveniently bra-less in some garments. Her russet hair fell out about in waves at her shoulders again, dripping down to her pert breasts. Then, with her kneeling at the edge of the bed and him standing at its foot, Hunter put a warm, strong hand in the small of her back and pulled her to him, so that they were now deliciously skin-on-skin. Hunter’s hardened muscle—and hardened member—pressed against her. Lake grabbed his face, pulling his bristly, strong jaw to her, and kissed his mouth with ferocity. A fire. Their tongues thrust in and out of each other’s mouths, setting off fireballs of passion with each thrust. Then, achingly, Hunter’s lips pulled away from Lake’s momentarily, only to descend southwards as he slowly knelt down at the foot of the bed…deep south. And oh, God. Oh, God! His tongue was inside of her nether region now, deliciously probing in and out, in and out. Lake dug her fingernails into his tanned shoulders, her hips bucking against him with every stroke of his tongue. Just as she was on the brink, just as she was ready to explode, his tongue suddenly stopped, and he peered up into her eyes again. ‘C’mon,’ he said huskily. Then he stood up, all six foot three of him, gathered her in his muscular arms, and gently deposited her in the centre of the bed so that she was on her back again, her hair splaying out behind her like a puddle of red paint. Then he maneuvered himself above her and thrust inside of her with his manhood, Lake howling with delight. Back and forth they went. Back and forth. Lake had her arms wrapped around him, pulling him ever closer to her, wanting him deeper and deeper inside her.

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And then…oh, God!…she arched her hips, a tsunami of warm bliss suddenly flooding through her, bubbling inside of her, causing her body to buck against him again. Hunter was groaning, too, from deep within the pit of his stomach. Growling as a tidal wave of pleasure reverberated through him. Then, at last, they fell against each other side by side on the bed, panting, breathless. Looking up, all Lake could see was the massive, black-and-white photograph of her naked frame hanging above the bed-head. Hunter’s fingers snaked through hers, gripping them, as though holding on to her like a life raft as the room spun around them in a multitude of colors. This is what Heaven felt like then. Slowly Lake propped herself up on one elbow again and turned to him, her russet hair tumbling around her. She traced a finger up and down the crease between his pectorals, where there were faint, blond tufts of hair, watching his chest rise and fall. ‘I have a question,’ she said finally. Hunter turned to look at her, Lake feeling herself drowning in his aquamarine-blue eyes again. ‘Yes?’ ‘When I first met you, why were you dressed, well…’ ‘Like a hobo?’ Hunter’s perfect mouth creased into a whiter-thanwhite grin. ‘Well, er, yes.’ Lake now felt embarrassed to have brought it up. To possibly have ruined the moment. She could have kicked herself. Even from her lying-down angle. Hunter didn’t seem to mind. He gently put his hand in the back of her neck and pulled her to him, kissing her, wetting her mouth, and causing her nether region to feel wet all over again, too. Then he spoke. ‘I wanted to be as mysterious to you as you were the first time I laid eyes on your image. At the framing shop.’ He traced a careful finger along her cheek. ‘When I learned more about you—from watching you from across the street—I just had a feeling you would have written me off at first glance as some sort of rich playboy. That you were feisty. And, from your photos, that you’d had your heart

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broken and were likely suspicious of any male attention. So I wanted to drag it out a little longer. Keep you interested. Wait for you to get to know me first before just dismissing me.’ It was all beginning to click into place, why Fenella had vaguely recognized him from his first up-the-nose online shot. She must have seen him once when visiting the picture framing shop on Lake’s behalf—perhaps a rare moment when he’d slipped from the back into the front retail space. Lake mmm-hmmed. ‘And the photos? Why did you buy them all? Did you talk the gallery into giving you the lot for a bargain-basement price, being the gallery’s silent owner and all?’ Hunter shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. ‘No. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough on the night. Quite a few buyers had already got in first. So I had to offer more. Much, much more. Yes, even as the gallery’s owner. But it was worth it. Well worth it. Because the thought of having anyone else’s eyes on your body again, after last night, just tore me apart. There was no way.’ Lake breathed out again. ‘You shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble…buying my artwork, coming up with a faux online dating profile…just for me. It’s unbelievable.’ Hunter tangled his hands in her russet hair. ‘You’re one in a million, babe. You’re my inspiration. Even why I’m painting.’ ‘And when you left me last night? Naked and wanting? Alone behind that curtain?’ ‘I couldn’t bear being in that room any longer with all those prying eyes on your naked body. I had to get it sorted. To pay for the artworks and to make sure that they were delivered and hung at my house in time—before you arrived. To show you just how much you really meant to me. And I only just had it all finished in the nick of time. You almost left!’ ‘Wow,’ Lake breathed. There was so much to take in. It was all almost too good to be true.

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Hunter’s eyes were solemn again, deeply penetrating hers. ‘And I never want to be without you by my side again. In fact, I want you to move in with me.’ He gripped her hand earnestly. ‘I can have a darkroom built here and everything. If… if you’ll allow me to, of course.’ The euphoria coursed through Lake’s veins, yet she was hesitant. Having such an Adonis of a man, such a beautiful being, showering her with so much love and affection was unnerving to say the least. ‘I…I don’t know. How do I know you won’t one day change your mind and up and leave? Leave me out in the cold, like at the gallery? I couldn’t bare it!’ Lake’s heart hammered in her chest, her mouth tugging down at the corners. Hunter nuzzled into her breasts, peering up at her through the crevice. ‘I could never leave you. What decent man could? I knew you were The One from the first moment my eyes caressed your image at the framing shop.’ He paused to lightly chuckle. A soft, velvety sound. ‘But, do me a favour, would you? Don’t give up your place before we’ve christened your old darkroom, okay?’ In an instant, Lake could tell this time things were different. He wasn’t Chase. He was Hunter, and hunt her he had. And she was willing prey. She felt exhilarated, warmth bubbling through her. It was time to pull the parachute cord and let go, see where life took her. Despite feeling drunk on love, she couldn’t resist teasing him still. ‘Christened it?’ Lake asked, her forehead wrinkling up in mockquestion. ‘Yeah,’ Hunter said, a sly look shadowing his face. ‘Like this.’ Then he got to his knees and lifted her onto his lap, encouraging her legs to wind their way around his middle, inserting his member into her wet heat and thrusting deep inside her again and again. ****

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Staring up at the photo of her on the wall above them, Hunter enjoyed the delicious double vision he had of Lake, complemented by the feel of her real breasts jiggling against his chest and her lady parts inviting him deep within. He now delighted in having more of this perfect, feisty woman in his life than he could ever want. She was all his.

THE END WWW.CARLAANGELA.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Carla Angela lives with her husband, DeRohan, in Adelaide, Australia. When she’s not tapping away on her keyboard, she loves to shop, spend time with her family, renovate her 1925 bungalow, and listen to ’90s R&B music. She’s known she wanted to be a writer ever since she learned to read. Writing allows her to escape to glamorous worlds—without having to change out of her pj’s!

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