by Kate Hunt
LUCA
Big Hot Alphas Book 3
Kate Hunt
Copyright © 2020 by Kate Hunt
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
1. Luca
2. Quinn
3. Luca
4. Quinn
5. Luca
6. Epilogue – Quinn
About the Author
Chapter One
Luca
“Ready to get oiled up?”
I can’t believe that’s the question I’m about to answer. What else did I expect, though?
I look at the woman standing in front of me and shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The woman who just asked me the question laughs, snaps open the lid on the bottle, and squeezes some oil into her palm.
“Arms out, please,” she says. She tucks the bottle into the half-apron tied around her waist, rubs her palms together to distribute the oil, and shoots a quick smile up at me. “I’m Taylor, by the way.”
“Luca.”
She nods and starts to smooth the oil across my bare chest. I’m currently shirtless and barefoot, wearing only the pair of dark gray pajama pants I was handed half an hour ago.
“So this is your first time at a shoot, huh?” she asks.
“Is it that obvious?”
She grins. “No. Someone on the crew just gave me a heads up that you don’t usually do this, that’s all. Could you look up for me now, please?”
I angle my chin up and Taylor smooths her hands over my neck. It’s not sensual at all, just unusual, having a stranger rub oil all over me. But I guess the models who do this for a living get used to it pretty quickly.
This isn’t something I ever thought I’d find myself doing. I’ve never aspired to be a model, let alone a fucking underwear model. My focus has solely been on getting my MBA.
But last week, as I was heading across campus between classes, a woman stopped me and asked if I’d be interested in being in a marketing campaign.
“It’s for a men’s luxury loungewear brand,” she told me. “All we’ll need is an afternoon, and you’ll be compensated well.”
“You know I have zero experience modeling, right?” I said.
“That’s okay. You’ve got the look we want,” she replied. “Besides, I can tell by the way you carry yourself that you’ll be good at it. So? What do you say?”
If it wasn’t for the fact that I was a poor grad student and really did need the money, I would have turned her down.
But I was a poor grad student. So I said yes. I gave her my details and tried not to choke on my spit when she told me how much they’d pay me.
Now here I am, getting oiled up for the shoot, wearing pajama pants that are probably more expensive than my textbooks this semester.
Taylor shakes the bottle again over her palm and sighs. “Shit. Should have known I’d run out. There’s a lot of you to cover.” Her eyes dart across the room, searching for someone. “Hey, Lexi? Can you grab me another bottle?”
A pair of footsteps rapidly approach. The empty bottle is whisked away and a new one is handed over.
“Thanks,” says Taylor. She squeezes more out onto her hands and finishes up my arms. “All right. You’re set. Try not to let too much of this rub off on the bed sheets.”
“Gotcha,” I say. I glance down. Jesus. I’m practically reflective. “Any other tips?”
“Let’s see. Do you know which side is your good side?”
“Uh…”
She laughs. “Turn your head to the side. Okay. Now the other way.”
I do as she asks and wait for her verdict.
Instead, she just murmurs, “Holy shit.”
I turn back to her. “What?”
“Both of your sides are equally good.”
“Useful to know, I guess.”
“You sure you don’t want to pursue a modeling career? You’d make a lot of money, dude.”
I laugh. “Nah. That’s okay.”
The next thing I know, the photographer is introducing himself to me, talking about the vision for the shoot, asking me if I have any questions.
“Nope,” I say. “I’m all good.”
“Great,” he says. He turns away to project his voice across the room. “Okay! Let’s start shooting, folks!”
Is it awkward lying on a bed in suggestive positions in front of a bunch of strangers? Is it weird having two dozen eyes glued to me while I’m half naked?
Of course it fucking is.
But I signed up for this.
So I act like I do it every day.
“Nice,” the photographer says, the shutter firing rapidly as I lie back against the pillows with my hands clasped behind my head. “Love it. That angle’s perfect, Luca. Now look off into the distance for me.”
I draw my eyes away from the lens and search for something else to focus on. There’s no shortage of options. Countless equipment surrounds the set.
But what grabs my attention is something far more interesting: the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s standing by one of the monitors, bent over slightly as she frowns at the screen, her pretty dark eyes focusing intently on it. If she’s that striking when she’s serious, I can’t even imagine how beautiful she must be when she’s relaxed.
And those curves of hers? Jesus. Sumptuous curves like that should be illegal. She’s not even showing off what she’s got—she’s dressed professionally, wearing dark pants and a simple black top, her hair neatly pulled up—but the way my body’s reacting, it’s like she’s in skimpy lingerie.
The camera’s shutter continues to fire, matching the pounding of my heart.
“Perfect!” the photographer says. “Yeah. Hold that look, Luca. That’s the money shot.”
Fucking hell. If I keep my eyes on that goddess for much longer, I’m going to bust through these luxury pajama pants.
The photographer finally lowers the camera from his face. “Awesome job, man. Let’s move on to the next shot.”
There’s a flurry around me as people rush in to change the set. I step out of the way as they dismantle the fake bedroom. Then Taylor is shepherding me away, pulling me over to a clothing rack, which she pulls a hanger off of.
A hanger that holds nothing but a pair of boxers.
“Next outfit,” she says, shoving them into my hands. She gestures toward a temporary privacy screen set up a few feet away from us. “Change over there.”
I head back behind the screen, yank off the pajama pants, then take off the boxers from home I have on underneath. When I pull on the new boxers, I take one look down at myself and shake my head.
This is what you signed up for, remember, hotshot?
I step out from behind the screen and Taylor waves me over. She looks completely unfazed by the fact that I’m in next to nothing now. But I guess she’s probably used to seeing nearly nude dudes all the time.
“Just gonna oil up your legs and touch up a few spots,” she says, immediately getting to work. She works quickly, then wipes her hands clean and grabs a small stool to climb up onto so she can reach
my hair. As she fusses with it, my gaze moves across the set to find my beauty again.
I know it’s a risk. Looking at her again could get my cock riled up, and in these boxers, there’s nowhere for a hard-on to hide. But I can’t fucking not look. I need the sight of her. I’m hungry for her like a starving man.
Finally spotting her, warmth floods my body.
“Who’s that woman?” I ask Taylor.
Taylor replies without pulling her eyes away from my hair. “Which one?”
“The one wearing all black.”
“Ah,” she says. “That’s Quinn. Our art director.”
“She single?”
Taylor laughs. “Why? You interested?”
“You could say that.”
“I’m not close with her. But I’m pretty sure she is. I’ve never heard her talk about a boyfriend or husband or anything.”
The photographer’s voice booms again. “All right! Let’s get rolling!”
Taylor quickly adjusts another few pieces of my hair, then steps off the stool, evaluates her work, and nods.
“Good luck,” she says.
I head back onto the set, which has been completely transformed. Now, instead of the mock bedroom, there’s a whole setup with a rain machine and black plastic tarps covering the floor.
I’m told where to stand. Told we’re going to take some shots without any rain first before they turn the machine on. I nod and the photographer lifts the camera to his face and we start shooting again.
Once again, as the shutter starts going off, countless eyes focus on me. And once again, I seek out Quinn in the crowd. She’s standing over by the monitor again, talking to another woman, nodding, looking so goddamn beautiful that I have to fight the urge to walk off this set and go over to her.
I’ve always known there’s just one woman out there for me. I don’t know why. It’s just the way it is.
And right now, as I look at Quinn, I know something else for certain.
She’s the one.
Chapter Two
Quinn
“Don’t let them start the rain machine yet,” I say to Dani. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait—where are you going, Quinn?”
“Just grabbing something. It’ll take two seconds.”
Before Dani can say anything more, I rush away, leaving Dani to temporarily oversee the shoot. It’s not like she can’t handle it. Dani is one of the best producers I’ve worked with, which is especially impressive considering she’s only in her mid-twenties. When I was that age, I was nowhere near as far along in my career.
A few other members of the crew give me questioning looks as I rush past them, but nobody asks me where I’m going as I cross the studio and disappear into a back room. A handful of seconds later, I emerge with my umbrella in hand. I brought it with me this morning because it sure as hell looked like it was going to rain. It didn’t, but now I think I’m going to get some use out of the umbrella after all—or at least the model will.
Back on set, the photographer is just finishing up the first round of shots. As soon as he lowers the camera from his face, I step onto the set.
“We ready for the rain?” the photographer calls out.
“Hold on,” I say. “I want to give the model a prop.”
And that’s when I finally lay my eyes on the model for the first time. I mean, yeah. I’ve been looking at him through the monitor since the beginning of the shoot. But this is the first time I’m laying my eyes directly on him. It’s the first time I’m really seeing him.
Holy shit, the dude is hot.
Whenever I tell people I’m an art director for a men’s loungewear brand, they invariably make some kind of quip about how lucky I am. In truth, though, I’ve been doing this for so long that getting to spend so much time around half-naked male models doesn’t really have an effect on me anymore.
But this guy…like I said, holy shit. I was aware he was a big guy—it’s the look we wanted for this campaign, after all—but up close, his size is truly staggering. His arms are twice as big as any other guy’s arms I’ve seen; really, he’s a solid wall of muscle.
Yet not in an ostentatious way. It’s like he’s just naturally this ripped.
Then my eyes move up to meet his, and it feels like all the air has just been knocked out of my lungs. I’ve never seen such warm, piercing eyes on a man. Or such a strong, sexy jaw.
And like that, the butterflies erupt in my stomach.
“Here,” I say, thrusting the umbrella out at him. “Play around with it. Have fun.”
“Will do,” he says. He pops the umbrella open and rests the shaft against his shoulder. “How do I look?”
There’s only one word I can reply with. It almost comes out as a whisper. “Perfect.”
Behind me, the photographer coughs. “Should we start up the rain, Quinn?”
“Right,” I say, forcing my eyes away from the model. “Let’s.”
I walk off the set and rejoin Dani.
“Good call,” she says. “I don’t know why, but the umbrella somehow makes him hotter.”
“Uh huh,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the monitor in front of us.
I can’t believe I have a fucking crush on the model. What the hell is wrong with me?
Half an hour later—half an hour spent focused only on the monitor, especially when the rain starts falling, drenching the model in extra sexiness—the shoot finally wraps up. I’m over on the other side of the studio, going over some logistics with Dani for the rest of the week, when I sense someone approach.
It’s him, of course.
My heartbeat quickens as our eyes meet again. He’s dried off the fake rain, but his hair is still damp, and it’s almost unbearable how good he looks.
“Hey,” he says. He holds out my umbrella. “Wanted to give this back to you.”
“Right,” I say, taking it from him. A droplet of water runs over the back of my hand. “Thanks.”
“I’m Luca, by the way.”
“Quinn,” I say. I glance over at Dani. “And this is Dani.”
“It’s nice to meet you both.” He smiles at Dani, but then focuses on me again. A sexual tension-filled moment passes as Luca and I just gaze at each other, neither of us saying anything.
Finally, Dani clears her throat and says, “Uh, I’m going to go check on something.”
As soon as Dani leaves, Luca gives me another smile—a panty-melting smile this time.
“Can I take you to dinner, Quinn?” he says.
Flattery flutters in my chest. I’m not going to lie—to be asked out by a guy who’s gotta be seven or eight years younger than me—of course it feels good. But I’m not going to indulge in something that’s doomed from the start.
“I’m flattered, Luca. But I don’t date people I work with.”
“What about people you worked with, past tense? I’m not actually a model, you know. This was a one-time thing.”
I hesitate.
“I know a great Italian place,” he says.
Italian does sound awfully good…
“And I promise I’ll wear more than just underwear,” he adds.
I laugh. Shit. He’s funny, too? Not that it makes up for him being too young for me, but…
…oh, fuck it. What harm will one date do? I haven’t been out on a date in ages.
“Okay,” I say. “Why not? Sure.”
I give him my address and he tells me he’ll pick me up tomorrow at six.
“I look forward to it, Quinn,” he says, and something squeezes in my chest when he says my name. As he walks away, I can’t help but watch—I mean, come on. With a fine ass like that, it’s almost inappropriate not to look.
I’m still in a daze when Dani sidles up next to me again. “You know, Quinn, if I’d known you had a thing for big hunky guys…”
“I don’t have a ‘thing,’ Dani.”
“Really?” she smirks. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you haven�
��t gone out on a date since I started working with you. Then this huge guy walks in and you start drooling all over yourself—”
“I’m not drooling,” I say, but reflexively, I raise a hand to my mouth to make sure it’s not true.
When Dani starts laughing, I can’t help but start laughing, too.
Pushing open the front door of my apartment building, I draw in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
It’s just one date, I remind myself. It’s not like you’re marrying the guy.
Still, when Luca’s truck pulls up, my heart starts racing like crazy, as if this is the start of something way more significant than it actually is.
I start to walk up to the passenger side of his truck. Before I can reach it, Luca gets out of the driver’s seat and jogs around to my side.
“Wow, you look beautiful,” he says as he opens up the passenger door, his eyes taking in the dress I have on.
My chest instantly floods with shimmering heat. Whoa. Never felt like that before.
Although when was the last time I even got a compliment like that?
“Thank you,” I say. “You look great, too.”
When I say great, though, I actually mean hot as hell. Despite having more clothes on than when I met him, he’s still pure sexiness. The button-up shirt and slacks he has on fit him like a dream.
As Luca drives us to the restaurant, he asks me about what it’s like being an art director. Normally I’m pretty articulate when I talk about my work, but being around Luca and all his handsomeness throws me off-kilter, and I find myself rambling, talking about work stuff that can’t possibly be fascinating to him.
“Sorry,” I say, glancing over at him. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all,” he says, and his smile is genuine. “It’s interesting. It really is.”