by Carla Angela
‘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.
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 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 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 wine-laden, 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?’
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 leopard-print 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 pr
ofessional 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.
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.
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 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.
‘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.
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 paper-white 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.
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 T-shirt, 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.