Angela, Carla - Full Exposure (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Carla Angela

  ‘These a bit better than my painting clothes?’ Hunter queried, gesturing at his attire and shooting Lake a lazy grin.

  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.

  ‘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, 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 half-naked 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!

  Lake jumped, slamming her laptop shut ashamedly. Her heart beating, her gaze was pulled toward the open window of her one-storey 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 package-hugging, 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.

  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-shir
t, 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 nipple-sucking 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.

  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 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.

  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 self-portraiture.

  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 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 mid-process, 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 mid-process? 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, 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 the
re 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.

  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.