Angela, Carla - Full Exposure (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (3 page)

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
hard
ware.’ 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.

‘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?’