Angela, Carla - Full Exposure (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (5 page)

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.

‘Indeed,’ Lake said, lobbing a smile back. She still had to be courteous. Professional. He was a client, not a sexual object. ‘So, if 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 calorie-laden 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.’

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 clitoris-tease 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…

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 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 worn-looking, 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
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.

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.