Blindsight

Therapy had taught me that I was a classic case of paternal abandonment with resulting daddy issues, which apparently translated to my falling into bed with any man that flashed an interested glance and never failed to leave me drowning in a vicious whirlpool of lust and heartbreak in a matter of months.

But this wasn’t lust, and there wasn’t any room for heartbreak. It was business.

Taking the job with Hunter wasn’t a mistake; it was a financial necessity.

“I need a job, Mom. If I’m going to try to make it in this city, I need a job, and I’m more determined than ever to make it on my own.” I said with an air of defiance.

“Well, I bet it would have been nice to have someone to talk to about this new job, but if you didn’t want to talk to me…” And there it was — the pout. She had a marvelous way of sweeping the air out of someone’s lungs with guilt and shame piled stories high.

“Maybe, but I had to make a quick decision, so I did.”

“You know how you are with those.” I could see the condescending look in her eye from twenty minutes away.

“I know, Mother, but I thought you’d be excited. I’ve always wanted to travel, and this photographer is so talented, he’s won awards and everything. I’m only a PA; I’m not anything more than someone to hold the reflector and get the coffee, but hopefully it’s a start. And it’s good money.”

“How good?” Her interest was piqued again. Oh, my mother, always driven by selfish tendencies and dollar signs.

“Very good.” I allowed myself the one slip. I usually avoided talking finances with her. She had a way of taking advantage of even the smallest openings.

“Erin—”

“Look, Mom, I have to run,” I interjected, realizing the car would be here any moment and I’d already given her more time than I had to give. “I have a million things to take care of, and then we’re headed to—”

“Okay, okay. Just keep an eye on yourself.”

“I will,” I replied. “Love you.” I hung up, relieved to finally be off the phone and off to see Hunter again.

The following morning I found myself surviving a six-hour shoot in downtown LA on quad shot lattes and protein bars. Hunter had wolfed down two between setups and sipped his coffee every spare moment. I hovered quietly over his shoulder and watched him assess composition and angles through his lens before turning back to our model.

She was the wife of a wealthy head of a certain Pacific Northwestern outerwear company. This was her a

I packed his camera snugly into its padded bag once we’d finished. My stomach chose that moment to growl ravenously. “I’m starving. I need to eat, and then I need to see these pictures.”

His laugh filled the room before he said, “I didn’t know I would be working to the tune of your gut today.”

My cheeks flushed red as I lifted the bag over my shoulder and caught his dancing eyes. “Sorry.” I scrunched my face and shrugged my shoulders.

“It reminds me what a shit boss I am to not even give you a break, so lunch is on me.” He pulled the camera bag from my shoulder and slid it over his own, dusting a palm along the curve of my ass as he did it.

Thirty minutes later, Hunter and I sat in pajamas with lo mien and egg rolls spread out between us, his MacBook open on the coffee table of the luxe hotel room we were sharing. I watched fascinated, lifting a pile of noodles to my mouth with chopsticks, as Hunter chewed and tilted his head, browsing through the photos he’d taken earlier today.

I adored him like this. Hair damp from the shower, soft jersey shorts hanging low on his hips and a plain white tee defining his broad physique. I found myself distracted and shifting, wanting to slide onto his lap and discover the delicious sin that resided there. I didn’t understand him, but I found that I didn’t want to. He held his own personal brand of magic, and I was just content that he graced me with it.

“Look, if I soften the curve of the breast right here.” He mumbled out loud as the cursor worked over a small area. Hunter zoomed out on the photo, adjusted the contrast a finer shade, and then sat back, his eyes assessing his handiwork with a sense of self scrutiny I’d never seen anyone else posses.

“It’s perfect,” I offered.

“It’s not right.” He shook his head before punching a few buttons on the keyboard and slamming the top closed. He was shoveling chopsticks piled high with noodles in his mouth before I could even come to terms with what had happened.

“I hope you saved that. I really did think it was perfect.” I reached for the computer before his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist in warning. His dark gaze pierced me, pi

I loved it.

“Don’t touch.” His gruff voice fell on my ears, reminding me of his original warning, and sending slow lustful curls unfurling down low in my belly.

“I’ll go back to it later. Don’t touch my stuff, Erin.”

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes glancing from his thick fingers wrapped around my wrist and back to his darkening eyes assessing me.

“Yes…” I glanced away, trying to contain the word that so easily teetered on my lips. “Sir,” I said softly. His eyes sparked for a moment before veiling over with dark and delicious lust. I knew I’d be calling him that again. And again.

If I’d only known then his brand of all-consuming love would ruin me.

“Come here.” Before I knew what was happening, Hunter was on his feet and hauling me to the seating area. “Stay.” He sat me on the sofa and turned to fumble with something on the nightstand.

Slow beats filled the room from a small speaker, and my nerves immediately shot to standing when he sauntered back to me with a dark quirk of his lips. Hunter’s fingers trailed through the dark curls of my hair and brushed them over one shoulder. His fingertips trailed across my shoulders and goose bumps burned across my body before I felt his soft lips place a reverent kiss at the nape of my neck. My core flooded and tears pricked behind my eyelids. This was feeling — all feeling.

The deep thrums of the bass guitar charged through my blood as Hunter’s fingers danced up my skin, trailing the dips of my elbows, over my biceps and back down again. Exploring his hard body with my own fingertips, I caught his wrist here, a bicep there, before my fingers finally curled at his neck and brushed across the cold chain that was ever present. His muscles tensed before his fingers curled under the hem of the tank top I’d intended to wear to bed.

His knuckles dusted up the curve of my waist as the ribbed cotton pulled over my body. I sucked in a quick breath when he pulled the fabric over my head and my hair fell in a curtain around my shoulders, causing the cool air-conditioned room to caress the lace fabric of my bra and raise my nipples to aching peaks.

“Jesus,” Hunter growled as his hands danced across my aroused flesh, before he dipped beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts and every alarm that my body had went off at full alert. “So fucking beautiful,” Hunter uttered as his fingers teased at my waistband and his lips found the hollow beneath my ear. He wasn’t kissing — what he was doing was worse, so much worse. He was teasing, just like he always did.