Sometimes a single touch is all it takes to spark a wildfire.
Erin Warner learned that the day she bumped into the dashing, tattooed stranger on a busy Chicago street corner. She’s captivated from the moment his mystifying green eyes find hers, and it isn’t long before she finds herself flying to exotic locales to assist him, the award-winning erotic photographer Hunter Ellis, on location. What she didn’t bargain for was the way he makes her blood bubble and churn with lust and thinly-veiled promises of unfathomable erotic pleasure with every click of his camera.
But there is more to Hunter than meets the eye, including the intricately etched tattoos decorating his body that disguise horrific scars from a past he refuses to revisit. As she peels away the layers, Erin realizes that what she thought was true, never really was at all, for both of them.
Now she can only hope that blind adoration for the dashing stranger didn’t sign her death warrant.
The first in a thrilling new erotic serial intended for mature audiences.
My heart pounded in unwavering beats. I stood over him, tears rushing down my cheeks, my eyes unblinking at the slumped form sprawled across the seeping maroon concrete.
“Hunter,” I sobbed and dropped to my knees, the concrete grating the denim, soaking the blood clear through. I didn’t care. All I saw was him, because for the first time since we’d met, I couldn’t feel him.
“Hunter, please, breathe,” I whimpered and dropped my ear to his barely parted lips. The lips I’d pressed to mine tenderly, the lips that had roamed my skin and caressed my body.
“Hunter—” I choked on the words as tears rained down my cheeks, my hands and body trembling so fiercely I couldn’t focus long enough to tell if he was breathing.
I can’t feel him. He’s gone.
“Hunter,” I whispered and tried to still my misfiring heart.
“He’s dead, Erin.” A voice echoed over my shoulder and sent chills racing down my spine. No. NO. “No!” I turned to find empty pits of burnt amber assessing me.
“What did you do?” I shrieked and balled my tiny fists into the hard rock wall of the man towering over me. His hands caught my wrists with ease and halted my assault.
“Don’t fuck with me.” The familiar eyes tore into mine as I hunkered from his imposing force. His grip tightened painfully, ripping a grunt past my lips.
“No,” I moaned, ready to collapse at Hunter’s slouched form. Nothing mattered — the world ceased moving when Hunter’s heart had stopped in his chest.
“Let’s go.” John Walker hauled me from the concrete and carried me through the dark corridors of the warehouse and away from the man who’d promised he’d always protect me.
Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.
She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.
She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.