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.
Prologue
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.
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