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CHAPTERONE
Heather
The chances of me leaving the safety of dry land to fly to a tropical island are slim. Practically none, if I’m honest. But to be kneeling behind a row of monstera leaves, with dirt smudged on my cheeks, and sweat sliding down my ass crack? Outright ludicrous.
Yet, here I am, doing exactly that while readying myLuster Magazine-issued Nikon for the shot of a lifetime starring the man of my dreams.
Do most of those dreams consist of punching Marcus Matthews in his stupid, pretentious face? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But I digress.
Heather Sinclair doesnotfly anywhere that enormous blue beast is involved. No matter how badly I’ve always desired to travel or how beautiful the destination. In fact, there are a few rules I’ve put in place over my twenty-four years, and avoiding smooth-talking actors, double whip cinnamon lattes, and large bodies of water top the list.
I inhale a long rush of air through my nose before releasing it, nice and slow.
Alice was adamant that this story would be a make-or-break-it shot for my journalist career, as well as forLuster. And given my job is the only thing keeping me from a lonely life with a myriad of cats for companions, I knew better than to turn it down.
Besides, arguing with my hardass editor rarely ever works out for me.
“Show. Me. The money,” I whisper, raising the viewfinder to focus on the enormous glass building across the parking lot.
The words, Tauntuma Rehabilitation Center, fill the tiny square of my camera before I shift the shot lower to the revolving door in search of the famousFang For Hirestar. The vampire hunter’s growing popularity has swept the nation with his six-pack abs, bad-boy vibe, and all-night partying.
In the last two years, he’s successfully managed to light a fire in America’s proverbial panties.
Luckily for me, I’m not wearing any.
A tall, broad man approaches, holding the dainty hand of a woman whose blazing red dress rises with each step they scale. She sobs dramatically, and the sound ricochets across the parking lot, piggybacking the salty breeze while she blots her eyes with a handkerchief.
I instantly recognize the actress and her manager, and my twitchy fingers tighten around my camera.
Maria Zanza is widely known for her years starring as Dr. Ricardo Santiago’s crazy ex-lover on one of the most popular telenovelas in the States. Though, as of late, she’s gained more of a reputation for her love affair with powdered sugar.
And not the sweet kind.
Counting my lucky stars, I snap several images of the pair walking toward the entrance, when in a flash of movement, Maria whips around and shoves the man backward.
He stumbles down two steps, flapping his arms wildly as they shout. Rushed garbled Spanish flies from their mouths, giving me ample time to capture a few more shots.
Bellowing a final curse, he marches up the steps, and clamps a hand over her wrist before crushing his lips to hers. Her fists pound at his back and shoulders, and then, all at once, she’s melting into him.
A smirk cracks my usually cool exterior as I continue clicking. These two aren’t the reason I’m miles from Chicago, hiding in a bush like a stalker, but the bonus drama is sure to make Alice giddy.
I’m scrolling through the photos when I hear footsteps sifting through the mix of dead leaves and fine sand I’m still crouching in. Despite the warmer climate, the hairs on the back of my neck rise to alarming attention.
Busted.
“Sinclair.” A smooth, British accent slips from the mouth of a man I hate almost more than the one who’s yet to arrive. “I don’t believe my eyes.”
I peer over my shoulder at the arrogant asshole with his hands resting in the pants pockets of a designer suit. “Bugger off, Turner. I’m busy.”
Smug as ever, he bends to pluck a piece of dried foliage from the top of my head, tugging a few perfectly gelled strands free. When he catches sight of my rental bike, he arches a brow.“Traveling in luxury, I see.”
I fuss at the spot, flattening it back down. “It’s called being inconspicuous.”
“Yes. Between the shrubbery and dirt, how will they ever know it’s you?”
With an exasperated huff, I turn on him. “For your information, I’m here to—you know what? Never mind. I’m not giving classified information to a traitor.”
