Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)
Page 82
Most of all, it was a kiss with the power to make him certain that no matter what else happened, he was going to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved.
For immediate release:
Hardline Entertainment is pleased to announce that Pink Chameleon, the Grammy Award winning band of such hits as Back to You and Turnstile, will kick off its North American Back to You tour with a fundraising performance at the historic Paramount Theater in Austin, Texas.
According to lead singer Kiki King and Hardline CEO Matthew Holt, all proceeds from this first stop on the tour will benefit the Stark Children's Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping abused, traumatized, and disenfranchised children.
Noah Carter, the president of Stark Applied Technology Austin and an SCF Youth Advocate, announced that one hundred children currently enrolled in the SCF program will be provided transportation to and VIP seating at the concert, as well as backstage access.
Carter and King recently celebrated their one year wedding anniversary. The couple splits their time between Austin, Texas, and Los Angeles, California.
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> Prologue
I'd thought he was out of my life forever. That all that remained of him was a memory, sharp and forbidden. Terrifying, yet tempting.
The one man who changed everything.
The one night that destroyed my world.
I told myself I was past it. That I could see him again and not feel that tug. Not remember the hurt or the shame.
That's what I believed, anyway.
Honestly, I should have known better . . .
1
He was surrounded by naked women, and he was bored out of his mind.
Wyatt Royce forced himself not to frown as he lowered his camera without taking a single shot. Thoughtfully, he took a step back, his critical eye raking over the four women who stood in front of him in absolutely nothing but their birthday suits.
Gorgeous women. Confident women. With luscious curves, smooth skin, bright eyes, and the kind of strong, supple muscles that left no doubt that each and every one of them could wrap their legs around a man and hold him tight.
In other words, each one had an erotic allure. A glow. A certain je ne sais quoi that turned heads and left men hard.
None of them, however, had it.
"Wyatt? You ready, man?"
Jon Paul's voice pulled Wyatt from his frustrated thoughts, and he nodded at his lighting director. "Sorry. Just thinking."
JP turned his back to the girls before flashing a wolfish grin and lowering his voice. "I'll bet you were."
Wyatt chuckled. "Down, boy." Wyatt had hired the twenty-three-year-old UCLA photography grad student as a jack-of-all-trades six months ago. But when JP had proved himself to be not only an excellent photographer, but also a prodigy with lighting, the relationship had morphed from boss/assistant to mentor/protege before finally holding steady at friend/colleague.
JP was damn good at his job, and Wyatt had come to rely on him. But JP's background was in architectural photography. And the fact that the female models he faced every day were not only gorgeous, but often flat-out, one hundred percent, provocatively nude, continued to be both a fascination to JP and, Wyatt suspected, the cause of a daily cold shower. Or three.
Not that Wyatt could criticize. After all, he was the one who'd manufactured the sensual, erotic world in which both he and JP spent their days. For months, he'd lost himself daily inside this studio, locked in with a series of stunning women, their skin warm beneath his fingers as he gently positioned them for the camera. Women eager to please. To move however he directed. To contort their bodies in enticing, tantalizing poses that were often unnatural and uncomfortable, and for no other reason than that he told them to.