The Purrfect Picture Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available By Angela Castle

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  The Purrfect Picture

  Australian Shifters Book Two

  Angela Castle

  Published by Rogue Phoenix Press

  Copyright © 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-62420-047-2

  Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

  Chapter One

  Pictures speak more than a thousand words; Tinder Munro's mother, the artist, drilled the words into her head at an early age. So, what was the picture before her trying to say? It was odd and out of place. No way, this couldn't be real; someone was playing a prank on her.

  She didn't care. Even pranks which kept her mind off her current situation were better than sitting around stewing over things she couldn't change.

  She sighed, needing to get closer. Blackened, scorched ground crackled as she lowered herself to her knees, inhaling the still-smoky air of the surrounding bushland. It was a few weeks since the devastating fires ripped through this part of the Black National Park.

  Her current, and temporary, employer sent her up into the New South Wales Mountain region to an obscure little town to investigate.

  It was good to get out of the city. When this job was done, she would like to find a smallish town with a little newspaper. She hoped someone would employ her and buy some of the many photos she had collected over the years as a photojournalist.

  She had nothing to go back to. What little she did have was stuffed in the boot of her beat up old car. Black Town Motel would be her home until she finished this job, got the rest of her money, and moved on.

  Tinder ran over the odd conversation in her head a few times, trying to figure out what the Sydney money tycoon, Felix Roads, wanted exactly.

  'I want anything and everything suspicious reported. There is something not right with those Black brothers, and I want to know what it is.'

  'Are you sure you want to use me, Mr. Roads? I'm a photojournalist not a private detective.' She stood in front of his six-foot wide, polished mahogany desk, in the tall fifty-five story building in the Sydney business district, overlooking Sydney Harbour bay and the Opera house.

  'No, you're exactly what I need. I want picture evidence of whatever they're up to. There is something odd with those Black Town people. I think you would do better than any detective…someone they wouldn't suspect as much.'

  'Just what do you expect me to find in Black Town?'

  'I want any dirty secrets which can discredit them from the contract they stole from me.'

  Basically, she was being sent in as a spy. But how could she object when Mr. Roads handed her a three-thousand-dollar check?

  'Half now, half when you bring me evidence of what I need to get my contract back.'

  This is money she desperately needed to start over. She would do her job to the best of her ability; if it was secrets Mr. Roads wanted, then secrets he would get.

  After doing a little background digging on Black Town, via the internet, she kept coming across rumour after rumour of big cat sightings in the area. Tinder contacted the local park ranger to obtain permission to have a look around.

  During her travels through Africa, she had photographed many majestic big cats, and had seen their paw prints in those counties, just like the ones she now studied.

  Leaning closer to study the odd paw prints in the scorched earth, she saw the solid evidence those cat rumours were true.

  She sat back on her heels and reached for her tan canvas equipment bag, riffling around to find her tape measure. Leaning back over, she placed it along the side of the print, careful not to disturb the ground. She lifted her digital camera, placing it over her right eye and closing the left as the automatic focus adjusted.

  Her trigger finger pressed gently to snap a few shots.

  "This has to be too good to be true." Her got voice lost in the soft whistling of the warm summer wind in the burnt trees.

  Tinder climbed to her feet, bent over to follow the print trail. She peered over a fallen, two-foot log, where this cat obviously leapt, leaving lovely, deep prints.

  Her excitement bubbled; oh yes, big cat indeed. If she could be the one to capture it on film, would this be what Mr. Roads wanted? She shook her head; at this stage she didn't care. Maybe she could earn some more money by finally proving there is a big cat living around Black Town Forest.

  Her clothes were now probably streaked with soot, but it didn't matter as her finger pressed down on the trigger again.

  "Holy shit!"

  The sudden deep masculine voice from right behind her jumpstarted her heart into a junkie's, high adrenaline spike. Her scream pierced the tranquil air and she spun around, only to lose balance and fall backwards onto her large arse.

  She stared up into a pair of striking, pond-blue eyes. He looked just as startled, his handsome face twisted down into a fierce frown, making her scramble back further.

  The crease in his forehead furrowed further. He took a step. "Easy, Tinder I'm not going to hurt you."

  "Who the fuck are you?" she screeched at the stranger. How the heck did she not hear him approach?

  His frown vanished and instead his lips curved up into a devilish smile, keeping her heart rate in the race to win the Indy Five-Hundred.

  "I'm Hawk. Hawk Black at your service, Foxy. I volunteered to baby sit… uh, I mean show you around."

  Foxy? She was called carrot top, match head, flame ball, fire head but never foxy.

  Her back hit a tree, halting her retreat. It was her turn to scowl up at the gorgeous man; his inky black hair curled around his ears, highlighting a darker, angular face, and those blue, sexy bedroom eyes. Tinder swallowed. No doubt any woman would grow drunk on his charm and follow him anywhere, without a hint of liquor, into his arms and bed.

  His full masculine lips curved into a smile, promising wicked and tantalizing things. The flush she felt she quickly blamed on the rising heat of the Australian summer.

  The fact that his black T-shirt moulded over an impressive display of broad shoulders and a muscular torso, did not help her heart rate to slow.

  She was ogling and possibly drooling over this sexy man who should be on the cover of a magazine—far out of reach, instead of standing here towering over her. He must be well over six foot.

  He squatted onto his heels and offered his hand. Even when he was lower, it didn't take away from his intimidating, pulse-racing presence. "Let me help you up and we can be properly introduced." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Oh, for Pete's sake. He only told her his name and he was hitting on her? Was it anything in a skirt men chased? She glanced down at her quarter-length, tan pants, smudged in soot. She wasn't wearing a skirt. She wasn't super model skinny or even regarded herself as pretty. No she was frumpy with pale skin and an overabundance of freckles.
r />   Why would Mr. Sex-on-a-stick be hitting on her?

  She slapped away his hand and climbed to her feet, but with her back still against the tree, there was no real retreat. Yup, even with her five-foot-six height, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

  Hawk didn't seem worried. He stood up and crowded right into her personal space, lowering his head; she heard him taking in short little breaths.

  What the heck? "Are you sniffing me?"

  "Hummm, I want to make sure."

  "Sure of what?"

  "Sure you're mine."

  Why did all the gorgeous ones have to be crazy? She placed her hands on his chest, gasping when tingles of heat ran down her arms and through her body. Her eyes widened, but she quickly shoved at him, fighting to remain composed and indignant.

  Off balance from his sniffing at her, he stumbled back a step.

  "Mr. Black, please keep your sniffing and your person to yourself."

  His baby blues blinked at her. He cocked his head to the side, regarding her as if she were the crazy one.

  "Sorry, Foxy, I tend to get a little carried away around beautiful woman."

  Tinder snorted. "Now, I really know you're crazy. Look Mr. Black, I—"

  "Hawk, just call me Hawk, and I sure am crazy; crazy about sexy, red-headed women." He grinned roguishly.

  She rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering. "God, give me strength."

  "No need to call me God, yet. Hawk will do."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Mr. Black, back off now, or I'll press charges against you for sexual harassment."

  "Okay, okay." He held up his hands in surrender, but his cocky smile told her he was far from it. When he took a step back, she let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. "I surrender and I am all yours, Foxy."

  Her brow furrowed in a frown. She tried to remember what he told her before his close presence to her body scrambled her brain.

  "Just why are you here?"

  "Like I said, I'm here to show you around."

  "I don't need anyone to show me around. This is a native, Australian forest; I can go where I like."

  "Ah." He arched a black eyebrow and placed his hands on his hips, drawing her attention to his large hands. She swallowed suddenly remembering what a girly, gossip magazine said about men with large hands. Why the hell was her body responding like a hormonal teenager, and throbbing in places she never realised could throb? Even her sensible, white cotton underwear was suddenly uncomfortably damp.

  What the hell is wrong with you, Tinder? Get a grip, woman.

  "That's where you're wrong. This is Black Town Native Forest, and you need permission from the park ranger."

  "I obtained permission from Mr. Snow before I arrived."

  "Ah yes, but if you read the papers carefully, it states you only have access if you have an escort."

  Oh, that sexy smile was back as he splayed his hands open before her.

  "And here I am. Have your wicked way with me, but be gentle. I'm fragile you know."

  Torn between wanting to gaff at him or deck him one, Tinder chose to snort. "The only fragile thing I see on you, Mr. Black, is an over inflated ego and set of balls I won't have any hesitation kicking, if you dare try anything funny."

  She brushed past him to collect her bag. He glanced down at the obvious, large bulge in the front of his pants.

  "Omph, did you hear that, Maverick? She threatened us both."

  Oh, my God, he named his penis…"Maverick?" She glanced up and he shrugged with the same cocky, yet sexy, expression.

  "Why not? He knows all the tricks in the book, and is more than willing to show you."

  He walked around to where she left her measuring tape, Tinder ignored his last comment when she realised he was about to step on her cat paw prints.

  "Hey, stop!" She bounded to her feet, but it was too late. His large boot stamped down right on…"My prints!"

  "What?" His shoulders rose. He gave her a confounded look.

  "You trod on my…oh, crikey."

  "What, I trod in shit, didn't I?"

  It was an amazing sight to watch a six-and-a-half-foot, muscular man balance gracefully on one foot and lift his leg to examine the sole of his shoe. "There's nothing here." He put his foot back down.

  Tinder groaned. "I want Mr. Snow to show me around. You, Mr. Black, are going to get in my way and mess things up." At least she was happy to have snapped shots of those prints before he blundered in and destroyed them. He picked up her tape measure.

  "Oh, now I am wounded." He placed a hand over the left side of his chest. "Foxy, Mr. Snow is tied up helping the fire investigators, and no one else knows this area better than my brother and me; we're Blacks after all."

  She opened her mouth, but he stepped in first. "The answer is no, my brother is busy with our business and helping his fiancé arrange his upcoming wedding. So, I'm your man."

  Great. She sighed in annoyance. "So, I'm stuck with you."

  "Don't sound so disappointed. Just tell me what you're looking for. I'll help you the best I can. I'll even try to behave myself."

  She shook her head. She only just met the man, but she already had trouble believing his words about behaving. Standing in front of her was a large, sexy package of trouble she suddenly wanted to be neck deep in.

  No, you don't. Shut up brain!

  It wasn't just a spark of attraction drawing her in, more like a Molotov cocktail with a rag. Her gaze lingered on his sensual lips.

  "And, by the way, I meant what I said." He stepped in closer.

  Tinder stood riveted to the spot as he again moved in closer, raised his hand and stroked it along her cheek. The touch ignited the rag hanging out of the cocktail bomb. She swallowed hard as her body exploded to life in pure wanton lust.

  "W…what do you mean?" She licked her suddenly dry lips. The fire and passion burning in his gaze was hypnotising. He gently slid his finger under her chin, lifting her head, while his lowered, drifting closer, closer, until their lips were but a whisper apart.

  She inhaled his scent. Who would have thought spicy and sweaty males would be so appealing; she struggled to not lean in and draw a deeper breath. Her brain muddled, inhaling his warm, slightly minty breath. "I've never met a more beautiful woman."

  A whirring, clicking noise shattered the erotic spell. Tinder jerked back and glanced down to see her finger squeezing the trigger of her camera. Crikey, she almost let a complete stranger kiss her. Startled, she stumbled back, tripped on her feet and fell with an oomph onto the charred forest floor.

  Hawk shook his head. "Falling for me again, Foxy?" He grabbed her left arm and easily lifted her back to her feet.

  "I don't know about you, but it's too bloody hot out here. This cat likes his air conditioning on a hot day. C'mon, I'm taking you to get a drink where we can sit and have a nice little chat."

  She sincerely doubted any chat with Hawk Black would be 'little.'

  Without letting her go, he started guiding her back towards where she left her car parked.

  "Hey, I wasn't done there!"

  "Whatever it was which held you so fascinated before, will still be there later; I need to get some fluids into you. Don't want my ma…uh, new friend dehydrating."

  Tinder snorted again. "Oh, I just bet you don't."

  "See, Maverick, she's getting to know us already." His cheeks dimpled, flashing another pulse-racing smile as he dragged her up the hill. Her old, beat up Torana sat a few feet away, immediately off the dirt road.

  Instead of letting her go, he pushed her towards his sleek black Range Rover, parked right behind.

  "My car…" A touch of panic hit, she couldn't leave her car and all her belongings crammed in the boot.

  "…Will still be here when we get back. Face it, no one in their right mind would want to steal that." He nodded towards her dented and rusting, pale yellow vehicle.

  She sighed knowing he was right, but still, it was more than only her car at the moment u
ntil she could find an apartment. His Rover was suspiciously still running. He yanked open the passenger door of his rover and tossed her bag into the middle seat.

  What the hell was she doing letting him push her around like this? On the other hand, the cool of the air coming out was most inviting—she paused. "Wait, I…I didn't think anyone else would be out here, so I left my keys in my car."

  "I'll get em; in you go." She climbed in and he slammed the door shut. The air conditioned cab felt so good. She let her body slump back against the plush seat, took off her camera and put it back into her bag. She watched his tight arse move in his snug, blue denim jeans. For a big muscled guy, Hawk strode, no, more stalked to her car with almost feline grace. Everything about this man oozed a dangerous sex appeal she found hard to ignore.

  He opened the door, rolled up the window and pressed down the lock, before removing her keys and tucking them in his pocket. The sunglasses, which had been sitting on the top of his mop of ink black hair, he slid over his eyes. A dangerous sex appeal oozed from his every pore.

  Nothing about this job prepared her for a tall, dark and sexy man, or the way he looked at her. Never could she recall being gazed at like a tasty treat to be devoured: the thought of Hawk doing this to her made her squirm in her seat. Her breasts felt heavy. With a quick glance down, she saw her nipples poking out, despite her sensible cotton bra and white tank top. She blamed it on the cold air blasting out at her from the Rover's air conditioning.

  "Get a grip, Tinder, you're here to do a job, not get laid."

  Well, she could do both, couldn't she? Sure, she'd received male attention since her divorce, but it never even crossed her mind to give into the impulse. Her ex put her well off men and relationships. Maybe it was time to let loose a little and explore.

  Her coppery, red hair drew enough attention, but this Hawk seemed to really want to get into her pants. Right now, her libido was way out of control, not that it was ever out of control before.

  "Maybe sex with a stranger will do you some good." What could it hurt? "And you're totally talking yourself into this—aren't you?" Yup, she was. Hawk Black was a hot piece of arse she wanted to nail. She was shocked at her own thought trail, then grinned.