The Perfect Shoot

Book 1 in the erotic interractial contemporary romance series HOT MODEL MINE. Published in October 2014, while book 2, Mine to Love, is in the making.
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Carrying the aura of a rock star, dressed in jeans and black leather, he strolls toward the elevators with a slight roll of his large shoulders. The long black hair is combed back into a ponytail, revealing a single earring in his right lobe. Tall and confident, he glides into the group of hens like a hot knife in butter, inducing awestruck silence and a timid retreat from a few of the women. “C’mon, it’s your chance to meet him!” Laurie squeals, practically jumping up and down with…

Carrying the aura of a rock star, dressed in jeans and black leather, he strolls toward the elevators with a slight roll of his large shoulders. The long black hair is combed back into a ponytail, revealing a single earring in his right lobe. Tall and confident, he glides into the group of hens like a hot knife in butter, inducing awestruck silence and a timid retreat from a few of the women. “C’mon, it’s your chance to meet him!” Laurie squeals, practically jumping up and down with…

When Andrea Johnson, writing as author Cindy Vega, signed up for a Meet & Greet with the cover model of her latest book, she didn’t expect sparks to fly. Yushka is dangerously goodlooking and too young for her. But their connection is instantaneous, and during a photo shoot with the two, the photographer picks up on their growing attraction. Seeing the potential for THE cover photo of the century, he decides to push their comfort limits…

The Perfect Shoot by Lea Bronsen

When Andrea Johnson, writing as author Cindy Vega, signed up for a Meet & Greet with the cover model of her latest book, she didn’t expect sparks to fly. Yushka is dangerously goodlooking and too young for her. But their connection is instantaneous, and during a photo shoot with the two, the photographer picks up on their growing attraction. Seeing the potential for THE cover photo of the century, he decides to push their comfort limits…

France!

France!

“Bonjour and welcome to Cannes.” All smiles, the immaculate hotel receptionist looks up from her computer, the blue eyeliner contrasting with her fake tan. “Your name, please.” Charmed by her French accent, I hesitate. Do I give my real name or pen name? I am, after all, attending an author conference. My publisher, Eden Luna Publishing, has organized an abundance of writer-related activities for the next three days, so playing under our fictive names might be part of the game.

“Bonjour and welcome to Cannes.” All smiles, the immaculate hotel receptionist looks up from her computer, the blue eyeliner contrasting with her fake tan. “Your name, please.” Charmed by her French accent, I hesitate. Do I give my real name or pen name? I am, after all, attending an author conference. My publisher, Eden Luna Publishing, has organized an abundance of writer-related activities for the next three days, so playing under our fictive names might be part of the game.

As I approach the chatty group, a mix of flowery perfumes floats mid-air, assaulting my nostrils. Another joke sparks more cackling, a cacophony so loud I swear the roof will lift. God, you’d think we were in a hen house, not the majestic, high-ceilinged lobby of Hôtel la Provence. No way do I have the patience to wait for the elevators. I sweep the lobby for an escape. Above a third aluminum door, a sign indicates a staircase. So, I’ll climb the three stories up to my room. No problem.

As I approach the chatty group, a mix of flowery perfumes floats mid-air, assaulting my nostrils. Another joke sparks more cackling, a cacophony so loud I swear the roof will lift. God, you’d think we were in a hen house, not the majestic, high-ceilinged lobby of Hôtel la Provence. No way do I have the patience to wait for the elevators. I sweep the lobby for an escape. Above a third aluminum door, a sign indicates a staircase. So, I’ll climb the three stories up to my room. No problem.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Laurie throws me a glance in the bathroom mirror through the open door. She points an accusatory tube of red lipstick at me. “That was so impolite.” I shrug, wordless, and return to the view from our open window. Despite the late afternoon heat, life buzzes on the promenade below, a long road flanked by palm trees that separate us from the shore. I lean against the wall, hiding from the burning sun as it sets on the Mediterranean Sea.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Laurie throws me a glance in the bathroom mirror through the open door. She points an accusatory tube of red lipstick at me. “That was so impolite.” I shrug, wordless, and return to the view from our open window. Despite the late afternoon heat, life buzzes on the promenade below, a long road flanked by palm trees that separate us from the shore. I lean against the wall, hiding from the burning sun as it sets on the Mediterranean Sea.

Up-beat disco music blasts from the end of the hall. Squealing on their way to the bar, the women in front of us wiggle their large asses in rhythm. It must be the anticipation. The prospect of dancing, and alcohol. Or getting laid. All of the pub house’s cover models are supposedly attending the conference. The place will be packed with meat, sweat, cologne, and testosterone. I feel like squealing myself.

Up-beat disco music blasts from the end of the hall. Squealing on their way to the bar, the women in front of us wiggle their large asses in rhythm. It must be the anticipation. The prospect of dancing, and alcohol. Or getting laid. All of the pub house’s cover models are supposedly attending the conference. The place will be packed with meat, sweat, cologne, and testosterone. I feel like squealing myself.

I empty my drink and look around for more. As I take a deep breath, enjoying the champagne’s near-immediate effect, my chest swells. Lightness and fuzziness sneak up to my head, alleviating my bad mood. When I slowly breathe out an invisible chain of alcohol fumes, the sudden urge to have a cigarette makes my pulse beat faster. I haven’t smoked in years. Okay, maybe some nice guy here can help a poor girl in need.

I empty my drink and look around for more. As I take a deep breath, enjoying the champagne’s near-immediate effect, my chest swells. Lightness and fuzziness sneak up to my head, alleviating my bad mood. When I slowly breathe out an invisible chain of alcohol fumes, the sudden urge to have a cigarette makes my pulse beat faster. I haven’t smoked in years. Okay, maybe some nice guy here can help a poor girl in need.

Before I can step back, he slides an arm around my waist and pulls me close. Our chests touch. Can he feel my heart pound faster through our clothes? I’m fucking sold. “You owe me,” he says. “Oh? For what?” “For being rude, earlier.” He’s right. With all that happened in the bar since, I had forgotten. “True. I owe you an apology.” His hand slides down the small of my back. “No, a dance.” I approach my lips so close to his ear, I could give it a nibble. “I’m a lousy dancer.”

Before I can step back, he slides an arm around my waist and pulls me close. Our chests touch. Can he feel my heart pound faster through our clothes? I’m fucking sold. “You owe me,” he says. “Oh? For what?” “For being rude, earlier.” He’s right. With all that happened in the bar since, I had forgotten. “True. I owe you an apology.” His hand slides down the small of my back. “No, a dance.” I approach my lips so close to his ear, I could give it a nibble. “I’m a lousy dancer.”

After a long, agitated night, I’m sitting opposite Laurie in a restaurant on the second floor, next to the bar. Low murmurs of conversation and the clink of cutlery and glasses fill the high-ceilinged space. There’s only the two of us at our table, but I expect others to join us soon. In about twenty minutes, we have to attend the first photo shoot of the conference, starting with authors and respective cover models of already published books. Meaning Yushka and I will be face to face again.

After a long, agitated night, I’m sitting opposite Laurie in a restaurant on the second floor, next to the bar. Low murmurs of conversation and the clink of cutlery and glasses fill the high-ceilinged space. There’s only the two of us at our table, but I expect others to join us soon. In about twenty minutes, we have to attend the first photo shoot of the conference, starting with authors and respective cover models of already published books. Meaning Yushka and I will be face to face again.

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