Read Online Behind the Lens (Behind the Lives) by Marita A. Hansen - Free Book Online

hand, wishing she’d grown into
someone he could be proud of—no, someone her family could be proud of, because
Dante never judged her, unlike her older sister. No doubt her overly religious
sister would be horrified with what Kara had become: a whore to the very men
Marina would kill without remorse.
    Dante’s
frown deepened. “I’m the same as when you left me. No, I’m worse.”
    Oh,
no, you’re definitely better. Her
eyes wondered down to his six-pack, then to his new tattoos, her gaze almost
glazing over with lust. God, the man was pure sex, his tattoos again making her
want to lick them. “You seem fine by me,” she said. Real fine. Letting
go of one of his hands, she reached for the tattoo around his left eye, the
curving Māori design so intriguing. She’d originally thought it had been
black, but up close she saw that it was a dark green, the colour of the forests
at night where she used to play hide and seek with her sister.
    He
moved his head to avoid her touch.
    “I
like your new tattoos.” She lowered her hand to his right arm, tracing the
colourful designs, a mixture of Māori and Croatian imagery, representing
his cultural heritage. He’d only had tattoos on his left arm when she’d left,
but now he had them covering both arms and a canoe tattoo on his back, which
resembled what the Māori people called a waka. Her eyes flicked
back up to the facial design, her favourite one, apart from the We Are One tattoo
connecting them together.
    “What
are you staring at?” he said, his muscles still twitching.
    “Your
tattoos, dragi .”
    “I
told ja to stop calling me that. I’m not your darling.”
    “I
know,” but I wish you were. “It’s just hard to lose endearments,” but
even harder losing you. She refocused on one of the tattoos on his arm,
tracing the koru with a fingertip. The black curvature design weaved
itself through the checked Croatian crest, almost violent in its penetration,
something she would normally have considered a travesty. But she understood
what it represented, the combination of two cultures. And she wanted him to
penetrate her too, to combine their cultures completely, making them one again.
    He
flinched but let her continue touching the tattoo, his dark eyes watching her
face, intense and voracious. She’d always loved that about him, still did,
because he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her up, but not in the same
way as Craven, because unlike the wolf, Dante’s expression was erotic, filled
with promises of pleasure. Da , both of them could feast on each other,
ending this famine she’d been forced to bear.
    “Why
are you still staring at me?” Dante asked, breaking through her thoughts.
    “Because
you are beautiful—and you are staring at me also. Do you think I’m beautiful
too?”
    “A
woman is beautiful, not a man, and I’m not stroking your ego.”
    “Beauty
can be masculine just as much as feminine, and I’d love you to stroke my ego.
By the way, my ego is here,” she said, reaching between her legs.
    His
lip twitched, telling her he was irritated, but he said nothing. She wondered
whether his irritation was with her, or more likely himself, because he wasn’t
moving, the desire she saw keeping him chained to the bed. She smiled,
imagining him chained to it literally—and what she’d do to him while he was
helpless. Oh dear Lord, that was a dangerous thought.
    Unable
to help herself, and not wanting to either, she leaned forward to kiss him,
barely brushing his lips before he shot up off the bed, making her fall onto
the floor.
    “I’m
not having sex with you, so don’t try it on,” he said, moving to the cabinet
behind her.
    She
got to her feet, incensed he’d turned her down, and a little worried too,
because no doubt Craven would be expecting her to put on a show for the hidden
cameras, and in all truth she wanted to give it to him—and to his audience,
because if she did a good job he might honour his word. She frowned,