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clicked it gently against his, giving him a soft, sexy smile.
    The minute the plane landed he was going to search the shit out of Ian Bainbridge’s photographs online. Wig or no wig, he was certain he would recognize Melanie’s sexy curves anywhere.
    Thank God for the internet and both Ian’s genius as an artist and his stupidity as a man. This assignment was turning out to be a whole lot more exciting than Hunter had anticipated.

3
    H ERE ’ S TO YOU
getting naked
. Melanie wished. She wondered if Hunter had any idea how his words were affecting her. He probably didn’t mean to be flirtatious but it felt as though the man had been talking about sex nonstop since the minute they’d boarded this godforsaken flight an hour earlier. Or maybe she was just projecting her lack of sex onto the conversation. Either way, it was driving her crazy.
    By the way, just who was his moron of an ex-girlfriend? Though she supposed it had been decent of her to wait until he got home to dump him face-to-face, unlike certain photographers who thought a note would suffice. It would have been really cold to end things via text or email while Hunter was on active duty halfway around the world. So maybe the ex wasn’t a bitch. Maybe she just wanted something different. Something that wasn’t gorgeous.
    Melanie couldn’t believe she’d told Hunter about being in Ian’s photos. She’d never told anyone but her best friend, Jeannie, about that. She had felt bold and sassy doing it, and she’d never felt a need to talk about it. But she had practically bragged to Hunter. Because no matter what logic was telling her, she was attracted to him and she wanted to impress him.
    Not wanting to further engage in a conversation that was bound to make her hot and bothered with no way to cool her heat, Melanie dug out the fashion magazine she’d brought with her. Hunter let her flip through the pages in peace, something Ian wouldn’t have done. He would have read over her shoulder, criticizing the unnatural state of the models. Not that she didn’t agree with him, but sometimes she just wanted to look at the shoes and daydream, not listen to why the lighting in the shot was wrong.
    Hmm. Interesting that she was finding herself momentarily relieved that Ian wasn’t with her. He was no longer her boyfriend and already she felt past the stage of crying over it. The sheer speed with which she was reaching the stage of acceptance spoke volumes. It also disturbed her. Good grief, she had been willing to convince herself of a whole hell of a lot, hadn’t she?
    Hunter had his eyes closed, so Melanie studied him surreptitiously. He didn’t have a boyish face, but rather one that was chiseled and mature, with pronounced cheekbones and a strong jaw. He had a scar on his chin, just a thin white slash where there was no beard shadow. Most of her adult life had been spent dating men she had deemed creative and artistic. It had been a decade or more since she had allowed herself to look at a man—a real one, not a movie star—and feel primal in her attraction to him. To think that there was something really hot about him purely because of his hard-bodied masculinity and manly scent.
    Until now. She felt it acutely as she watched Hunter sleep. Even unconscious, he radiated strength and virility. On some intrinsic level, her body responded to that.
    After watching her friends fall one by one for the bad boys in school, she had been determined to pursue guys who had something to offer intellectually instead of the ones who made her panties heat up. A girl couldn’t think with damp drawers, and Melanie wanted to be in control, always. She’d spent the past dozen years keeping her wits about her, but it seemed at some point her wits had gone witless. She’d convinced herself to spend a year dating a man who clearly wasn’t worthy of her attention.
    She tore up the note from Ian methodically, ripping it in slow, careful strips. She made a pile on her tray,