Read Online Moon Mates (Shameless Shifters) by Sable Drake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sable Drake
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smell of the forest as she followed the winding road. Every now and then,
the trees opened up on stunning meadows and majestic rock-lined river valleys.
Maybe
Marion was right to be worried. Her new job didn't pay as well, and was a lot
chancier. She couldn't do all of her shoots in zoos and other controlled
environments. Wild animals weren't going to pose for the camera. She could well
walk away from this assignment empty-handed. She could well get fired.
But
she had enough in savings to keep up on her half of the rent, groceries, and
bills for a long time. And once she'd gotten a few photo credits in National
Geographic and other leading nature magazines, she might be able to put
together calendars, prints, postcards…
A
small brown sign appeared ahead, informing Jaylee that the turnoff to Black River was coming up. She slowed, and even watching for it, almost overshot the narrow
gravel lane. There weren't any telephone poles or electrical lines, and she
threw a quick glance at the map and brochure resting on the center console.
Rustic cabins, she'd been told. Now she wondered just how rustic they meant.
She
found out fifteen miles later, when she crested a hill. Whoever had designed
the place must have been a Lincoln Log enthusiast as a kid. The largest building
was long and low, with smoke rising from chimneys at either end. A cluster of
tiny cabins surrounded it.
The
setting was pastoral, a lush green field dotted with wildflowers spreading out
to meet the trees. A spring-fed creek sparkled through the grass, and she
spotted six deer by the time she reached the gravel parking lot. The deer
turned bland, docile brown eyes toward the car and seemed unperturbed by its
presence.
When
she turned off the engine, cutting the blast-and-thump of the stereo, a
near-total silence descended. As her ears adjusted, Jaylee realized she could
hear the twitter of birds, the whisper of the breeze through the leaves, and
the chuckling sound of the creek.
She
got out and stretched, glad to be out of the car after so many hours of sitting.
She arched her back, arms behind her, breasts straining at the buttons of her
soft blue-and-white plaid flannel shirt. One top button wasn't up to the task
and sprang free, causing the shirt to gap open to the lace-trimmed top of her
bra.
That
was when she heard a throat clear, and whirled around. In the stillness of the
day, she was amazed she hadn't heard him approach. The man was only a few yards
away, and the initial sight of him looming there sent a pang of fear through
her. She was suddenly very much aware of being alone out here. No other cars in
the lot except a mud-caked SUV. No other signs of human life. Just her... and
him.
But
then, as she got a better look, Jaylee's fear gave way to interest.
He
was a big man, broad through the shoulders and chest, with arms like a
lumberjack's. His hair was so black that the sun struck indigo highlights from
it, and it was worn long, almost to his shoulders. A dusky bristle of
beard-shadow covered his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. He had darkly tanned skin,
and startling, vivid green eyes.
The
collar of his T-shirt–it was grey, with "Black River Wildlife
Preserve" printed on the front above a logo of a wavery black line meant
to indicate a river, and the silhouette of a howling wolf–was loose enough to
show a lusty crop of chest hair rising to the base of his neck. He also wore
navy-blue sweats, and his muscular thighs would have done credit to a marathon
runner.
She
noticed, as well, the distinctly loose sway at his groin, which suggested that
he wasn't wearing anything underneath. Here she was, former men's underwear
photographer extraordinaire, faced with a man who was clearly going commando.
She guessed, therefore, that he wouldn't be familiar with her work.
As
she studied him, feeling a pleasant warm tingle in her belly, she saw that he
was in turn studying her. His gaze roved with arrogant frankness from her
low-topped hiking boots, up
the trees opened up on stunning meadows and majestic rock-lined river valleys.
Maybe
Marion was right to be worried. Her new job didn't pay as well, and was a lot
chancier. She couldn't do all of her shoots in zoos and other controlled
environments. Wild animals weren't going to pose for the camera. She could well
walk away from this assignment empty-handed. She could well get fired.
But
she had enough in savings to keep up on her half of the rent, groceries, and
bills for a long time. And once she'd gotten a few photo credits in National
Geographic and other leading nature magazines, she might be able to put
together calendars, prints, postcards…
A
small brown sign appeared ahead, informing Jaylee that the turnoff to Black River was coming up. She slowed, and even watching for it, almost overshot the narrow
gravel lane. There weren't any telephone poles or electrical lines, and she
threw a quick glance at the map and brochure resting on the center console.
Rustic cabins, she'd been told. Now she wondered just how rustic they meant.
She
found out fifteen miles later, when she crested a hill. Whoever had designed
the place must have been a Lincoln Log enthusiast as a kid. The largest building
was long and low, with smoke rising from chimneys at either end. A cluster of
tiny cabins surrounded it.
The
setting was pastoral, a lush green field dotted with wildflowers spreading out
to meet the trees. A spring-fed creek sparkled through the grass, and she
spotted six deer by the time she reached the gravel parking lot. The deer
turned bland, docile brown eyes toward the car and seemed unperturbed by its
presence.
When
she turned off the engine, cutting the blast-and-thump of the stereo, a
near-total silence descended. As her ears adjusted, Jaylee realized she could
hear the twitter of birds, the whisper of the breeze through the leaves, and
the chuckling sound of the creek.
She
got out and stretched, glad to be out of the car after so many hours of sitting.
She arched her back, arms behind her, breasts straining at the buttons of her
soft blue-and-white plaid flannel shirt. One top button wasn't up to the task
and sprang free, causing the shirt to gap open to the lace-trimmed top of her
bra.
That
was when she heard a throat clear, and whirled around. In the stillness of the
day, she was amazed she hadn't heard him approach. The man was only a few yards
away, and the initial sight of him looming there sent a pang of fear through
her. She was suddenly very much aware of being alone out here. No other cars in
the lot except a mud-caked SUV. No other signs of human life. Just her... and
him.
But
then, as she got a better look, Jaylee's fear gave way to interest.
He
was a big man, broad through the shoulders and chest, with arms like a
lumberjack's. His hair was so black that the sun struck indigo highlights from
it, and it was worn long, almost to his shoulders. A dusky bristle of
beard-shadow covered his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. He had darkly tanned skin,
and startling, vivid green eyes.
The
collar of his T-shirt–it was grey, with "Black River Wildlife
Preserve" printed on the front above a logo of a wavery black line meant
to indicate a river, and the silhouette of a howling wolf–was loose enough to
show a lusty crop of chest hair rising to the base of his neck. He also wore
navy-blue sweats, and his muscular thighs would have done credit to a marathon
runner.
She
noticed, as well, the distinctly loose sway at his groin, which suggested that
he wasn't wearing anything underneath. Here she was, former men's underwear
photographer extraordinaire, faced with a man who was clearly going commando.
She guessed, therefore, that he wouldn't be familiar with her work.
As
she studied him, feeling a pleasant warm tingle in her belly, she saw that he
was in turn studying her. His gaze roved with arrogant frankness from her
low-topped hiking boots, up
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