Read Online The Babysitter And The Beast (Shapeshifter Werewolf Breeding And BDSM Erotica) by Ana Meadows - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ana Meadows
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something appropriate for babysitting but classy enough for an interview. Jeans and a nice sweater made her look like a teenager, but it was good enough.
She climbed into her car with the ad in her hand. Bainbridge Lane was off the highway that unfolded across the moor and led into Ferry, where the bookstore was. She knew because Bainbridge intersected at the highway, only visible because it had a stop sign. It was in fact, one of only two roads on the three mile stretch from Essex to Avon. The highway divided the road into east and west, one on each side. For a moment, she had to remind herself that she was still on the moor. The hills and brushes looked different from the highway; from the view she had as she made the left to get on West Bainbridge Lane, she was among the scrubby bushes and the tall, lanky trees that had somehow managed to spring up the peaty marshland instead of admiring them from afar.
The pavement ended and still she had not seen the first sign of a house or an address. Stopping, Monica looked at the ad again, making sure of the address. Yes, this was West Bainbridge. Driving farther on the dirt road, the first rooftop she had seen finally rose among the trees and suddenly she was on top of a quaint cottage surrounded by fences. The rusted mailbox outside the driveway was marked '252'. Monica looked at the house and smiled, thinking this was a nice place to raise children. The yard was unkempt but not overgrown, as if someone had decided not to tend the lawn just that week. The house was small and modest and had an older design. There did not seem to be any sign of a need for repair.
Monica switched the car off and got out, leaving the keys and the paper in it. Walking up to the gate she spotted a bell, which she rattled to get the parent’s attention. There was no answer. Ringing the bell again, she sighed and thought for a moment that since there were no children outside, the family might not be home. Still, Monica didn’t think that she could leave without trying every avenue possible. A job was a job. She rattled the bell one more time and unlatched the gate waiting for someone to come out. Slowing walking up the path to the cottage, she thought that maybe they were inside somewhere and couldn’t hear the bell. Monica walked up to the door and raised a fist to knock.
“No need, I’m here,” said a voice that came from nowhere. Monica yelped and whirled around looking for her specter that had startled her so. She found herself eye level with the hottest bare chest she had seen in a while. Stepping back, she angled her head for the entire picture. Not only was he good looking but he was half naked, too, looking as though he had been in the garden with his shirt off.
He was tall and muscular, with a spattering of hair across his chest. Broad shoulders tapered into a thick neck and out into wide arms cut with muscle. He had sandy brown hair and eyes that looked like molten gold shining in the sunlight. They were so unique she wondered if this handsome man was vainly wearing contacts to hide some ordinary hue. He looked to be about thirty, although he could have been older. He was wearing no shirt and she could see where the sun had beaten down on his skin to make it a golden brown. The hair on his chest was blonde, lighter than that on his head. The man was wearing jeans and gloves, but no shoes, and, Monica noted for the third time, no shirt, and held a trowel in his hand.
Monica smiled up at him, trying not to give away the attraction.
“Hi, I saw your ad in the paper,” Monica said brightly.
He smiled back at her, stripping off his gloves and thrusting out his hand for a shake.
“Sure,” he said, “come on in and have a look around. I’m Gaelin, and this is where you’ll be doing the sitting.”
Gaelin turned and opened the cottage door, going in. Monica followed him, confused. The cottage really was cute, very rustic. The floors were
She climbed into her car with the ad in her hand. Bainbridge Lane was off the highway that unfolded across the moor and led into Ferry, where the bookstore was. She knew because Bainbridge intersected at the highway, only visible because it had a stop sign. It was in fact, one of only two roads on the three mile stretch from Essex to Avon. The highway divided the road into east and west, one on each side. For a moment, she had to remind herself that she was still on the moor. The hills and brushes looked different from the highway; from the view she had as she made the left to get on West Bainbridge Lane, she was among the scrubby bushes and the tall, lanky trees that had somehow managed to spring up the peaty marshland instead of admiring them from afar.
The pavement ended and still she had not seen the first sign of a house or an address. Stopping, Monica looked at the ad again, making sure of the address. Yes, this was West Bainbridge. Driving farther on the dirt road, the first rooftop she had seen finally rose among the trees and suddenly she was on top of a quaint cottage surrounded by fences. The rusted mailbox outside the driveway was marked '252'. Monica looked at the house and smiled, thinking this was a nice place to raise children. The yard was unkempt but not overgrown, as if someone had decided not to tend the lawn just that week. The house was small and modest and had an older design. There did not seem to be any sign of a need for repair.
Monica switched the car off and got out, leaving the keys and the paper in it. Walking up to the gate she spotted a bell, which she rattled to get the parent’s attention. There was no answer. Ringing the bell again, she sighed and thought for a moment that since there were no children outside, the family might not be home. Still, Monica didn’t think that she could leave without trying every avenue possible. A job was a job. She rattled the bell one more time and unlatched the gate waiting for someone to come out. Slowing walking up the path to the cottage, she thought that maybe they were inside somewhere and couldn’t hear the bell. Monica walked up to the door and raised a fist to knock.
“No need, I’m here,” said a voice that came from nowhere. Monica yelped and whirled around looking for her specter that had startled her so. She found herself eye level with the hottest bare chest she had seen in a while. Stepping back, she angled her head for the entire picture. Not only was he good looking but he was half naked, too, looking as though he had been in the garden with his shirt off.
He was tall and muscular, with a spattering of hair across his chest. Broad shoulders tapered into a thick neck and out into wide arms cut with muscle. He had sandy brown hair and eyes that looked like molten gold shining in the sunlight. They were so unique she wondered if this handsome man was vainly wearing contacts to hide some ordinary hue. He looked to be about thirty, although he could have been older. He was wearing no shirt and she could see where the sun had beaten down on his skin to make it a golden brown. The hair on his chest was blonde, lighter than that on his head. The man was wearing jeans and gloves, but no shoes, and, Monica noted for the third time, no shirt, and held a trowel in his hand.
Monica smiled up at him, trying not to give away the attraction.
“Hi, I saw your ad in the paper,” Monica said brightly.
He smiled back at her, stripping off his gloves and thrusting out his hand for a shake.
“Sure,” he said, “come on in and have a look around. I’m Gaelin, and this is where you’ll be doing the sitting.”
Gaelin turned and opened the cottage door, going in. Monica followed him, confused. The cottage really was cute, very rustic. The floors were
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