A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (12 page)

“Finally, Red.” Concern threaded through his voice. “I had a moment’s panic, thinking you had decided to escape into the rainy night after all.” He spared a quick glance around the studio. “Why didn’t you come back to bed?”

“You’re wearing a blanket.” She knew she looked like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She’d never been good at lying, so had blurted the first thing that popped into her scattered thoughts.

“I most certainly am—and nothing else,” he said wickedly, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “But you should
come close, Miss Riding Hood, and make sure Mr. Wolf is telling the truth.”

Not sparing another glance at the troublesome canvas—how could she, when beautiful Trevelyn was there grinning—she took in his virile perfection partially wrapped in that blue and pink tartan. Drop-dead sexy was a term that just didn’t do the man justice. Oh, she wasn’t shallow enough to fall for physical beauty alone, but a power, an assurance of his worth in the world resonated within her. She’d be safe in his keeping.

Giving the painting no further thought, she walked to him.

Trevelyn opened the blanket and then closed it around her, enfolding her in his warmth. She stepped against him, slid an arm around his waist, and then lifted her head to brush her lips against his. So tender was the kiss she had to fight against closing her eyes and giving over to the spell he wove. As strong as the urge was, she wanted to watch his face.

Breaking the kiss, she reached up with her right hand and stroked his cheek. “I want to paint you,” she whispered in awe. Her mind harkened back to the images on the hidden canvas that bore such a startling likeness to him. In a strange way, she’d already started painting him. Now that Trevelyn had come into her life, she pondered what direction the portrait would take.

Trev chuckled. “You mean…
paint
me? Like they used to do to Goldie Hawn on
Laugh-In
? That reminds me, I once saw a couple of pictures on the Internet of a man. He’d held still while someone had tattooed his”—he waggled his eyebrows playfully—“tallywacker to look like a dragon.”

“Don’t even go there!” Raven interjected. “I’m glad that computers and I don’t get along if that’s the sort of stuff you find.”

He pulled her to his chest, giving her a hug. “Consideration of all the pain aside, it was an amazing piece of
artwork. But you could bypass the needles and the agony. Think of the hours of pleasure you’d have laboring to create such a masterpiece.”

Raven couldn’t help it. Dropping her hand to his chest, she allowed her fingers to follow the lean, muscular contours of his belly and then lower. His erection was riding high against his abdomen; he was already fully aroused. Closing her fingers around the shaft, she brushed the pad of her thumb over the crown. Trev was uncircumcised, but the smooth tip pushed through the foreskin and was soft. In response to her gentle caress, his cock pulsed and lengthened. She was holding fire.

“I don’t think a dragon would look right on a wolf,” she said, playfully nipping at his chin. “However, the idea of painting on a new medium has possibilities.”

Trev’s breath was a hiss as Raven slowly worked her hand down his flesh. “You have no idea what you’re do—”

He suddenly made a strange face and jerked his head to the side. For a split second she feared she’d done something to cause him pain, but then he let out three rapid sneezes. Glancing down, he frowned at Chester who was rubbing against his leg.

“Mangy cat,” he muttered, then gave another
achoo!

Well, this was a sticky wicket. “You have allergies?” Great. Just great. Mr. Tall, Dark and Perfect walked into her life and was allergic to her cats.

He nodded. “Unfortunately. Not bad though.”

She frowned. “You didn’t sneeze earlier.”

“I generally don’t, unless they start rubbing up against me. The doctor said I wasn’t allergic to the cat, just the dander. So, if we could relocate to a room minus felines?” Trev’s face contorted, and she assumed another round of sneezes was coming. Instead, he hopped on one foot. “Sonofa—! That hurts!”

She glanced down to see Atticus had come inside. “Stop that! Bad bird!” she cried. The seagull was pecking at Trev’s bare toes.

“How about we build a fire in the fireplace and roast the pelican,” he jested.

Leaning down, she moved to snatch up the silly bird, but he hopped away. “He’s not a pelican.”

“No, he’s a seagull—a fugitive from the movie
The Birds.
He keeps drilling my toes, I’m going to find out how seagull pâté tastes.”

“You’ve no allergy to birds, have you?” she asked.

“I’m rapidly developing one to this menace.” Looking down, he shook his foot at the seagull. “Birds aren’t carnivores, are they?”

Raven laughed and then kissed his cheek. “That’s so funny—the Big Bad Wolf being terrorized by a one-legged birdie.”

Trev shot her a doleful look. “You only say that because you aren’t tormented—ouch!—by—damn it!—this feathered Norman Bates. I also might point out that my ‘dragon’ tends to deflate when my toes are being pecked.”

Taking his hand, Raven laughed. “A fate to be avoided! Let’s get you back to the bedroom, away from this attack of the killer birdie. He can’t get up the steps on one leg.”

“What about the cats?” he asked. “They have four legs. They can follow.”

“Yes, they can and likely will—but I’ll close the door.”

Leading him from the room, Raven also hustled her teeny herd of critters out of the studio. At the threshold, she paused to glance back at the painting, troubled by how much the eyes resembled Trevelyn’s. Her anxiety shifted as she closed the door: a gale-force blast of wind crashed into the house, and for the first time in all her years here, she questioned the dwelling’s safety.

Trevelyn used her arm to tow her back into his warm embrace. “Seems something other than the Big Bad Wolf likes to huff and puff,” he said. Kissing the side of her head, he cradled her to him in a manner offering solace.

Once more, apprehension surged within Raven. She’d spent the last five years hiding from life; thus it was hard
to totally let down her shields. This was all still too new. Despite the sense of rightness about this man, a lot of questions and doubts were attached. And the blustering fury of the windstorm fed her skittishness.

All cautionary thoughts faded as she looked up into his handsome face. Words bubbled up in her, ones she couldn’t contain. “Trevelyn…I—”

“Blue, black and bloody indigo! I am going to wring his neck!” Trev tried to push Atticus away with his bare foot. “I wonder how seagull under glass tastes.”

Raven laughed. “Stop threatening my poor bird. He’s only got one leg.”

“Ah, I get it. He resents me because I have two—misery loves company.” He waggled a finger before her face. “Next time I come, I’m bringing a cattle prod.”

The hilarity of the moment died as she stared into Trev’s green eyes. Outside, it was already getting lighter, signaling their fairy-tale night was at an end. It was time to face the music. “Next time, Trevelyn? Will there be a next time?”

The playful grin slowly slipped from his face. He looked at her for so long that she dreaded his coming words. Part of her knew this journey they’d started on would transcend one night; a strong sense of Fate was working, weaving a pattern for their future. Another scared side of her nature feared she merely deluded herself.

Fighting a tear, she looked down, unable to meet his haunting eyes any longer. His strong hand reached out, his thumb lifting her chin, forcing her to look at him. His gaze moved over her face as if he beheld some rare mythical being. “I think, quite possibly, I shall have to one day beat Alec Beechcroft to within an inch of his life. He must answer for his sins.”

In a quick move, he pushed Raven’s bird aside with his foot and swung Raven up and over his shoulder. Once he’d shifted her weight securely, he gave her a swat on her rump.

“Ouch!”

“Ouch all you want. I am a man on a mission.”

Raven laughed, trying to grab hold of him to keep from bouncing as he mounted the stairs. “And, pray tell, what mission is that?”

“Why, I am going to paint a masterpiece,” he replied, rushing through the bedroom door and shutting it before the felines trailing behind could slip in.

“Paint? With what? On what?”

He tossed her crossways on the bed. Reaching for the belt of her robe, he gave her a wolfish smile. “You, love, shall be the canvas. And the brush will be my tongue.”

Bright morning sun flooded through the skylight, its heat warming Raven’s arm where it hung over the side of the bed. The rays didn’t touch her anywhere else, due to being mostly buried underneath Trevelyn: She rested on her stomach, his heavy male body half covering her, his chest pressed to her back. His large hand was under her, curled around her left breast. There was something reassuring about his solid weight pressing down upon her. So easily could she envision waking in this manner for the rest of her life.

For several heartbeats she was unsure why she had awakened. She yawned, still exhausted because they’d barely slept all night. Finally, the racket outside intruded, and fussing voices moved through her kitchen.

“There’s something to be said about locking doors,” she grumbled. Trev was dead weight, pinning her to the soft mattress. She gave a backward push with her shoulders, but he only flexed his muscles to keep her pinned to the bed. “Trevelyn! Bloody hell.
Move.”

“Later, you insatiable woman. Me and the dragon are worn out.” He nestled his face into her hair and inhaled slowly as if savoring her scent, clearly refusing to budge.

“Damn it, Trev, let me up. Someone’s in the house.” She raised her voice enough to maybe break through his sleepy haze.

“A burglar? The devil you say! Don’t fret, love, Atticus will soon have the situation in hand.” He laughed and finally shifted enough for her to turn under him.

She pushed at his chest. “Please move. That’s my idiot brothers. I have to get up. Now.”

“Why? They’re aware I’m here, Red. The Lamborghini parked out front is a clue.” Offering less resistance, Trev allowed her to roll him onto his side. When she slid out of bed reaching for her silk wrapper, he scooted up to lean against the headboard and watch her dress. “Your brothers may be a bit playful, but they’re men. They’ll see the car and know I’m with you. If we don’t come down, they’ll clue up and decamp in short order.”

“You don’t know my brothers. Subtle, they are not. Besides, it might not be just the twins. Mac is apt to be with them. Lately he tends to take his morning constitutional and wind up here, and invites himself to breakfast.” Raven quickly snatched up her hairbrush from the vanity and attempted to vanquish the tangles.

“Your father?” Trev crossed his arms over his chest and considered. “Hmm. I concede that meeting your father under these circumstances could be a bit delicate.”

“Delicate? Hung by your heels and kissed the Blarney Stone, did you? Oh yeah, that’s one way to put it. He’ll probably pay Brishen to stake you through the heart.” Raven flashed him an impious grin.

“Ah, but I’m not scared. I am the proud owner of a high-priced rocking pony. That makes me virtually stake-proof.”

Leaning over the side of the bed, Raven searched underneath to locate her missing slippers where the cats had scooted them. “Best course of action?” she suggested. “You stay up here until I shoo them away.”

“Raven.”

“Then you won’t have to deal with their antics. Afterward—” She captured one shoe but had to push partly under the bed on her stomach to reach its mate.

“Raven!” Trev’s tone was sharp.

“What?” She pushed back out and looked up at him.

Trev sat glowering at her. “While your arse is quite adorable, I prefer to look at your face when we’re talking. It’s less…distracting. Now come here.”

She mistrusted that predatory glint in those vivid green eyes. Getting to her feet, she held a slipper in each hand. “I am here.”

“Don’t get cute, Red. Come closer.” Trev blinked as he noticed her shoes. “I didn’t know Riding Hoods had glass slippers!”

She waved one of the clear plastic shoes with the teal puffball on the vamp at him. “No more fairy tales, please. Midnight has chimed. There are no fairy godmothers. And I’m just a silly female who prefers to hide from the world—nothing that would hold the interest of a Big Bad Wolf. End of story.”

Regret flooded through her at this truth. Raven started to back up a step, but Trevelyn lunged at her, much in the manner of a wolf bringing down prey. He grabbed her waist with both hands, lifting her weight easily despite his being slightly off balance, and pulled her crosswise across the bed. Placing a hand on either side of her shoulders, he planted his right knee by her hip and then the left knee opposite, effectively pinning her under him.

Trevelyn was damn sexy, rumpled as he was and wearing a satisfied half grin on his face. Making love to him in the half shadows and flashes of lightning had been a magical and rare occurrence. Only, now they were in the harsh light of day, in the sharp focus of reality, another experience entirely.

She swallowed hard, envisioning making love again in daylight, imagining it only too well: her moving over him in a pagan rhythm, watching his beautiful face as he came inside her. She wanted to reach up and touch his chiseled perfection, wanted to run her fingers over that sculpted chest and smooth her hands along the broad shoulders. He was an artist’s dream. Even so, the second she laid hands on him thoughts of everything else would go out the window. Her brothers might stomp through the house with a marching band playing John Philip Sousa and she’d fail to pay heed.

“Raven!” one of the twins called from the bottom of the staircase.

“Trevelyn, let me up,” she demanded with rising urgency.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “You’re having doubts about us, and seizing on
brothers interruptus
as a means of getting some distance. I shan’t permit it.”

“Let me up, please,” she repeated.

“Not until I get a good morning kiss.”

“Raven!”

This time the call was from the small landing in the stairwell. Raven glanced to the door and then back up to the man looming over her. “Trev…”

He shrugged. “I’m not budging until I get a proper kiss good morning. I refuse to be hidden away in the closet like some philandering milkman until your brothers depart, like last night wasn’t special.”

She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. In her rush to head off Phelan and Skylar, she hadn’t meant to cast that sort of impression. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It’s just the twins are…well…a little lacking in decorum at times.”

“Apology accepted. Kiss me and then you can go sic Atticus on them.”

She hesitated, unsure how to explain why she held back. Recklessly, she had jumped into the fire last night, with no real heed to the consequences. The time to put aside glass slippers and dreams of happily-ever-afters had now arrived. “Trev…I…Last night was…”

“Raven!” It seemed her brothers’ last warning.

“Oh, hell.” She tried to wriggle out from under Trev, but he leaned back on his haunches, lightly applying his weight on her thighs. The notion of bucking her hips to dislodge him passed through her brain, but then the pulsing thump of his erection bumped against her lower belly. It was never good to toss a lit match into petrol!

He gave a sideways tilt of his head, saying it was her
choice: she could kiss him, or they would sit here waiting for one of her brothers to pound on the door.

She gave a sharp exhale. “Bloody arrogant man.”

Trevelyn leaned forward, triumph flashing in his eyes. “Good morning, Raven.” He brushed his lips softly against hers.

The contact caused hunger to roar to life, sending all the usual chemical changes to ravage her body. Her breasts tightened and her womb clenched into a hard fist. Blood swirled through her brain, setting her to burning. Ah, this could be damned addictive!

Evidently, the raw power slammed through Trev, too, because he groaned and broke the kiss.

“Raven! We need you!” Skylar called, ruining the moment.

“Perhaps you had better go deal with your idiot, um, adorable brothers,” Trev suggested with teasing reluctance.

Raven’s mind was fried. “Brothers?” She repeated the word as if the concept was foreign.

Trev forced a painful grin, running his thumb pad across her lower lip. “Remember? Those junior car thieves with champagne taste?”

She nodded, sliding out from under him. “Ah,
brothers.
Yes, good idea.”

Rolling off the bed, she didn’t even pause to find where her shoes went. Opening the door, she turned back for one last look at the long-legged, sexy man on her bed, as comfortable naked as he was in the expensively tailored tux. “Mercy,” she muttered under her breath, and then went to confront her pesky siblings.

Skylar scurried back down the steps and nonchalantly leaned against the newel post as she came outside. He gave her a sunny, innocent expression. “It’s not like you to sleep so late, sis. Usually you’re up at the crack of dawn, painting away. We hated to wake you, but need you to tell us where the damn box goes.”

“Box?” she asked.

“Your clockwork witch in a coffin.”

The fleeting jest fell flat as the word
coffin
sent a cold shiver up her spine. Pushing aside the silly notion and rush of strange images suddenly crowding the edges of her mind, she looked to the front of the house. “Wasn’t the road mushy after the rain?”

“We used Brishen’s horse cart and came the old way. Since no one drives on that part anymore, it was rather immune to last night’s deluge. The wagon is not out front, but at the entrance of the big greenhouse. Brishen figured it might be easier to bring it through from there,” he explained.

When she entered the kitchen, Phelan was giving the cats fresh water. He glanced up and gave her a genuine smile. “Coffee’s on. Want some? I also fed and watered the kitty-babies. They were complaining. The bird is helping himself to their chow.”

“Flippin’ bird thinks he’s a cat,” Skylar sniggered.

“No coffee, thanks,” she answered, going to the refrigerator and taking out a chilled pitcher of lemonade. “Let me get a drink and then I’ll be with you.”

“Thirsty, are you?” Skylar smirked.

“
Av akai! Av akai!
“

At the sound of Brishen shouting, Raven paused pouring the juice. Her friend came through the kitchen archway, hot on the trail of Marvin. She chuckled at the comic sight.

“The pony doesn’t speak Gypsy, Brishen. He only knows you are yelling at him.”

“I’ll give him something to run from,” Brishen threatened.

Skylar stopped laughing and broke into a chorus of, “‘Pony boy, pony boy, won’t you be my pony boy…’”

“I tell the blasted creature to come here. Does he listen? ‘Tis
prikaza
—very bad luck—to have a pony in the house, Raven,” the Romany warned.

She chuckled and then took a sip of lemonade. “Don’t fuss at me. I didn’t let him inside.”

Brishen paused from herding the little black horse out the back door, to take in her appearance: barefoot, mussed hair, whisker burns, dressed in nothing but the teal robe. He arched a black brow as he reached out and lifted the lapel of the silk wrapper. “A bit underdressed, aren’t we?” Playful admonishment was clear in his tone.

Giving him a glare, she smacked his hand away.

“Morning.”

The single word was spoken from behind them, silencing all the chatter. Raven’s head snapped around to see Trevelyn stranding in the archway, dressed in his tuxedo slacks and shirt, with only half of the studs fastened. She blushed when she recalled why most of them were missing.

Trev gave everyone an easy grin, and then came forward to lift the glass from Raven’s hand. Swallowing a big sip, he offered her a wink. “Thanks. I was thirsty.”

“Funny, so were the cats,” Phelan commented.

Skylar’s lavender eyes flashed with mischief. “Yes, seems to be going around this morning.”

Forgetting about the pony on the porch, Brishen lifted his brows dramatically and looked to the twins. They mimicked him by raising their own in intrinsically male communication. Raven frowned, knowing where this was heading. Meddlesome Montgomeries plus one!

Brishen stopped near Trevelyn and very deliberately looked him up and down. “A little overdressed, aren’t we?” he asked.

Skylar nudged the Gypsy with his elbow. “Is this where we—in concerned brotherly fashion—drag him outside and beat the
shite
out of him?”

“Not,” Trev chuckled good-naturedly, “if you hope to gad about in my car again.” He handed back Raven’s glass of lemonade.

“Hmm.” Phelan pretended to seriously weigh his prospects. “Let’s see—a night on the town in a Lamborghini versus our sister’s honor. Tough decision. But then, Brishen really couldn’t pound on you after you paid a king’s ransom for his horse. Sorry, sis, you’re on your own.”

“A night on the town
each,”
Skylar amended, bouncing on his heels hopefully.

Raven suppressed a giggle. Lamborghini mania knew no bounds. So much for brotherly love!

Trev started to give a laugh, also, but caught a sneeze instead. Looking down, he frowned at Chester depositing reddish cat hair on the leg of his pants. He reached inside his tuxedo jacket and removed a silk handkerchief, ready for a second round, blinking sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Oh, dear. Possible trouble in paradise. You’re allergic to cats?” Phelan questioned.

Skylar said, “Deep trouble. Love my sister, love her pussy.” His twin delivered a sharp kick to his shinbone, and he added, “—uh, cats.”

Trev suppressed a smile, searching his pocket for his keys. “It’s a mild reaction. A couple pills will handle it.” He was interrupted by the chirping of his cell phone in the pocket of his jacket. Flipping the device open he answered, “Trevelyn. Yes, Julian, I know. On my way now. Sorry, I was…detained.”

Raven blushed as his eyes skimmed over her. Feeling the need to shoo the audience from the room, she reminded the others, “I believe you three came to deliver my Gypsy?”

Skylar grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the cookie jar on the counter next to the refrigerator. “Lug that thing and forsake our proper duty as your brothers to grill your date on what his intentions are? How can you think we’d abandon you at a time like this?”

“Sorry to miss the prospect of that fun, but I seriously have to run.” Trevelyn kissed Raven’s temple. “I truly have
to dash. Call you later. Gentlemen, have care with the Gypsy in the box. I still intend to buy her.”