A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (4 page)

Melissa strode up, standing by Cian’s side as though she were his wife. She shrugged. “I offered to help, but your sister would have none of it.”

Cian arched a brow. “She did a beautiful job, as usual. I love how unique you make it every year, Raven.” His tone held a clear rebuff.

“Kill him, Brishen! He’s coming this way,” Paganne interrupted, inviting a scene before hundreds of people, which was wholly unlike her.

It was upsetting for Raven to think her handsome stranger provoked such aggression. She blinked, even more puzzled: Her sexy stranger hadn’t stirred. Instead, a man was moving past him, brushing shoulders as he did. A bit taller, he had a lion’s mane of pale blond hair. And he was prideful as a lion, too, Raven knew. He was Lucien Delacroix, the movie director. He had been involved with Britt several years ago, was the director of two of her last films—her
best,
actually—and they’d been involved in a torrid off-screen affair. Then something had happened, Lucien had dumped Britt, and Britt had attempted suicide. To this day, Raven’s sister refused to speak about him.

“Bloody hell. Can anything else go wrong tonight?” Raven wondered aloud.

Her eyes shifted back to look for her stranger, and she was surprised to find him gone. A quick search of the room failed to locate him, either. Swallowing her sadness, she forced her mind back to Delacroix. Why was he here? Would Britt have to face him again?

Cian tapped Brishen’s upper arm. “Come, mighty vampire hunter. We have an unclean person to eject. How the bloody hell did he receive an invitation? They’re stopping anyone without one. I specifically said no gatecrashers. I heard a rumor the regulars down at The Naughty Parrot planned on sneaking in for the free booze, and I wanted none of their antics.”

“Evidently, you were not specific enough,” Paganne sniffed.

Raven’s eyes went to Melissa, observing her for a moment. The little voice in her head was speaking again, and it said Cian’s secretary had sent the invitation, despite her contrived look of innocence. Trying not to growl, she glared until the irritating female finally blushed and looked away, guilty.

But, why? Raven could see Melissa doing something to cause
her
a problem, but why attack Britt? She doubted Britt and Melissa had exchanged more than passing words. Why set up such a confrontation tonight, knowing how important it was for Cian to have everything run smoothly?

“So how
did
he get an invitation?” Paganne asked, her eyes tracking Brishen and Cian in their attempt to head off Delacroix. In a deft maneuver, each man took an elbow, wheeled Lucien about and gently escorted him toward the doors.

“Great minds work alike. I’m wondering the same thing,” Raven commented drolly, picking up a champagne glass and itching to toss the contents in Melissa’s smug face.
One of these days—it’s coming,
she promised.

Out of the corner of her eye, Raven spotted the black-haired man walking across the opposite side of the room to examine the fortune-teller’s booth. Her stomach muscles tightened as his hand reached out to deftly insert a coin, his beautiful face reflected in the glass while he studied the mannequin’s lifelike gestures. Then, placing his hands on either side of the booth, he leaned close, nearly pressing his nose against the glass and staring. Finally, when the mannequin stopped moving, the stranger leaned back.

Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

“Surely not,” Raven said to herself. He couldn’t have drawn the same fortune.

The stranger turned, his eyes coming straight to her as if he’d been aware she was watching the whole time. Then Raven realized that, while she saw the reflection of
his face in the glass, he could see her bright red dress behind him as well. Slowly he lifted the card and turned it until the tarot face showed. Even across the room there was no mistaking The Lovers.

A slight lift of his black brows spoke volumes. But was it a question? A threat? A promise…? Raven shivered, scared also of what the cards signified.

Someone jostled her arm, spilling her drink. “Oh, I
am
sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” a blonde woman apologized as she snatched up an Irish linen napkin off the end of a table and offered it for Raven to dab at her dress. “Oh, I really am sorry. I’m so clumsy of late. Guess it comes with the territory. I haven’t seen my feet in a couple months. Hope this doesn’t ruin your lovely dress. I’ll pay for the cleaners.”

The voice finally broke through Raven’s haze. She
knew
that voice. Her whole body flinched, suddenly awash in painful memories of a time in her life that held nothing but black sorrow.

“Ellen,” she said—not harshly, not warmly, just with a flat neutrality as far from her emotional state as Raven could possibly get.

The wife of her ex-husband blinked owlishly at her. “My word! Raven, I didn’t recognize you. I say! Why, you’re…you’re stunning! I guess I’ve never seen you done up to the nines.”

Raven bit her tongue to keep from blurting that the last time they saw each other Ellen had been on a desk, on her back, getting screwed by Alec, and that it was hard to have a clear view from such an upside-down position. But sheathing her claws, she didn’t give the woman the satisfaction.

To be honest, Raven couldn’t blame Ellen for wrecking her marriage, because by that point there hadn’t been much left. She’d already endured too much of Alec Beechcroft’s subtle mental abuse and finally realized he’d married her because she was Sean Montgomerie’s
granddaughter. When the bastard saw that wouldn’t help him professionally, he’d set out to punish her for not giving him what he coveted: power within Montgomerie Enterprises. It had taken Raven only a few months after the wedding to realize what was happening.

No, whatever fleeting emotions she’d felt were already dead by the time Raven caught Alec boffing his secretary, Ellen Lister. But complicating matters, Raven had found she was four months pregnant. That was why she’d gone to the office: to tell him he was going to be a father. She hadn’t wanted Alec, but she had wanted the baby. Her baby.

Alec had proved a blackguard. After she filed for divorce, he countersued, actually having the gall to seek alimony, hoping to cause her so much grief that Cian would pay him to vanish. Raven’s brother had indeed entertained half a notion of doing precisely that, but Alec demanded a big chunk of ME stock. Raven just wanted him to get to Hell and be gone from from her life, to leave her in peace to build a new future for herself and her child, and giving him stock would have only bound them tighter together.

Alec, of course, saw how much she wanted the baby. He had seized upon her need as a tool, saying he planned on pushing for joint custody. Blackmail, plain and simple. The stress too much for her, Raven suffered a miscarriage. And while Alec showed up in her hospital room, feigning concern, she’d never forget how quickly the scene disintegrated into him yet again berating her into tears and admitting that, while the child would’ve been an advantage to use against Cian, losing the baby was ultimately for the best—he wasn’t cut out to play father to some snot-nosed brat.

Some snot-nosed brat? Their baby?
Her
baby? She had lain there sobbing for a long time after he left; then the family heard her screaming. It had just seemed to come
out in one long agonizing wail of pain, and she hadn’t been able to stop.

Raven’s hands trembled as she went through the motions of drying her gown. She was losing it again. So damn pathetic. After the breakdown, her mind had buried all the ugliness from that period, put it away in a shoebox where she hadn’t had to deal. Now, however, the shoebox was dumped and the ugly contents spilled out. Everything seemed to be closing in on her, to where she wanted to open her mouth and let loose with another ear-piercing scream. She told herself to breathe, that she was stronger now…but then she absentmindedly glanced at Ellen and spotted her very round belly.

How utterly obscene! Ellen was expecting, was maybe seven or eight months along. Raven swallowed the bubble of hysterical laughter rising in her throat, so wanting to ask Ellen if Alec was looking forward to being a father to
her
snot-nosed brat. It took all her willpower to keep from wrapping her arms across her stomach, cosseting echoes of the phantom presence that once had lived inside her.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Alec strolled up behind his wife. Sensing him, Ellen turned and flashed a radiant smile. Raven told herself to hang on, swallowing hard. Paganne was close by her side, and Brishen would return any minute. He could stake Alec through the heart for practice, then all would be right with the world.

Alec smiled that damn jackal smile of his. Oh, how Raven hated that expression—a reflection of glee at seeing someone weaker than himself to torture. He was five years older now, his sandy brown hair starting to thin. Knowing how vain he was, that brought a smirk. Likely, he spent a bloody fortune on hair regrowth solutions. Leaner, his face was etched with the ugliness in his soul. As Raven stared at him, it almost felt as if she looked at a stranger. No emotions rose within her other than hatred
for him…and anger at herself for being so stupid to have ever trusted the worm.

“Ah, Raven and little Paganne. Such
adorable
names your mother gave you,” he said, meaning just the opposite. He touched his wife’s arm in reassurance, and she offered him another sappy grin, oblivious to the undercurrent of emotion rippling around her.

“Poor deluded woman,” Paganne muttered under her breath. “She must have an IQ of a turnip.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that you say?”

Paganne offered him a wide smile. “I said, ‘Surprising to see you two turn up.’ I don’t recall seeing your names on the guest list.”

Alec shrugged, but his face hardened a trace; he fought against it, but couldn’t prevent the expression from manifesting. “What? You think I’m not good enough to attend this quaint little Montgomerie to-do?”

Lifting her glass, Paganne gave a chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

Confused, Ellen glanced at Paganne and then back to Alec. The silly woman obviously hadn’t expected a chilly reception. “Now see here—”

“Don’t upset yourself, my dear. The Montgomeries aren’t happy unless they’re letting the world know how important they are, and how the rest of us aren’t good enough to clean up after them.” He glanced exaggeratedly to either side of Raven and then lifted his eyebrows. “What, no date? Don’t tell me you’re still pining away for me. Really, Raven, that’s so pathetic. After all this time—”

“Darling, let me have your glass. It’s empty.” The deep voice spoke from behind her, drawing everyone’s attention. “How am I supposed to get you drunk and have my wicked way with you if I can’t keep your glass filled?”

Afraid to breathe, Raven couldn’t even blink as a beautiful male hand took her wrist and removed her empty champagne glass. A kiss was placed to the back of her hand and then she was handed another flute, this time
full. Her heart bounced against her ribs as she looked up…into those warlock green eyes of her stranger. If she had thought them hypnotic from across the room, that was nothing compared to being up close. She fought to keep from being sucked into their emerald depths.

“I know…I’m late, late for a very important date.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully and gave her a gentle smile as if trying to court her good graces. When she didn’t respond, he kissed her cheek. “Forgive me? Your brothers ran off with my Lamborghini. Then my secretary called, and you know with the deal hanging fire I had to take it.” Placing a hand at the small of her back, he rubbed slightly. Possessively, intimately—as only a lover would do. “All right, give me the cold shoulder. I love it when you pout. I promise to make it up to you before the night’s over.” He picked up her free hand and brushed a butterfly kiss to her bare shoulder.

Paganne’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, but her expression wasn’t as shocked as Alec’s.

Raven’s ex, his mouth agape, finally drew the attention of the handsome stranger. Raising one black brow, the stranger glanced down his nose at Alec, giving him a silent “you’re not worthy to shine my boots” look. Few men could stare into those green eyes and not blink. Raven suppressed a smile. No one had ever tried this game of ranking with Alec Beechcroft and won. This time, there was no contest. Something about this unusual man whispered he was different, special, born to rule.

Giving a small squeeze of Raven’s waist, the stranger leaned forward and stuck out his hand for Alec to shake. “Don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Trevelyn Sinclair.”

Alec glanced at Raven, then back to her supposed date, and finally shook. “I’m—”

Trevelyn cut him off. “Yes, I know. Raven’s told me all about you.”

For an instant, the veneer of the civilized man seemed
to fade and Sinclair stared at Raven’s ex-husband with such intense hatred that she could scarcely believe it. His hard expression showed he wanted to knock Alec’s teeth down his throat. For one breath, Raven expected him to do just that. But startled by the ferocity she blinked, and the expression was gone. Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
The words clanged in her head.

Raven stood trembling. Had she just taken a tumble down the rabbit hole?

“
Go ask Alice…I think she’ll know…
“

It struck Trev as humorous that the band was playing the old Jefferson Airplane song, since Raven clearly lacked any clue as to what had just occurred. The poor lass stood poleaxed, as though he’d dropped, wings unfurled, through the skylight. Her face was beautiful, enchanting, endlessly kissable, but she had no poker face, that was for bloody sure.
Mmm.
Images of playing strip poker with Raven flashed through his brain. He swallowed hard, heat crawling up the back of his neck, flames of desire licking at his mind.

The last notes faded away to be replaced by strains of “Thief of My Heart”—and a more perfect cue he couldn’t ask for. Never one to pass up an opening, he seized the change in tunes as an excuse to lure Raven away from family and friends…and some nonfriends. Feeling like Sir Galahad rescuing a damsel in distress, he flashed Raven a smile and took her wrist to drag her toward the dance floor before her lack of guile gave the whole game away. With a wink he tossed over his shoulder to the staring group, “Pardon us, I hate to miss a rumba with Raven.”

Raven followed docilely enough; only, when they reached the center of the hardwood floor she just looked up at him with unblinking brown eyes. Like a doe in the headlights. Drawing her close, Trev slowly placed her hand on his right shoulder then reached for her other and curled it around his neck. He liked the way their bodies fit.

“The rumba is a dance of love,” he said. “You’re supposed to look at me as if you love me.” When she simply stared at him, dumbstruck, he asked, “You do know how to rumba, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Good.” Trev chuckled at her bemusement, then warned, “If you don’t stop gaping at me they’ll wonder what’s going on. Or worse…cause me to do this.”

He stepped closer and brushed his lips lightly against her surprised mouth. She gave a breathy gasp. Adrenaline hit his blood in reply; the response zinged along his nerve net, causing a reaction on par with having stuck his finger in an electrical outlet. He shouldn’t have, but he was still too damn keyed up after last night to resist, so he deepened the kiss. Not much. Not like he wanted. Just enough so that he could savor soft lips that tasted like Moët Champagne, a hint of Brie cheese, and Raven—a potent blend that went straight to his head and groin.

And maybe my heart.

Startled by the thought, Trev mentally shook it aside. Likely, the feeling was merely a touch of indigestion; he hadn’t eaten supper this evening, too wired with anticipation.

When he pulled back, he had to fight against kissing her again. Typically male, he had never been fixated on kissing but rather had other aims when he took a woman in his arms. Men learned in their teens that a kiss was a tool to befuddle the female brain, ensuring an easier surrender. Yet he could barely recall that they stood in the midst of a crowded dance floor, so much did he crave kissing her again…and again.

“Who
are
you?” she finally whispered, her lower lip trembling.

Trev gave a small tilt of his head. “Your knight in shining armor, my lady.”

“Chivalry is long dead, Mr. Sinclair, and you aren’t wearing armor,” she countered.

“Ah, times force change. I no longer don heavy mail and plate, nor carry a clanking sword, and my charger isn’t a mighty destrier but a Lamborghini—true. Even so, such minor details would never stop me from riding to the rescue of a damsel in need.” He was teasing, hoping to get her to relax.

Her eyes lit, and the change was amazing. Those russet eyes were suddenly alive with intelligence, sparkling shards of amber, and their power was hypnotic. Trev felt as though he’d taken a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus. He couldn’t even draw air. Everything nearby shifted focus; everything faded but Raven. Was the woman a bloody witch?

She offered him a Mona Lisa smile. “So you’re the one.”

“One what?” Trev blinked to shake off the spell. It was a damn potent one.

The laughter, the music, the clink of glasses being served—all was muted, and the party kaleidoscoped into a swirl of color. He’d had only one drink, wanting a clear head to relish every nuance of this meeting and the chase. Despite that restraint, he hadn’t been this dizzy since Jago and he had gotten plastered after graduating university. While he enjoyed the occasional scotch to unwind, he preferred being in complete control. Life was too bloody sweet to let alcohol fuzzy up its pleasures or oh so delicious victories.

“The driver of the black Lamborghini. You shouldn’t have trusted my brothers with the keys. Giving them that car is on par with giving a case of Ho Hos to a chocoholic.”

Trev shrugged. “I know where to come looking for it.”

“They haven’t returned,” she smirked.

“As I said—I know just the place to collect it should they lose their way back.” His hands clasped her hips just below her waist and nudged her into dancing. “Rumba, my lady, we’re drawing attention standing here.”

It didn’t take but a couple shifts and steps before their
bodies began to move in sync. The corner of his mouth lifted as he watched her follow his lead. Raven danced with a fluid, sensual grace that was a test of his libido. Somehow, he’d assumed that when he finally got this close the fascination with her would lessen. What a bloody fool!

Usually, with any woman, small things quickly began to grate on his nerves: her laugh was irritating, her neck was too short or too long; she was too tall for him or not tall enough. He actively disliked when he had to bend his neck to kiss a woman. Not a problem with Raven. She was just perfect; tall, but not runway model height. Her body was a little thinner than any of her sisters, but still had their trademark voluptuous curves—and displayed in that vivid red dress, he was quickly adjusting his ideas on what was the perfect woman.

Most redheads couldn’t wear red and carry it off with élan, but Raven did, as if she’d stepped off the cover of
Vogue.
Before tonight, he’d always favored blue eyes, yet as her luminous amber ones watched him with an enthralled expression, all those baby blues faded until he couldn’t recall why he’d liked them. Or why he’d
thought
he had.

“Well, we’re dancing—,” she began.

For playful aggravation, he cut her off. “And dancing rather prettily, don’t you agree?” His body flexed tightly as he considered how perfectly they moved together, already falling into a pattern of anticipating each other’s steps. It conjured visions of them making love in the half shadows.

“I prefer to dance with someone I actually know.” Raven gave him a Cheshire cat smile, but he refused to accept that as a reflection of her mood. She was flustered and struggling to cover, was responding to his pheromones: all those little signs of a woman experiencing arousal showed in her breathing as her breasts seemed to rise higher with each inhalation; her luminous eyes widened.

Though there was a timid, almost melancholy air about Raven, Trev didn’t miss the flash of spirit. That Montgomerie breeding might be tempered in her; nevertheless, it was still present and likely stronger than even she suspected. Perhaps life had beaten down some of her stubborn mien. In spite of that, he figured it wouldn’t take too much to summon that strength back under the proper guidance—and the ravenous urge rose within him to be the man to awaken this sleeping beauty.

He almost laughed aloud.
Wrong fairy tale.
He was the Big Bad Wolf and Raven was…
My, what big teeth you have, Mr. Wolfie.
A spasm wracked him as he considered the wolf’s response.

“Come, come, you know me. I’m your date for the evening.” He couldn’t resist.

Raven’s perfect breasts lifted with a deep inhale. “Lying isn’t a good footing to start off being friends.”

“Friends? Yes, we might possibly become friends. But then, friendship is a rather tepid relationship, wouldn’t you concur? Say, when compared to lovers?” He figured this might provoke a flare of her Scots blood. Instead, Raven smiled, and the expression caused his heart to twist. He suddenly felt like a Grade-A bastard. But that was too bad. There was no veering from his path.

“Tepid? Perhaps.” Wariness flickered in her eyes. “But much safer.”

“Safe is boring. Don’t you ever yearn to do something that risks all? To throw caution to the wind and dance with the devil?”

“Is that who you are? The devil?”

Trev offered her one of his most dazzling smiles. “Well, only last night I pondered if I had horns hidden in my hair.”

Absently, her finger lifted to twirl a curl at his collar. When she realized what she was doing, she nearly jerked her hand back. “Do you?”

“You’ll have to take the risk and find out, eh?”

She stared at him. “I’m not sure if you’re confident or just arrogant, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Both,” he responded.

Her soft laugh sent a ripple up his spine to lodge in his brain. “You’re a dangerous man, indeed.”

“You better believe it. I’m the Big Bad Wolf,” he joked.

The blood seemed to drain from her face, her eyes flew wide and she missed a step. “Wolf?” She swallowed hard. “W-why…would you say that?”

“I suppose that’s how I feel. And while you may be lacking the hood, you’re most definitely in red.” His eyes skimmed over her body decked out in the strapless scarlet gown, and his hands flexed on her waist. “That dress should be illegal. It’d bring out the wolf in any man.”

Raven blushed, and since the heart-shaped, bustierstyle bodice of the gown left her shoulders and upper chest exposed, he saw it travel across that smooth flesh to finally flood her cheeks. He groaned as his body responded. It was going to be a long night.

Be careful what you wish for,
he thought and then sighed deeply. For a month he’d chafed to have this meeting. Now, the words Agnes had spoken earlier came back to haunt him:
“You and your brothers have schemed for years, haven’t you? Plans on paper. Seeing them to fruition in the real world will be another matter. Never underestimate a woman. Any man who does is a fool.”
Well, he had certainly underestimated the effect Raven would have on him. It just remained to see how big a fool he really was.

She lowered her lashes, unable to meet his hungry stare. “My sister Britt bought it in France several years ago and never wore it. She insisted I wear it tonight. I’m afraid it’s not really me.”

“Oh, that dress is very you.” Trev leaned forward and whispered against her ear, “The you waiting to be set free.”

Raven tensed within his arms, and when he pulled
back he faced a gaze of mistrust. She’d been softening toward him, but switching gears she said, “And I suppose you think you’re the one to help?”

Her tone made it obvious his words had been taken as nothing more than a shoddy come-on line. Red Riding Hood was too bloody smart by half. No, she’d never succumb to flashy charms; Casanovas were dead meat under her laser glare. The task ahead of Trev was suddenly a bit trickier, but he’d step up to the challenge. He was spoiled, true—too used to women falling at his feet. Never had he expended the slightest effort to land one in his bed. He doubted Raven Montgomerie had ever allowed a man to maneuver her into an affair. If she had, she’d kept it very quiet; Julian’s bloodhounds hadn’t found one whiff of a man in her life for five years, not since her divorce. Raven was a picky woman with a lot of baggage and exceedingly high standards. A one-night stand would never be a consideration. Trev wanted to be the man who battered down the protective barrier she’d carefully constructed, the man to push her to abandon caution and follow him into the flames.

“Burn, baby, burn,” he whispered under his breath, knowing she couldn’t hear over the music. Then, all arrogance gone from his voice, he said, “You’d be surprised what I could teach you, Red.”

The music ended. They stood there, bound by the magic rising between them. Raven finally dropped her arms from his shoulders and stepped back. Those huge eyes watched him—wanting, fearing.

Trev snagged her arm, afraid his prey would slip away. “Ah, fair lady, I fear I must hold you close this night, protect you from all manner of evil beasties.”
Such as jackass ex-husbands,
he finished silently.

Raven’s gaze trailed down to where his hand held her wrist. Resistance flashed in those amber eyes, and she almost pulled away. She clearly didn’t like a man controlling her.

Trev stared, a silent challenge of wills crackling in the air around them. She likely had one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen—but every thought, every flicker of emotion was written clearly upon that stunning countenance. She had no dissimulation, no shield against him. Small wonder she hid from the world; it was safer for her.

Trev nearly growled. Inside him there was a primitive male wolf sensing his mate was nearby and trying to evade. But…wolf? Mate? What a horrible thought! He gave himself a mental shake. Wolves mated for life. “Next, the urge will possess me to hike my leg and mark my territory.”

Raven blinked in perplexity. “Beg pardon?”

The band started another song. Phil Collins’s “Easy Lover” momentarily distracted him, the lyrics sending a shiver up his spine. Yeah, Raven could take his heart and he wouldn’t feel it. But dismissing the sensation, he leaned close to her. “I said, I need a drink and why don’t you introduce me to your brother?”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, aye. You meeting Cian would be interesting. Two rams butting horns.”

Trev kept hold of her hand, followed Raven as she wended her way through the crowd and back to the people clearly waiting for her to return. Well, the games would soon begin! They’d want to grill him, find out how Raven had a man in her life yet kept them totally in the dark. He glanced down to where his fingers were laced with hers, wondering at the last time he had just held hands with a woman. Had he ever?

Her younger sister greeted them with, “You two make a pretty couple out on the dance floor. Like you’ve been partners for ages.” Her eyes roved Trev with the same penetrating intelligence as her sister’s. “I never knew Raven was so good at keeping secrets.”

Raven blushed. “Trevelyn, this is my brother Cian. Cian, may I present Trevelyn Sinclair.”