A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “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?

  Chapter Five

  “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?”

&
nbsp; 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.”

  “Your…date,” the handsome redhead tacked on.

  Offering a faint smile, Cian studied him with pale green eyes. On the surface, the man displayed perfect equanimity, but Trev sensed a territorial wariness as he offered his hand. Trev didn’t blame Montgomerie; any man attaching himself out of the blue to his own little sister would naturally draw suspicion. And given Raven’s past, Trev imagined his perceived playboy persona didn’t sit well.

  Cian’s hand was firm and dry; the man gave a hard squeeze, signaling a bid for dominance. Trev almost laughed. Undaunted, he returned the grip measure-for-measure, not about to give ground to the grandson of Sean Montgomerie, the man who had driven his father to take his life. At the same time, Trev felt a peculiar surge of grudging respect flood through him, and knew under other circumstances they likely could be good friends. There was an air about Cian that made Trev think of Des. His older brother and Cian were cut from the same fabric: family and business before all else. But Trev shrugged the thought aside. There was no room in his plans for them.