Ever since that odd vision of the couple making love had flashed into her mind at the party, Raven had experienced a strange niggling at the back of her brain. Like some half-forgotten memory, the fragment was waiting for the key to turn in the lock before, suddenly, all secrets would be revealed. She could recall the couple, the woman’s intense longing to hear the words “I love you.” The pain when they didn’t come. So strange: she had married Alec and thought once—mistakenly—that she loved him, yet in their months together as husband and wife she’d never once experienced such a profound love as this dream brought. But along with that pleasure came the sudden fear that it might be too late.
“What might be too late? I’m bloody losing it.” She started toward the door, half dreading what awaited yet still determined to exorcise her ghosts, prove to herself that she was allowing her imagination to run away with her.
Crossing the living room, she put a hand to the knob. The wind shifted directions, whipping against the side of the house until everything shuddered. Like some insidious intruder, it slipped through every crack in the stone walls, whispering and hissing its unstoppable presence. An instant drop in the temperature followed. Still, as Raven stared at the unopened door, she wondered if the chill was actually from her apprehension.
The top half of the door was stained glass, which allowed her to see slightly distorted into the room through the scene of fruit. The studio was unlit, but she easily made out the ghostly shape of a large canvas on an easel, off to the side. The image on that painting was burned in her mind. Not part of what she was preparing for the show, she’d begun the work one night after waking from a troubled sleep. Wanting to avoid falling back into the vivid dreams, fearful of returning to the same painful images, she’d come downstairs to work. When she’d picked up her brush and begun slapping paint to the gessoed canvas, she hadn’t the slightest idea what she’d be creating. At first, it was nothing but dark swirls, similar to fog at midnight. As the minutes ticked away, she painted in silence on the upper right part of the canvas and slowly her stokes became a pair of eyes. No face to go with it, just the eyes. Over the past five months, the eyes had come into focus through her periodic brushwork, but she’d never added more than a forehead and a riot of black curls. Later, below, she had produced a warrior on a horse.
Almost daring herself, she pushed open the door and entered. Not bothering to turn on the lights, her bare feet moved silently across the cold stone floor to the square canvas. She hadn’t worked on it for a month, being too busy with preparations for the spring show, thus there was a sheet in the way. She stood hesitating, her hand poised, fearful to pull the ghostly material off her oil painting.
“Silly coward. It’s only a picture.” Her words echoed hollowly in the glass room. Despite her self-chiding, she stood there, too afraid of removing the sheet. Finally, with a deep sigh, she yanked it off.
Lightning, more distant now, signaled another cell was moving toward them. It flickered several times, the flashes unnaturally illuminating the room. Raven’s breath sucked in and held. She barely saw the part with the mounted warrior, for the eyes held her spellbound. As nature’s fireworks again lit the sky, followed by the loud crash of thunder, she experienced a time slippage. Once more she was sitting in the Lamborghini, staring at Trevelyn’s eyes. Now she knew why they were so familiar. She’d painted them months ago.
I love you. The words the woman spoke in the vision. All the worship, the blackest despair over when she hadn’t heard them in return now flooded Raven. It was nearly too intense to bear. How spirit crushing, to hold such a rare and wonderful thing in your heart and not have it shared! Extreme emotion washed through her, anguish so severe that she folded her arms across her stomach and choked back a sob, fighting to keep from losing herself in the strange madness.
“Raven!”
The vertiginous images and feelings were shoved back to a dark corner in her mind as her head snapped toward the open door. Trevelyn. She swung back to the painting, panicked he’d see. Frantically, she looked around for the sheet and found it fallen to the floor. Chester was sitting in the middle of it, cleaning himself, while Pyewacket had settled down for a nap. She snatched at one corner, trying to dislodge the fat cats, but silly Chester thought it a new game and clung to the sheet, setting his claws. Pye wasn’t moving and was dead weight.
“I’m going to make you two sleep with Marvin if you don’t get off,” she threatened, attempting to pull the sheet away from the obtuse felines.
“Raven! Where are you?” Trev’s voice drew closer. Impatient, perhaps a little worried.
With a second to spare, Raven dropped the sheet and grabbed the easel, turning it about-face so it would be hidden from view. Trev came through the door, a plaid blanket around his shoulders like a cape. Despite her concern over the painting, she had to smile.
“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 hi
s 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.”
Chapter Eleven
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 t
o 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.
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