“A child’s game, rather simple. The deck is one I used to play with when my sisters and I were very small.”
Trev nodded, sitting down on the bed next to her. “I missed that. To tell the truth, I missed a lot of kids’ things when I was growing up.”
“Why?”
“There wasn’t money for silly stuff when I was a child.”
“Silly stuff?”
“Anything not necessary to survival. Does that bother you…that I wasn’t born rich like you?” He was curious about her reply, though seeing how she lived here, the way she sought out the Gypsies for friends, he already had an idea of her answer.
“Ah. That explains your comment about Brishen not being good enough for the Montgomerie sisters.”
Feeling the old defensiveness rising in him, Trev grudgingly conceded. “I suppose. Brishen took one look at me and saw the differences between us. From my point of view, I recognized the similarities in our lives.”
Taking his hand, Raven linked her fingers with his. “Tell me, Trev. You see how I make my home, the simple lifestyle I embrace. I believe many of the things money can buy don’t have much value.”
The answer should’ve reassured his leftover insecurities. Instead, it perversely rankled. “The things I was speaking of were food, clothing—a safe, dry place to sleep. You’d be surprised at the value they can have. You’ve never known what it’s like to go to bed hungry. To wake up even hungrier.”
“It was that bad?” Sympathy threaded her words.
He nodded. “Brishen saw the car, the designer tux and the check I wrote and slapped the label ‘rich man’ on me. And I am, now. Likely, he had it better than I did growing up. The Gypsies are clannish, care for each other. It was just my mother and my brothers. She wasn’t a strong woman.”
“Where was your father?” Raven asked.
A natural question, it nonetheless set off the emotions smoldering inside him. This woman was the granddaughter of the man who had destroyed his father. Oh, Michael Mershan had put a gun to his head and taken his own life, but Sean Montgomerie’s finger was on the trigger. Trev should view Raven as carrying the old man’s taint.
But, that was a sobering thought. Would his children and grandchildren be paying for what he, Des and Jago were doing? Where did it stop?
Leaning close to Raven, he pressed a kiss to her lips. Pulling back, he looked into her haunting eyes. “Make me forget the past, Raven. I need to lose myself in how you make me feel.”
He kissed her again, slowly, gently, relishing her flavor. His sex drive had always been strong, near animalistic, but this gentle contact pushed everything to a new plane. Raven magically soothed the pain and hurt within him. The pleasure, the sensations, moved through him, shifting with a strange warmth that filled every pore. Her hands grabbed the back of his arms, fingers flexing with the need to anchor herself.
Breaking the kiss, he rolled until he could pull Raven atop him. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders; reaching up he fisted his right hand in the thick red mass. His eyes roamed over this special woman, trying to define what set her above all others.
Raven swallowed hard. “Why do you look at me that way?”
He forced a half smile. “Trying to pinpoint what makes you so unique, Raven Montgomerie.”
She shook her head. “Not unique. I’m a copy of Asha. You of all people should understand that.”
“You are no more a clone of Asha than I am exactly like my twin. My brother is the conscience…and I”—Trev resignedly tapped his chest—“am the Big Bad Wolf. We joked over that last night, but it’s very much the truth.”
And wolves mate for life.
Was that what he was doing? Choosing his mate? He didn’t want to consider that possibility. He wanted to forget. Wanted to forget the shame of his childhood. Wanted to forget all about Des and Des’s plans. Wanted to forget what he was doing, how it would affect Raven and her fragile heart.
Taking hold of her upper arms, he pulled her down and kissed her with his emotions unleashed. He wanted to feel the wildness of last night, the fierce power of the storm sweeping all thoughts, questions and worries from his mind.
Giving rein to that, he took hold of the hem of her sweater and pulled it up and over her head with the ease of a magician making a bunny disappear. “If it were only so easy to dispose of everything else we’re wearing!” He started to laugh, only the sound strangled in his throat as he stared at Raven, nude from the hips up. Curving his hand around her narrow waist, he brushed his thumbs over her insy belly button and then slowly up her abdomen. “Wicked minx, you’re not wearing a bra.”
Instead of being proud of her beautiful body, she crossed her arms over her full breasts. “After you didn’t call, I wasn’t expecting you to come. I dress for comfort when I’m on my own.”
He frowned. Her tone sounded almost apologetic. “Hey, why the shyness?”
One shoulder lifted faintly and fell. “I…” She looked down, allowing her hair to spill around her in the manner of a veil. He reached up and raised her chin so he could see her face.
“What’s going on, Raven?”
“Another one of those boring details from the past I would like to forget.”
“Tonight is about forgetting, so out with this one so we can exorcise it, too.”
“I’m not very worldly with men.”
“I gathered that, when Beechcroft called you Miss Semivirgin. The man is a complete arse.”
She nodded. “One of his ways of demoralizing me was to pick at my physical flaws.”
“And your breasts are a flaw?” He couldn’t help it, laughter popped out.
She finally showed some spunk, and thumped him in the chest. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Trevelyn Sinclair!”
“Not at you, love. At the jerk!” He reached out and cupped her breast, feeling its soft heaviness. “When we first danced, I recall having a hard time keeping my eyes from straying to your breasts. My very male brain, which was very turned on, thought they were perfect. And they are, Raven. I know it for sure now.”
And he proceeded to show her just how perfect. First with his hands, strumming his thumbs across her already distended nipples, the crests tightening more with each caress, and then with his mouth. He pulled her toward him, laving one hard nubbin with his tongue, then the other. Her head lolled back, and she rode the sensations washing over her in a wave.
Feeling as if his brain were on a slow boil, Trev gasped for air. “Do you have any idea how you make me feel?”
Her laughter was musical. She flexed her hips where she sat astride him. “Hmm. Yeah, I think I’m sitting on it.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Wicked lass—help me out of my slacks and I’ll give you a full demonstration.”
“Oh, you sweet talker.” Eyes flashing, Raven unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders as he sat up. She slid from the bed and removed her jeans, hers hitting the hardwood floor just before his slacks. “I take it you’re going to be lazy and force me to do all the work?”
Trev held out his arms. “I’m all yours. Do with me as you will.”
“I will a lot, Trevelyn Sinclair.”
The use of the Sinclair name was beginning to feel like fingernails on a blackboard, a constant reminder he wasn’t being truthful with her. In a rush to blot out the overwhelming guilt, Trev grabbed Raven’s arms and pulled her over him, kissing her with the full force of his need for her. He lifted her, impaling her with one smooth, strong thrust—as if he were aiming straight to her heart.
“Take me, ride me.” While those were the words he spoke, if she listened hard enough she might have heard something else.
Love me. Heal me. Save me.
Chapter Fifteen
He ran through the lashing rain, trying to catch her. What a bloody fool he had been! She hadn’t asked anything of him, ever. She simply wanted three little words. Words that would cost him nothing. Words that were in his heart. Why hadn’t he given her that plai
n truth? Why had he kept them locked inside him? Damn, damn and triple damn! His selfishness had sent her running out into the night, and in one of the worst storms he’d seen in his lifetime. You love only yourself, Tashian Dumont. You want my love, crave it, but you give naught in return. Annie’s tearful words echoed in his mind as he struggled to dodge the whipping tree limbs.
Where would she go in this dangerous tempest, and wearing little more than her thin chemise? Nightfall had been warm, as autumn tended to be. A nice soft night. Then the squall had blown in, its icy rain almost daggers against his face. A deep shiver wracked his body. Bloody hell! He had to find her before…
Before it’s too late. The words caused his heart to clench in pain.
He couldn’t lose her. She meant everything to him. He had to find her—
Trevelyn jerked upright in the bed. His heart lurched and thudded to the point it was painful; never had he experienced the like before. Wondering what had set off this reaction, he rubbed the center of his chest. Then, he noticed his whole body was drenched with sweat. Between the sticky perspiration and his elevated heart rate, he could pass for a bloody marathon runner. Only, he’d been sleeping. Which troubled him. Why this nonsense? He’d never been so affected by nightmares.
He amended that. He hadn’t been disturbed by a dream since childhood. As a small boy he’d worried about his mother’s black moods. Once, when he was six years old, she’d swallowed a bottle of aspirin. Des had been furious with her, ranting and screaming one minute, crying and begging the next. It wasn’t until years later that he understood she had tried to kill herself. The police had come, placed her still form in the back of a station wagon and taken her to the hospital; the southern town had been too small for ambulance service. After they’d gone, Des had packed their meager belongings and warned Jago and him to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Their mother had spent her life in fear that U.S. Immigration might send the entire family back to Ireland, or other authorities might take her sons away from her. This irrational paranoia had rooted deeply in him, more than in Des or Jago. Trev’s dreams during that period had evolved into vague, faceless boogeymen coming to take him from his brothers. Des had driven the demons away, saying he would never allow that to happen. And Des had kept his word.
Desmond. Trev ran his hand over his face. He owed Des so much, for all the sacrifices his brother had made.
Fragments of his nightmare floated into his remembrance, oddly about chasing after someone. Annie. But, he had no idea who Annie was or why he’d been pursuing her. Tashian? For some reason that was the name she’d called him. Bizarre, to say the least. He’d never heard the name Tashian before.
He would have dismissed the nightmare, but a lingering panic pulsed through him, spreading anxiety that he’d left something undone with Raven. He glanced to his side to assure himself she was all right. At once a picture of innocence and sensuality, she rested peacefully, curled almost into a fetal position. Fortunately, his dream hadn’t disturbed her. The poor lass was exhausted!
Small wonder. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Not just the physical side, either. Making love with Raven was…more. He loved how they came together, all those sensations magnified because of their rare magical bond. He found it hard to define, but he felt whole when he was with her. She was so beautiful, he wanted to touch her, run his hand down the graceful curve of her spine, assure himself she was real, that this was real. But if he did that, he’d let loose his desire and there’d be no rest for hours.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his black slacks and slid them on. A smile touched his lips as he thought about shifting some of his personal belongings here. While he loved the scent of Raven’s jasmine-scented shampoo on her, he had a feeling it clashed with his masculine sensibilities. He wondered how Raven, used to her contained little world, would view his intrusion.
“This wolf is in and won’t be put out,” he whispered with a note of triumph.
A bathroom was to the right of the bedroom, small, clearly a walk-in closet that had been remade into a half bath with a narrow shower; the tiled stall was barely big enough to accommodate two, but he’d found the close space had a distinct advantage when they’d made love under the slow spray. He hoped Raven would sleep longer, and feared his stirring would disturb her, so instead of heading there he decided to go down to the full bathroom just off the landing. He tiptoed to the door and opened it. Their tails twitching, two grumpy kitty faces stared at him. Obviously, Chester and Pyewacket didn’t enjoy being kept out in the hall.
“Sorry, lads,” he apologized, as he closed the door to prevent them from going in and awakening their mistress. “We men are on our own for now. I’ll toss you some grub after I come down in a bit. In case you get really hungry waiting, it’s my duty to inform you that Atticus isn’t really a cat, as you three seem to think.” They followed on his heels to the bathroom, but he closed the door in their noses. “Sorry, a man needs a bit of privacy now and again—and to be able to take a whiz without sneezing.”
He didn’t bother to switch on the overhead light since the two nightlights—one at each end of the room—gave off enough illumination. Walking to the vanity, he opened the cold water tap. As the sink filled, he stared into the mirror, finding his vision slightly fuzzy around the edges.
“Damn contacts must be bothering me again.” The faintly distorted reflection, looking back at him with accusing eyes, reminded him of Jago. “Yeah, I know. I imagine you’re having a hard time in Kentucky since all these plans won’t sit well with your conscience after coming face-to-face with Asha. I feel anchorless, buffeted in a stormy sea. Talking to Desmond tonight didn’t help, either.”
Trev thought back to the call to his elder brother. Sometime before eleven, Raven had decided to make them a light supper. While she’d been puttering in the kitchen, he’d felt the urgent need to hear Desmond’s voice and seized the chance. The whole world seemed topsy-turvy since meeting Raven. He’d figured nattering with Des would set things to right again.
Ringing Falgannon Isle had been a bit of a pain. The tiny island in the Hebrides was owned by Raven’s oldest sister, BarbaraAnne—affectionately known as B.A.—and the whole bloody island only had three telephones—at the general store, a pub and B.A.’s residence. Trev wasn’t sure where Des had put up once he’d landed. His single brief e-mail from the island gave no clue, simply saying that B.A. was different than he’d expected, though he foresaw no problems with the plans on his end.
“Lucky Des. Unlike me, where problems abound, I fear.”
The call should’ve provided Trev a touchstone to ground himself with the purpose that had driven the three Mershans for decades. Perversely, the brief conversation unsettled him more. Des had been laughing when he’d answered the phone in B.A.’s home—had answered it as “Ms. Montgomerie’s butler speaking.” Trev lacked the ability to describe the impression, just knew that Desmond had sounded different.
“He sounded happy,” he told his likeness.
Trev tried to think back on the times Des had been happy. Really happy. There weren’t many. Desmond had always been fiercely protective of their mother, driven to see the three Mershan brothers rise above the harsh circumstances of the life they’d been forced into after their father’s suicide. Over the years Des had been satisfied, pleased with his successes, even enjoyed the pleasures his vast wealth could afford him. However, had he ever been truly happy? Trev feared the answer was no. Though only on Falgannon Isle a short time, already Raven’s sister was changing his hard-as-stone brother.
“Bloody hell and horse feathers. Agnes was right. What a mess we’ve set into motion.” He shut off the tap and leaned down to push his face under the cool water. He kept it submerged until he needed a breath. Pushing up, he snorted the water from his nose and reached for the blue hand towel in the wooden holder on the wall. Looking at his mirrored image again he asked, “What am I to do?”
“What you should do
and what you will do is a gap wider than the Thames. In the end, you will choose what you always did: to play the selfish fool.” The voice behind him was harsh, yet there was a touch of sadness to it.
His heart lurched, speeding acid through his system. Had Raven somehow found out about Desmond’s plans? About his own deceit? Facing her, the accusation in her beautiful eyes, suddenly seemed more than he could bear. He remained perfectly still, his chest heaving yet unable to draw air.
After a moment, he finally asked, “How long have you known?”
His mind cast back, striving to pinpoint when she could have tumbled onto the damning knowledge, yet he failed to isolate any change or distance in her. Their last time making love had been slow and so poignant that it had left them profoundly shaken.
“Know about your selfish ways?” She laughed, the sound discordant. “Oh, I have always known. Oh, perhaps not at the start. Love blinds a person to what is before their eyes. But you soon delivered the lesson, did you not? You think I would forget? Not for one day did I forget.”
Frowning at the odd words, he turned to face the music. And blinked in shock. No one was there. The door to the bathroom was still closed. Now that he thought about it, the hinges needed oiling. When he’d come in they squeaked, yet no sound warned that Raven had entered the room.
The commode area was partially shielded. Walking to the swinging, five-foot-tall café doors, he stood for a second, debating. Finally taking hold of each side, he jerked them open. The compartment was empty.
“I wonder if small thatched cottages can be haunted.” He sighed and then smiled, hearing a kitty scratching at the doorframe and seeing a gray foot push underneath. “If someone opened it, you can bet those sneeze-makers would be in like a shot. Okay…maybe I’m dreaming and not really awake.”
Going back to the basin, he leaned down and splashed cold water into his face. His movements stilled when prickles of animalistic instinct crawled up his neck. He wasn’t alone. Staying calm, he straightened and reached for the towel to blot his face. Even so, the actions were absentminded, while his eyes searched the mirror for any flicker of change behind him. Feeling silly, he was ready to chide himself for allowing hazy vision and a vivid imagination to get the best of him.
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