A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (10 page)

Oh, so tantalizing, that
almost.
She wanted him to shift his caress, waited for it. Her breath caught on a raspy hitch, willing him to move his hands just a little higher. Instead, he held at the brink, his thumbs brushing the soft under-swells as he allowed the heady drug of anticipation to course through them both. Inhaling the scent off her body, he gave over to her witchcraft. His inner voice screamed
he
wasn’t taking
her
, that she was claiming his soul, yet he was powerless to stop her. He did not even want to stop her.

Angry with himself for allowing her such sway, he spun Raven around, intent on taking her mouth in a bruising kiss and unleashing the demons clawing at his insides. He’d let her see the full scale of his craving for her. Instead he stopped cold, gut punched by her fragile beauty. He simply stared, grappling to unravel the specifics of how she affected him, reaching with her craft into his whole being to change his core.

What made Raven different than other women? He’d been with some who were more beautiful—well, who were perhaps
as
beautiful. Only, as he looked at Raven’s face, he had a hard time recalling any of them.

He’d aimed to take her hard and fast, with them barely half out of their clothes, on the floor or up against the wall. Raw. Primitive. Animalistic. He’d meant to deliberately drag down these spiraling emotions to an animalistic level where he felt more in control. He was a wolf, all right—one that didn’t even make a pretence of wearing sheep’s clothing. Primeval mating instincts surged in his blood, nearly overpowering him. Still, another force trumped his intent.

Giving her a half bow, he asked, “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Her lips twitched into a fleeting smile. “Back to the knight in shining armor?”

“Safer than a wolf, no?” he teased, trying to ease the sexual tension. Impossible. His body refused to listen.

In a dramatic gesture, he leaned down, snatched up her clutch and the cards and set them on the table. “Dance with me, Raven.”

Her eyes were pulled to the tarot cards on the narrow table against the back of the sofa, lingered on the naked man and woman, the lovers intertwined. “There’s no music,” she said.

Despite Raven’s air of weakness, Trev had a notion she would have dealt with him if he had come at her like a steamroller. It’s what she expected. Perhaps she might reluctantly embrace that headlong leap into the flames, because if he played the Big Bad Wolf she could surrender to his overwhelming charisma. The choice would be taken from her. But this switch back to manners was confusing Raven, maybe scaring her in another way: She’d have to make a conscious decision to take him into her bed.

He stepped forward and put one hand lightly at her waist, then lifted his other into the proper stance for a waltz. “Can you not hear it?”

Her perplexity deepened. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Come, come, you’re not trying.
There.
Just audible over the rain. Fairy music. Like tiny chimes of a music box. The Wee Ones play for us on this magical night.”

Trev was kidding; however, as he encouraged Raven to strain to hear them, he almost did catch the soft tinkles of the notes of a melody. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him. Anything seemed possible tonight.

She laughed as he swept her into a series of rocking steps.

“What, you vexsome wench? Surprised I can waltz?” He twirled her through a doorway and into the open area of the larger greenhouse.

“I don’t think vexsome is a word.”

“See, I’ve created one especially for you!” Trev spun her across the stone slab floor, and under the canopy of glass as the storm raged all around.

Raven gasped. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Dizzy? You think you’re dizzy? Woman, you haven’t seen dizzy.” He dropped her hand and then scooped her into his arms, turning them around and around in circles.

“What are you doing, Trevelyn Sinclair?” Her hands clutched his shoulders, desperate.

He smiled. “Why, I’m sweeping you off your feet.”

Their laughter echoed against the glass walls as he kept rotating them, but finally he slowed and their mirth died. In the center of the glasshouse, amidst her ferns and flowering plants, Trev couldn’t think of anyplace on earth he’d rather be. Rapt, they stared at each other, silently speaking volumes yet unable to find actual words to set them on the proper course.

“I could kiss you good night, leave, and then call you tomorrow. Ask you out for a date, bring you roses. But…”

“But?” she prompted in a breathless whisper.

“I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with you and fully explore the magic of this night. It’s not a come-on, but I’ve never experienced an evening quite like this. My instincts drive me to hold on to the last minute of something so rare.” The words almost seemed as though someone else had spoken them. Even so, deep down Trev knew he meant every one. Desperate to cling to each second, he didn’t want dawn to arrive and banish the darkness, was frightened all these feelings would vanish like a puff of fog in the harsh reality of the morning light.

He wasn’t sure if Raven believed him. Such sentiments sounded foreign coming from his lips. While they were
dancing at the gala she’d displayed a jaundiced eye to romance and assumed he was handing her a line. Would Raven take a chance now and trust him? For, despite whatever pale aims that propelled them to this byroad, he did mean his words: he didn’t want the enchantment of this night to end.

When she didn’t say anything, he asked, scared of her reply, “Shall I leave?”

Nibbling the corner of her mouth, Raven reached up and pushed an errant lock off his forehead. Clearly enthralled, her dark eyes traced the lines of his face. Her hand slowly fell to his cheek, which she stroked with her thumb. “Stay, Trevelyn Sinclair.”

She wouldn’t have to ask twice. He had played the gentleman and given her an out, something he couldn’t begin to explain to himself. So be it. There was no turning back for either of them. He tilted his head and very lightly brushed his lips against hers, savored the softness of her mouth. Not giving in to his overpowering hunger, he gently kissed her, feeling the world shift under his feet.

Fingers of lightning arced around the greenhouse, as if the storm fed off the emotions rising within them. Never had he felt anything as wildly moving as standing in the center of this glass room with Raven in his arms, knowing this instant in time was pure and unique. All the emotion was too much to handle, so he just gave over to the magic.

The fingers of her right hand wove into his hair, clutching those curls; her left arm slid over his shoulder. Raven opened her mouth, and her wicked, clever tongue ran over the curve of his lower lip. He thought he couldn’t get any harder? What a joke. His erection bucked in agony, and all the blood left his head in a whoosh.

Breaking the kiss, he groaned. “No tongues.”

“No tongues?” Confused, she blinked.

He chuckled. “Well, not until I get you in the bedroom.”

“Down the hall—and the stairs are on the right, Mr. Wolf.” Placing her head on his shoulder, she playfully nipped the side of his neck.

His heart pounding with the force of his desire, Trev carried Raven through the darkened house and up the L-shaped stairs. Oddly, he again felt the slippage of time: he was a conquering warrior carrying his damsel to safety in his bower. A shiver rippled up his spine, as if he’d done this before in some distant age. Only, as he looked down at the woman he held, her hair was black, black as his own, long, wavy and cascading free. It caused him to pause before the bedroom door in an attempt to blink away the intruding images.

“Duck.” Raven’s voice finally made Trev realize he’d been standing, locked in the strange spell. He gave a shake of his head to realign his thoughts. Still, he frowned. Never before had he been given to flights of fancy. Casting his mind back, he couldn’t ever recall experiencing any. Yet, his sense of déjà vu was so strong.

“Duck? I thought I was a wolf,” he joked, striving for a sense of normalcy.

Raven’s laughter was soft, husky. “No—duck your head. The door’s opening is a bit low, as many thatches are.”

Turning sideways to protect her feet, he danced through the door, stooping to avoid bumping his noggin; then he spun them to the bed, which they fell upon. Their laughter echoed through the room but faded as awe of the very special moment filled them. They were strangers, yes, but this choice would bind them and make them more. So much more. They’d be lovers, just like the man and woman in the tarot.

Trev wanted to study this cozy bedroom that would be a reflection of her character, this space she’d consider most private. Only, as he watched Raven’s huge, unblinking eyes, that curiosity was driven from his mind. The one thing he did take note of, a detail that shouldn’t surprise
him, given the rest of the house: the back slant of the room’s roof was glass. He started to recall a fairy tale about a princess placed upon a glass mountain, but caught himself. There were already too many damn children’s stories running around his besotted brain; there simply wasn’t room for more!

Despite the thunder overhead, a tranquility filled the room, as though time was held at bay in Raven’s small bower. He couldn’t envision a more sensual setting. The heat off her body mixed with the scent of her arousal and the faint hint of perfume. It filled his mind, more intoxicating than fifteen-year-old Macallan. Something dark and profound coiled within him as he stared at her where she lay half under him. Something terrifying.

“Allow me, Miss Riding Hood.” He inched down the bed to where he could slip off her red satin slippers. Not glass, alas, they were ruined by the rain like her velvet cape. It was hard to hold on to magic, he supposed. One shoe fell to the floor; then he removed and dropped the other. “Hmm. This is similar to unwrapping a Christmas present. Where do I start? The shoes and the cape are damaged from the rain. It’d be a shame to damage this beautiful dress as well. I believe my clever little hands detected a zipper while we were dancing…”

Raven reached out and took his left hand between hers. She ran her thumb back and forth over his palm, raising deep prickles on his scalp. Never would he have thought such a simple gesture could be so damn arousing! His groin cramped with the thick blood of his desire. She stroked the backs of his fingers. “Clever? Perhaps. But hardly little. Warrior’s hands, yet hands blessed with the grace of a magician or a pianist.”

He reached out and ran his thumb across her lower lip. “You know what they say about men with long fingers.”

Ignoring his question, she rolled over onto her stomach and exposed her back. “Are they good with a zipper?”

His hands were unsteady as he spread them across her bare shoulders. Moving down the smooth flesh, he located and took hold of the zipper tab, slowly pulling it along the path of her spine. She held perfectly still, didn’t draw a breath as he dragged the metal clasp over her waist, but tensed as he placed a kiss to the center of her back. He grinned against her flesh because no strapless bra crossed its perfect curve.

“Oh, fairy godmothers must like Big Bad Wolves,” he teased.

Rotating onto her back, Raven placed her arm across her bare breasts, a shield against his hungry gaze, as he peeled the dress down her body. She lifted her hips for him to drag the garment free, which was almost his undoing. Clutching the gown in his hands he stood, forgetting to breathe. Raven was left in French-cut panties and sheer red stockings held up by old-fashioned Victorian garters. Not lacy ones. No, those would little suit Raven’s style.

Absently, he draped her dress over the foot of the brass bed and sat down by her legs. Placing a hand on her knee, he glided it up to the garter on her thigh—just a small strip of velvet tied with a string bow. Simple, but oh so sexy.

“Oh, Red, you do like to play with fire.”

Still unaware of the power of her allure, of her feminine perfection, Raven gave an uneasy shrug. “I started not to wear them, but Britt insisted the garters went with the dress.”

“Oh, they most definitely go. Remind me to send sister Britt a dozen white roses in the morning.” Trev ran his finger around the garter, tempted to pull the string. “Nope. I think they’ll stay. Hold it for later. Anticipation can be so…intoxicating.”

Raven reached up, took hold of the end of his tie and gave a tug. “Unwrapping things can be fun.”

“It can indeed. You, Red, have permission to unwrap me all you wish.”

She started on the studs of his shirt—which popped and went flying across the room. “Oops. Sorry!”

“Never mind. Trifles, sweet witch. Mere trifles.”

A shiver crawled over his skin as she pushed his shirt open and placed her cool hands on the plane of his chest. She was nervous, her cold hands a clue to the workings of her mind. He had a suspicion that her beautiful body would betray her thoughts in dozens of ways. As she had said, she never developed that shield against the world. It would be his endless delight to uncover each telling secret.

He leaned forward, hovering just above her, to relish the rise of male dominance feeding off her female surrender—a mating rite as old as the dawn of time. As he lowered himself down, he caught her breath and made it his, then settled his lips upon her mouth. Their kiss hit his bloodstream, more potent than any narcotic.

Being a newly reformed wolf, he planned on taking this slow, no matter the cost to him, wanting this special night to wash away the scars caused by that jerk Beechcroft. He was here wearing a mask, but he could give her
that
much. Desperately he yearned to awaken this Sleeping Beauty—

Grimacing, he gave himself a mental kick. No more damn fairy tales! This was reality, not some child’s dream. When all the chips fell, Raven would be hurt by him and his deceit. The very least he could do was put her needs before his own and not trifle with fantasies.

His no longer slumbering conscience once more reared its head, warning him to pull back before it was too late. Raven had known no part in what caused his father’s death. She was an innocent. Using this gentle woman was wrong. So very wrong.