A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (8 page)

“Tut—my coin, my card,” he joked. His brow quirked when the tarot card was once again The Lovers. Same as he’d drawn before. Only, the fortune on the reverse wasn’t the same. “‘Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing,’” he read aloud.

Raven paled. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then she said, “I told you my twin brothers stacked the deck. You got that card before.”

“The same card, but the fortune was different.” Trev was surprised when all further color seemed to drain from her already wan face. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the first card and read it. “‘The lamb often proves stronger than the wolf.’”

Raven stared at him. Oh boy, she recognized him as a wolf—he could see that thought reflected in her golden-brown eyes. Well, there’d been no disguising that fact, he realized. And when she said nothing, he placed her red velvet cloak about her shoulders.

Something was causing a lump in the collar. Trying to smooth it down, he gently tugged on the material until it was free and then lifted the obstruction to cover Raven’s head.

“How about that, Red? You even have a hood.”

Raven watched the ease with which Trevelyn handled his sleek black roadster. At one with the expensive car, he deftly guided it through the stormy night, almost defying gravity. Shifting gears and spinning the wheel, he easily took the curves down the winding road to Colford Hall. She was used to puttering around in her dilapidated MGB, and now it felt as if she were sailing along in a jet—flying low, as her mum used to call it.

Looking over at the handsome man who set her pulse to pounding, she thought,
All the better to crash and burn.
Though in this instance she meant it figuratively.

The notion might be silly, provoked by the Gypsy’s cards and the references to Trevelyn being a wolf, but there was something intensely feral about this man. Oh, he was a wolf all right. A rogue alpha male on the hunt.

That’s what terrified her. For some reason he had targeted her, and she hadn’t the first clue why. Alec was a bloody bastard, but he was right about one thing: Trevelyn Sinclair could have any woman he wanted. So why did he want her? Rattled, Raven turned to stare out into the night, only to be haunted by his reflection on the rain-streaked window.

Women didn’t often run across men like Trevelyn Sinclair; she had never pinpointed the reason, but it seemed that, as the world increased technologically, the more men lost that warrior’s edge. A power, a strength, a force vital radiated from him. Oh, Sinclair was dressed to perfection in a tuxedo, but this man belonged on the deck of a ship, screaming orders to buccaneers over cannon fire, or in mail and armor, a knight barded for battle and
astride his mighty destrier. There was a sensual, primeval earthiness about him, and dealing with him was way beyond her abilities. Bloody hell, she couldn’t even cope with Alec. Trevelyn Sinclair would wreak twice as much havoc if she dared let him close. If she was fool enough to…

Oh, temptation slithered under her skin. She wanted him—which surprised her. Prior to meeting this unusual stranger, she’d always believed her emotions would have to be fully engaged before any man would receive an invitation to her bed. Trevelyn Sinclair was possibly the exception to the rule. Making love with him would be dancing in a bonfire: she wasn’t sure there’d be anything left when the flame had run its course.

Ill at ease, she pressed a hand to her belly to quiet the butterflies. He made her nervous in ways she didn’t even want to consider.

Breaking the silence, Trev asked, “You’re quiet. Still upset?” He glanced over at her, staring for several seconds, then turned the radio on low.

“I seem to be thanking you for one thing or another this evening. First, giving me the way to save face before Alec, then buying the rocking horse, rescuing me from the idiot and now taking me home. You were right—I shouldn’t be driving. It’s raining too hard, the road is too dark and narrow, and concentration would’ve been difficult for me.” And likely she’d have been crying. Showing a modicum of wisdom, she bit that observation back. She was a coward, but that was her secret. She didn’t want pity from this man.

He took his eyes from the road and allowed them to linger on her. That green stare had a banked sexual heat, but solicitude also flickered there. His salacious look was hard enough on her system, but coupled with concern, it battered down what feeble defenses she could muster.

“You shouldn’t let that creep Beechcroft push your
buttons. He’s not worthy of you and knows it—it’s precisely what has him so ticked off. You give him power when you react as he wants. Take the power back, Raven. Don’t let him win.”

“I know. I don’t handle confrontations well anymore. I never did, really, but since the divorce…” She allowed the sentence to trail off, not wishing to bore him, nor caring to rehash the depressing details. Life would be so much simpler if everyone came with delete buttons like computers. “I suppose I’m the misfit of the family. Runt of the litter. I dislike fighting and shrink from competition, which made it hard growing up a twin and one of seven sisters. My sisters are very…hmm…forceful. In a nice way, of course. Not me. I’m happiest when I can ignore life and its problems. I’m too trusting for my own good, wound easily, deeply. I ‘failed to toughen up,’ as they say.” Her words were a warning to this man—and a plea.

Her eyes shifted to the elegant hand resting lightly on the gearshift. It was a magician’s hand, deft, artful, yet a strong hand you’d expect to see wrapped around the hilt of a claymore. Then she glanced at his much too beautiful face, its strong jaw and luminous all-seeing eyes, and finally the wavy, blue-black hair. Oh, his drop-dead gorgeous looks were enough to fluster her. A woman would have to be comatose not to respond to the carnal aura swirling around Trevelyn. Still, there was something else. He seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t begin to fathom; a sense of déjà vu wrapped around her and made every moment seem a step out of time.

He gave her a cool smile, unruffled by her long appraisal. Arrogant and uncaring that she knew it, Trevelyn Sinclair was clearly at home in his skin. “What you need is a champion to fight life’s battles for you,” he suggested.

“The world has a dearth of paladins,” she countered.

If things appeared too good to be true, they generally were. And Trevelyn Sinclair was way too good to be true. But oh, for a weak moment Raven wanted Trev to be just
how he seemed. For once she yearned to live the fairy tale where Prince Charming would ride up and rescue her, ready to slay dragons and ex-husbands alike. Long ago, she’d learnt life was not that simple.

No, Raven didn’t need any words from any Gypsy tarot echoing through her head to tell her what she already comprehended. She was still half convinced the twins had stacked the deck. It would be just like one of their pranks. But a prank made sense, whereas her suspicions…well, she didn’t want to consider them.

“Drive on past Colford’s entrance,” she instructed, as the towering gates grew visible in the rainy distance. “I don’t live on the main estate, but in a small cottage toward the far end.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, with an enigmatic half smile.

Once more, she suffered questions of how he knew so much about her. Raven admitted, “One wonders why you’re familiar with such details of my life. My shoulder blades itch like a target’s been painted there.”

He gave a soft, throaty laugh that sent a shiver up her spine. “All women have targets. ‘Tis the nature of the game. In this case, however, it’s nothing quite so baffling. The Montgomeries are frequently splashed across the newspapers—in the business and social sections. This charity gala received a lot of coverage. I just moved to the area. It’s a small community, which by nature tends to be incestuous. Gossip is the favorite pastime. Spend an evening down at The Fox and Garter and you’d be surprised how much you can suss out.”

“Generalities—not personal minutiae,” she argued. “A newspaper reporter wouldn’t report me living in the gardener’s cottage.”

“Depends upon the rag, wouldn’t you say? In any case, they don’t employ the local font of knowledge as a housekeeper. Mystery solved…revealing no mystery at all: the woman who cleans my offices is the daughter of Colford’s housekeeper. I also hired her to help me get my things
settled in my new flat, and to come in twice a week to tidy up after me. So let’s say I’ve heard quite a bit about the beautiful Montgomerie sisters, especially Raven.”

“You hired Jilly?”

He nodded. “Hard worker, but her mouth doesn’t come with an off switch, I fear.”

“None that I’ve seen,” Raven agreed. “I grew up playing with Jilly. I suppose my ears should’ve been burning. You must’ve been bored to tears, since my life is rather humdrum.” She could bet Jilly had been entertaining him. Her friend had a penchant for pretty men, and Trevelyn Sinclair was as pretty as they came. Jilly wouldn’t resist the challenge.

Trev tilted his head in a shrug. “Let’s say what I learnt of Raven Montgomerie little prepared me for the mystery of the woman herself.”

Raven’s breath caught and held; she was taken aback by his tone, his words. By the truth in them. She tried to draw a steadying breath but found it futile, as if Trevelyn had sucked all the oxygen from the car interior. The potent male pheromones he exuded simply fried her nervous system.

Smart women, ones with strong survival instincts, learned the hard lesson that pretty men quickly develop tricks to deceive, the right things to say or do, the way to batter down all resistance. It didn’t lessen the effect, just made an inner voice scream not to trust him. Her foolish heart wasn’t listening. Or, worse, in her present mood it didn’t care. She’d been living alone in a small world fashioned from a gardener’s cottage for the last five years, desperately needing that time and space to heal. Only of late, a restlessness was growing within her, one that might see her willing to toss caution to the wind.

“Maybe I’m suicidal,” she muttered, thinking he wouldn’t hear.

“Beg pardon?” By the arch of his brow and the twinkle
in his eyes, it was clear he’d heard perfectly. That keen wolf hearing.

“I said, ‘Maybe slow the car idle,’” she tried to cover. That was so idiotic she nearly winced in pain, only she couldn’t come up with anything else. Ignoring his mildly amused look, she said, “The turnoff is ahead on the left.”

A cell phone rang in the holder mounted on the dashboard. Trev glanced to Raven, hesitated a heartbeat, and then reached for it. Instead of hitting the speaker button, he picked the phone up and put it to his ear. “Hello? Hello?” Frowning, he pulled it away from his head and glared at it. “Odd, I could’ve sworn it was fully charged. Battery’s so down there’s not even warning beeps.”

Raven chuckled. “More likely it’s me being near. I do that to watches, cell phones…” She shrugged, “Technology and I don’t get along.”

“Really?” His too expressive face conveyed he didn’t believe her.

“I’m serious. I can’t wear a watch. It always stops within a few hours. About ten years ago, a jeweler suggested a quartz watch. I purchased one with a lifetime guarantee. Stopped in a week. I sent it in for repairs, they fixed and sent it back. The blasted thing died in two days. I returned it. They said they’d fix it one last time, but not to send it again because I was doing something to abuse the watch, which voided the warranty. The jeweler claimed the crystal was melted. It only ran a day before it stopped. I haven’t worn one since. I ruin cell phones, computers, watches, and oddly, even seem to destroy cars over a period of time. I must’ve replaced the generator on the MGB at least once a year for the past two decades. Did the same with two other cars I owned.”

“Well, if the call was urgent, they’ll ring back.” Putting the phone back into the cradle, Trev asked as he slowed the car, “Is this the turnoff?”

“Yes, go at a crawl. The driveway needs grading again.” But, Raven frowned. Trevelyn’s question sounded as though he already knew the answer and was just going through a pretense. She dismissed the suspicion, fearing she was growing paranoid.

Trev shifted gears and eased into the turn. Rain slashed at the windscreen, leaving it hard to see anything. Poor man winced when the vehicle dragged over a rut.
Men and their babies,
she thought.

He watched her in the dim dashboard light. “Call me curious, but why do you live all the way out here when you could reside in regal splendor at Colford, servants waiting on you hand and foot?”

What to say? One’s divorce and breakdown weren’t exactly ideal topics for an interested woman to discuss with a handsome man. Raven nearly cringed when she considered Jilly’s mouth not only ran at warp speed, but didn’t have any filters. Finally, she decided to answer a question with a question, and in a jesting tone: “You mean, Jilly didn’t tell you?”

He shrugged. “Let’s say I want to hear it from you.”

“The simplified version? I needed space. I come from a large family—which you clearly know—and too many of my sisters and brothers still live there. You’d be surprised: though the manor is huge, it can be hard to find a spot to be alone. My siblings are jokingly called the
meddling
Montgomeries, and boy, do they ever! I wasn’t permitted to sit and feel blue without the whole pack of them rushing in like a troop of clowns from Ringling Brothers to insist I must get happy instantly. I require solitude so I can paint. Their continual interruptions left me frustrated, so I found the solution of moving to the old gardener’s cottage. I always loved the place. It seemed magical to me. As a child I thought it was straight from a Tolkien book. And now the family is close—but not too close.”

“What’s the complicated version?” he prompted, sounding truly interested.

Raven forced a smile. “I shan’t bore you with it. And…it’s simply pouring out, so you don’t have to walk me to the door.”

Swinging the roadster into her driveway, Trevelyn brought it to a halt at the side of the house where she usually parked the MGB, instead of pulling around the circle in front meant for guests. He ignored her suggestion, cut the motor and removed the keys. “I guess I should be thankful your brothers returned the Lamborghini before the night was out.”

“Did they burn up all your petrol?” Raven paused. Skittish, she hoped Trevelyn would let her go. Prayed he’d allow her escape. Then she wouldn’t have to face decisions.

“They left about half a tank.” He gave her a warm grin.

“I’m sure they enjoyed it. Thank you for being so kind. They’re spirited but good lads. You might hit them up for a wash and wax job for payment.” She was jabbering inanely, her hand trembling as she frantically searched for the door handle. She needed to get out and away from this pheromone-saturated air. It was making her woozy and weak.
Hungry.
“Oh, bugger, how does one open a gullwing door?”

Trevelyn reached across her lap and caught her arm. Slowly pulling it to him, he placed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist, his lips searing her flesh like a brand. “Red Riding Hood is to sit while I get out and come around to assist her like a gentleman. I may be a wolf, love, but I am a well-mannered one.”

Lightning crawled across the landscape, striking a tree nearby. In that breathless instant, the inky darkness was vanquished by a blue-white glow, an eerie radiance pouring over everything and leeching the color from all but Trevelyn’s piercing eyes. Time lengthened as she stared at him, held spellbound and unable to breathe. A force slammed into her chest, as if the electrical bolt had struck her. Dizziness swirled through Raven’s brain and body;
she couldn’t move, seeing and yet not wanting to believe. She knew these green eyes only too well. For that jagged fraction of a moment her answer was there, a solution to the unspoken riddle tantalizingly before her, almost within grasp.