FIRST KISS from A WOLF IN WOLF'S CLOTHING
by Deborah Macgillivray
A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing (Book 3 of the Sisters of Colford Hall) Montlake Imprint, Amazon Publishing.
Rain sheeting down upon them, Trev followed steps behind as Raven hurried to the front of the cottage and onto the roofed porch. Twice she tried to pull her hand free from his grip, but he held tight, sensing she was in full retreat and tossing up barriers to avoid inviting him inside. An old Scottish adage spoke that it’s easier to keep a cat out than to put him out. He had a feeling this fey Scots lass now adapted the kernel of wisdom to include wolves as well. Raven was resolute in keeping him outside so she need not confront putting him out. In frankness, she had admitted she did not deal well with conflicts. This Tolkien World she had built far away from everything was a testament to that truth. Only this time, circumstances would force Raven into meeting her hidden desires head on, something she’d been shunning here in her haven against life, a prospect that likely threatened her even more than his presence in her safe, secure domain did. If he’d stayed in the car as she had pointedly suggested, she could’ve escaped without having to handle him― more specifically, face those choices she wasn’t ready for.
Well too bad, Red, I checked that little maneuver, he smirked to himself.
Now, she was attempting another gambit. He watched her stop on the small stoop, turn and block him from coming any farther, deliberately leaving him on the steps in the pouring rain. Silly wench, she hoped by denying him the shelter of the gabled porch that the storm would hasten him back to the car. Pitiful drops of water wouldn’t keep him from this woman. He smiled, and then realized he hadn’t smiled quite like this before― one which seemed to go soul deep. Bloody hell, a whole herd of fire-breathing dragons couldn’t deter him from Raven.
Standing in that old-fashioned cape with the huge floppy hood, and the stoop hardly stopping the slashing rain from whirling around her, Raven appeared ethereal, a sorceress, more than a simple being of this world. She was the Fairy Queen weaving enchantments to trap poor Tamlin’s mind, and just like that besotted Scottish fool, Trev suddenly welcomed her witchy lures. He would slay all the Orcs in Isengard, duel blue-eyed Gypsies, and topple kingdoms for her... he would... feeling ridiculously inane, he closed his eyes and tried to exorcise his mind of these alien thoughts. This night was making him loopy. Fairytales, wolves and Riding Hoods were morphing him into a blethering moron! Long ago, he accepted that he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body― or so he’d thought. If he started to recite, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks...’ he was going home and soak his head!
Oddly, ludicrously, wonderfully, he didn’t feel the rain. It was beyond his explaining, but there was some quality so elemental, nearly supernatural about this night that the storm merely seemed a part of this extraordinary enchantment. Opening his eyes, he put his foot on the top step and then slowly raised himself up, his stare never leaving Raven’s face, cosseted inside the red velvet hood. She was tall, around five-seven, and with her on the porch and he on the step below, that put their eyes on the same level.
Letting go of Raven’s hand, he curled his fingers into his palms to keep from grabbing her. He sighed in frustration. It’s bloody friggin’ tough for a wolf to be gentlemanly.
“Well… um… you should get out of the rain. It’s pouring. Thank you― again― for everything.”
She managed a tight little laugh. Red Riding Hood naively thinking escape was in sight. Struck a mindless tomfool, words seemed outside his grasp. He swallowed hard and then slowly reached up with both hands. The moment lengthened, spun out to where the world ceased to turn on axis. His heart slowed, beating painfully. His fingers took hold of the hood and slowly pushed it off her head, allowing slanting spray to mist upon her long hair.
Spellbound, she stared at him.
All he could think to say was, “You’re beautiful in the rain.” And she was. Sadly, the velvet cape would be ruined, though he deemed it a small price. The image of her haunting face, the power of this point in time, was forevermore seared into his memory. He so wanted to kiss her, taste the cool sweetness of the raindrops on her lips. Instead, he simply remained frozen in this crystalline moment, wondering if he’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Raven’s lashes lowered. He’d seen reflected in her sad eyes that she didn’t believe him. And that made him want to smash that idiot Beechcroft in the face all over again.
His immediate goal was to get inside her cozy little bungalow. Only three little steps to the door. Steps Raven was going to prevent him from traversing if she had her way. If he could achieve that much, then he’d stamp out the seeds of self-doubt, which had taken root within her, teach her how special and rare she was.
“You are, you know.” His thumbs brushed under her chin to gently lift her head. Once more the urge to kiss her slammed through his entire being, tensing muscles and spreading a strange tightness in his chest. “Very beautiful.”
Her lids remained lowered, evading his probing eyes, her voice barely audible over the rain pattering around them. “Please don’t. I told you about me. I’m not the kind of woman a wolf wants. Let me go.”
Her hand shook as she opened the small clutch, frantically searching for her keys. They rattled in her grasp and then slipped through her wet fingers. Before they hit the wooden porch, he snatched them in midair. Her head jerked up and she held out her hand for them. Only, he took that step she didn’t want him to take and levered up on the stoop. She had to back up or their bodies would brush. He offered her an easy smile and moved past her to the door. Raven had just gifted him with the key to inside― literally and figuratively.
“A gentleman always sees a lady to the door.” Recovering a bit of equilibrium, she laughed. “Is that what you are? This night you wear many masks. Devil? Wolf? Gentleman? Which is the real Trevelyn Sinclair?”
Her question hit mark, more than she could ever suspect. Yes, he was wearing a mask tonight, but one even he didn’t recognize. The whole night was a dichotomy of what he had foolishly envisioned would happen. Instead of sweeping Raven off her feet, he’d been sucked up in this confusing, whimsical whirlwind of emotions, dreams and hopes he’d never considered. He’d only had two drinks and that faint buzz had been burned up in his annoying confrontation with Beechcroft.
He was stone cold sober all right. And that’s what scared the bloody hell out of him.
“You might say a bit of all three.” Trev inserted the key in the antiquated lock. His mouth compressed into a frown that this was the only defense she employed against the world, as if she expected no menace would dare invade the bubble protecting her quaint bungalow on the corner of the vast Colford estate. He tried to push the door open, but it held fast― and not from the inadequate lock.
From behind him, Raven suggested, “You have to shove hard against it. In wet weather it sticks.”
Carefully, he laid it across the bench of the entrance hall tree, next to the antique umbrella stand. He swallowed against the tightness cording his throat, desire coursing through his blood until it was hard to think. Turning back to her, he flexed his hands at his side in an effort to cover the trembling.
Trev drew in a slow breath to rein in the spiraling emotions pulsing through him. And not succeeding. He needed to go gentle with this woman; she was unique, extraordinary, and too delicate. Oh, not physically. He had a feeling she could lock those long legs around him and ride him until they both dropped in exhaustion, meeting him stroke-for-stroke... offering all she had and taking everything he could give.
Then, the wolf inside him howled. A violent hunger that refused to be denied. Twenty-four hours ago, it’d never entered his mind he could be concerned about her, fretful over what would happen to Raven because of his actions.
Angry with himself for allowing her this sway over him, he spun her around, intent on taking her mouth in a bruising kiss, unleash the demons clawing at his insides. Let her see the full scale of his craving for her. Instead, he stopped cold, gut punched by her fragile beauty. He simply stared at her, grappling to unravel the specifics of how she affected him, reached into his whole being with a craft that was changing him.
He stepped to her and put one hand lightly at her waist, then lifted the hand on the opposite side, proper stance for a waltz. “Can you not hear it?”
“What, you vexsome wench? Surprised I can waltz?” He twirled her through the doorway and into the open area of the larger green house.
Raven gasped, “You’re making me dizzy.”
“Dizzy? You think you’re dizzy? Woman, you haven’t seen dizzy yet.” He dropped her hand and then scooped her into his arms, turning around and around in circles.
“But?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
“Stay, Trevelyn Sinclair.”
Not giving in to the 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, its fury magnifying with a savage wildness. Never had he felt anything as moving as standing in the center of the glass room with Raven in his arms, and knowing this instance in time was uncommon, pure. All the emotions too much to handle, he just gave over to the magic and Raven.
“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.
Raven’s laughter was soft, husky. “No, duck your head. The door’s opening is a bit low as many thatches are.”
He wanted to study the cozy bedroom that would be a reflection of her character, the space she considered most private. Only, as he watched her huge, unblinking eyes, the curiosity to know all about her was driven from his mind. The one thing he did take note of― and 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 remember some fairytale about the princess placed upon a glass mountain, but caught himself. Too many damn children’s stories with princes, Red Riding Hoods and thoroughly bad wolves kept dancing through his besotted brain. There simply wasn’t room for more!
Despite the thunderous storm overhead, tranquility filled the room, as though time was held at bay in the small bower. He couldn’t envisage a more sensual setting. The heat off her body mixed with the scent of her arousal and the faint hint of her perfume. It filled his mind, more intoxicating than fifteen-year-old The McCallans. Something dark and profound coiled within him as he stared at her, half under him.
“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 the velvet cape. It’s hard to hold onto magic, he supposed. One shoe fell to the floor; then he removed and dropped the other. “Hum, 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.”
“Are your long fingers good with a zipper?” Ignoring his question, she rolled over onto her stomach and exposed her back to him.
She held perfectly still, didn’t draw a breath as he dragged the metal clasp over her hips, 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.
Paperback or Kindle copy available at Amazon.
A Wolf In Wolf’s Clothing
© Deborah Macgillivray, 2013
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved
****GIVEAWAY: You'll have a chance to win a trade-size copy of A Wolf in Wolf's Clothing just for leaving comment. It's that simple. Don't forget to leave your email also so Deborah may contact you if you should win. :) Good Luck!
Deborah pens contemporary romances, The Sisters of Colford Hall – The Invasion of Falgannon Isle, Riding The Thunder, and A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing, and a historical romance series The Dragons of Challon, A Restless Knight, In Her Bed, and One Snowy Knight. She also has an anthology of cat romance, Cat O’ Nine Tales.
Coming books – Redemption, Some Things Never Change, and To Bell The Vampire
Coming books – Redemption, Some Things Never Change, and To Bell The Vampire
You can reach her at: