A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing by Deborah MacGillivray Page B

on her basketball-shaped belly, Ellen Beechcroft grinned and hugged her husband, and the pompous bastard puffed up his chest as if he were buying her the Hope Diamond. In an odd way, Trev felt sorry for her. He wondered if she had any idea Beechcroft wasn’t buying the horse for their baby, but to show off in front of Raven and her family. The man was grandstanding.
    “Any more bids? Come, come! This lifelike horse is handcrafted, with silver fittings for bridle and stirrups. The eyes are deep blue opals, alone valued at twice the current bid. This is a gift for your children today and for their children tomorrow. A truly rare treasure. But, no further bids? Very well. Going once…”
    Raven vibrated, the tremor moving through her hand and into Trev’s arm. At the corner of her eye was an unshed tear.
    “Going twice…”
    Ellen Beechcroft bounced on her feet, giddy with anticipation.
    “Five thousand!” Trev called out, causing all heads to turn—including Raven’s. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering. Her expression was so poignant, something inside Trev’s chest shifted, and he experienced a tightness he’d never before known.
    “The gentleman offers five thousand pounds. Obviously a man who understands dreams.” The auctioneer nodded, pleased. “Do I hear six? If I don’t hear six…going once—”
    “Six,” Alec Beechcroft barked.
    Trev was only warming up. “Seven!”
    The auctioneer gave him a nod of approval. “Our lover of dreams says seven. Is there an eight?”
    “Eight,” Beechcroft growled, glaring at Trev.
    “If looks could kill.” Trev laughed—then upped the amount. “Ten!”
    That elicited a ripple of murmuring through the crowd. People glanced between the two men determined to own the rocking horse.
    Beechcroft’s face flushed red with anger. His wife’s mouth was hanging open, and she glanced uneasily toward Raven and then back to her husband, confused. She clearly wanted the horse, but not quite sure it was worth this rising price.
    “Fifteen,” Alec countered, plainly set on winning.
    But the bastard hadn’t run into a Mershan before. Mershans didn’t fool around. “Fifty thousand pounds!” Trev called out. Let Beechcroft trump that.
    The crowd gasped then began a loud hubbub, wondering who Trev was and if Alec would counter. Better sense not being his strong suit, the idiot fully intended on doing just that. He took a step forward and opened his mouth, but his wife caught his sleeve and jerked, hard. Strident words were traded by the couple, and Beechcroft didn’t tender a counterbid. The auctioneer looked at him. Alec’s mouth compressed into a deep frown, but finally he gave his head a shake.
    “Going once at fifty thousand pounds. Twice. Sold —to the gentleman who cherishes dreams.” The auctioneer touched his fingers to his forehead in a salute. Part of the crowd clapped to say well done.
    Raven hugged Trev’s arm and leaned against him, almost hiding her face. After a moment she lifted her gaze to him. Tears were still in her eyes, but they were tears of happiness. Again, he became lost in her glistening gaze, to the point everything else simply faded away. As the crystalline droplets streaked down her cheeks, his hand raised to gently cup her exquisite face. Trev brushed the fallen tear away with his thumb pad—craved to kiss them away.
    Paganne tugged on his other arm, drawing his attention. “I could kiss you!” she said.
    “Forget you— I’m going to kiss him!” Brishen stepped in front of Paganne and did just that. He grabbed Trev in a bear hug and then planted a noisy kiss on the side of his face. “Do you know what you just did?”
    Trev chuckled, unsure. “Bought a wooden horse, I presumed.”
    “You just made me the artist of a rocking pony that sold for fifty thousand pounds! That puts me on the map. You might be a Gadjo, but you’re a damn pretty one. Maybe you have a little Roma blood in your beautiful veins, after all,