Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  “So they want you to come put out the fires.” Sterling grunted his mild disapproval. “Son, you’ve come a long way from leasing an office space the size of a broom closet and doing pro bono work in exchange for client referrals. You are the founder and CEO of a thriving legal practice—the Atlanta division rakes in millions, and I don’t doubt the new branch will do the same. You left the Atlanta firm in the hands of four very capable attorneys. At this point, the last thing you should be doing is flying back and forth between offices to do a little handholding. If anything, you should be taking more of a behind-the-scenes role and enjoying the fruits of your labor, the way most people in your position would do. I read about them all the time in the Wall Street Journal, these enterprising young fellas who start their own businesses. Once they’ve achieved success, they take more of a backseat role in the company and spend most of their time golfing and sailing on their luxury yachts.”

  “Dad,” Marcus said dryly, “you know I never opened the practice just to become a figurehead. I like litigating, and I enjoy interacting with my clients and working on their behalf.”

  “But at the expense of a personal life?”

  Marcus rubbed his temple wearily. “We’re not going to have this discussion today, Dad.” There was enough of an edge in his voice to warn his father off.

  Sterling, to his credit, took the hint. “Did your brother tell you he’s seeing someone? She comes into his restaurant pretty regularly with her clients. I think she’s an investment broker or something. Anyway, she seems like a nice enough young lady, though she’s probably not the type I would’ve chosen for Michael. A bit highfalutin’, if you ask me.”

  “I’m sure Mike won’t ask you,” Marcus drawled, wry humor curving his mouth.

  “Why? Because my marriage failed, therefore I can’t be a credible authority on such matters?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, Dad.”

  “I know, I know.” Sterling Wolf pushed out a deep, heavy sigh. “Your mother called today. She said she’d been trying to reach you for weeks and wanted to get your new number. I told her you’d only been in D.C. for a few weeks settling in.”

  Marcus stiffened. When he didn’t immediately respond, his father quietly continued, “I gave her your number, son. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Marcus clenched his jaw. “That’s fine,” he said shortly.

  “She might be going with Grant to Baltimore in a few weeks for some sort of medical conference at Johns Hopkins. She was hoping to see you then.”

  Anger threaded through Marcus’s body, but he controlled it with practice. “If I’m not too busy.”

  “Make time, son,” Sterling gently implored. “She’s your mother.”

  So many things hovered bitterly on the tip of Marcus’s tongue. He held them carefully in check. “I’ve gotta run, Dad. Got some case briefs to finish reading before a meeting this afternoon.”

  “Sure, I understand.” Sterling Wolf knew better than anyone how Marcus felt about his mother. Since the divorce, Sterling had been trying unsuccessfully to repair the breach between mother and son. “I’ll talk to you when I get back from my trip?”

  “Of course. Have a good time, Dad. Catch a big one for me.”

  “Will do. Love you, son.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Marcus hung up the phone, then closed his eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to shut out the memories that had haunted him for the last twenty-five years.

  Try as he might, he’d never been able to erase the memory of coming home early from school one afternoon and catching his mother in the arms of another man. It had taken all of her tearful pleas to keep an enraged Marcus from pulverizing her lover, a surgeon at the hospital where she worked. The coward beat a hasty retreat while Celeste Wolf wrestled her ten-year-old son to the floor, restraining him with a strength borne of sheer desperation.

  But it hadn’t mattered at that point anyway. Just as the rage had quickly consumed Marcus, he soon lay spent in his mother’s arms, filled with a crushing despair, knowing that their lives would never be the same again.

  “Baby, please,” Celeste had sobbed. “Please try to understand. I didn’t know you would be home early! I never would have let you see me with Grant that way if I had known!”

  Marcus untangled himself and got slowly to his feet. He couldn’t even look at her. His sweet, beautiful mother doing unspeakable things with another man in his father’s house.

  His throat felt raw when he finally spoke. “Does Dad know?”

  She hesitated, pulling her satin robe protectively around her. “I was going to tell him, Marcus. I swear.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he deserves to know—”

  “No!” he roared, and she jumped. “I meant why’d you do it? Why, Ma?”

  Tears rolled down Celeste Wolf’s face, smearing her mascara. “Marcus, there are so many things about your father and me that you don’t understand. We’ve been having problems—”

  “So you brought another man in here?”

  “Baby, please listen to me. I’m your mother—”

  The icy, unforgiving look on Marcus’s face had stopped her cold. He stood over her with clenched fists, half man and half wounded boy. When he spoke, his voice was flat and cold. “I don’t have a mother anymore.”

  She gasped. “Marcus, baby, please!” Desperate, she hurled herself at his legs, but he turned sharply on his heel and walked out, slamming the front door so hard that the family portraits on the wall rattled and fell.

  Even now Marcus’s gut tightened in anger.

  Sterling Wolf had been shattered by his wife’s infidelity. Following the divorce, Marcus and his brother had watched helplessly as their father lapsed into depression, throwing himself into work like never before. He was never negligent as a parent. He’d attended their basketball games whenever possible, and stayed on them about getting good grades and making something of themselves. And he’d taken them camping and fishing every summer.

  But Sterling was never the same after his wife’s betrayal.

  Although her absence from their lives gave him an opportunity to grow closer to his sons, he firmly believed that the bond between mother and child should never be broken. So he’d made excuses for Celeste whenever she forgot her sons’ birthdays or missed important events in their lives, like Michael’s championship basketball game in which he’d been named MVP. Or Marcus’s graduation from law school, which coincided with her vacation with her new husband.

  Even if Marcus could have forgiven his mother those transgressions, he would never forgive her for betraying his father. For causing irreparable damage to their family.

  For rendering Marcus incapable of ever trusting another woman’s love.

  Oh, he wasn’t a misogynist or anything crazy like that. Sterling had raised his sons to be gentlemen, to treat females with the utmost respect. Marcus loved women of all shapes and sizes, and had enjoyed his fair share of lovers. He especially appreciated those who understood when it was time to move on, who weren’t determined to suck more out of him than he was willing to give. Marcus had no intention of settling down with anyone. Not any time soon, and possibly never. Considering how his own father’s marriage had ended, Marcus figured it wasn’t worth the risk. He didn’t need the aggravation of a broken heart or shattered dreams. And he was just superstitious enough to believe in history repeating itself.

  The reality was that his success attracted all types of women, many of whom were after his bank account and not much else. God knows he’d encountered more than enough of them in his life. Even Samara, who could have her pick of any man she wanted, had an ulterior motive when she’d approached Marcus on Monday night. He wasn’t mad at her or anything. But he couldn’t let himself forget that. Because as soon as he let his guard down, he’d be hers for the taking. Just as she’d subdued that wild tiger during the fashion show, she would tame Marcus.

  No way in hell would he ever let himself be tamed by
any woman.

  Not even a fine ass woman like Samara Layton.

  1

  Samara had made up her mind. Tonight, on a night when the moon shone bright and full in the sky, she was going to catch a wolf.

  Marcus Wolf, to be exact.

  She figured she’d waited an appropriate length of time— twenty-four hours—to prove she wasn’t offering sex as payment for the generous donation he’d given FYI. And even if twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time, she didn’t care. For once in her life, she was going after what she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.

  She’d set the plan in motion by calling his office that afternoon. His receptionist had put her through almost immediately.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Marcus greeted her, the husky timbre of his voice pouring heat into her ear. “I was just thinking about you.”

  Samara’s nipples got hard. She licked her lips. “Were you?”

  “Yeah. You left your attaché case in my car. I figured you’d probably want it back at some point.”

  She chuckled softly. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I was going to stop by your office today to pick it up, but I wanted to find out when you’d be there.”

  “I have a meeting in half an hour. But I should be back around five-thirty, and then I’ll probably be here for the rest of the night buried in paperwork.”

  Or buried in me. Samara smiled wickedly at the thought. “That works for me. I have a ton of things to do before I leave here anyway. If I drop by around seven, would that be too late?”

  “Not at all,” Marcus murmured. “I’ll be here.”

  After Samara hung up the phone, she finished what she’d been working on until five o’clock. Then she grabbed her belongings and left, surprising her employees, who were used to their boss pulling late nights at the office.

  She’d spent a productive day making phone calls and drafting letters to neighborhood associations and corporations that had expressed an interest in participating in the Youth for the Arts and Literacy project. Now that FYI had the necessary funds to officially launch the venture, there was a lot or work to do.

  But not tonight, thought Samara, climbing into her Avalon. She’d spent the last two years pouring blood, sweat and tears into preserving the Institute’s legacy of community service, doing whatever was necessary to keep the organization afloat. Dinner with Marcus last night had been about business.

  Tonight was strictly for pleasure.

  When she arrived home, she filled her tub with scented bath crystals from Victoria’s Secret and took a hot bath. When she’d finished, she rubbed mango body butter all over herself, slipped into the sexiest lingerie she owned, then stepped into a pair of sixinch stiletto heels she’d once bought on a whim and never really intended to wear. The shoes were downright lethal to walk in, but years of runway training—courtesy of her mother—had given Samara the confidence and skill to walk in just about anything. And her legs looked positively fierce in the stiletto heels, if she didn’t say so herself.

  Slicking her lips with red and finger-combing her hair, Samara donned her black Burberry trench coat, cinched the belt around her waist, then left the house humming Beyoncé’s “Naughty Girl.”

  Marcus’s law firm was strategically located on the northeast end of Massachusetts Avenue—close enough to the city’s political presence and Capitol Hillers, but easily accessible to the historic H Street urban corridor with its disenfranchised residents. His practice specialized in civil litigation on behalf of plaintiffs in personal injury, wrongful death, medical malpractice, environmental and products liability, defamation and a number of other tort cases.

  The firm occupied the entire tenth floor of a large glass office building. Samara boarded the elevator. As she watched each passing floor number light up, anticipation grew within her until it was a throbbing ache between her thighs. She was horny as hell, but Marcus Wolf was the only man on earth who could satisfy her hunger.

  Just seeing his name prominently displayed on the double glass doors made her body tingle all over. THE LAW OFFICES OF MARCUS WOLF & ASSOCIATES.

  Watch out, counselor. Court is now in session.

  Samara pushed open the door and entered the large reception area. Although it was after hours, a solitary lamp glowed from a table in the far corner of the room. Behind the U-shaped reception desk, boxes containing manila folders and office supplies waited to be unpacked and filed. Lush landscapes and seascapes captured on canvas hung on the gallery-white walls, which looked freshly painted.

  Stepping further into the office, Samara called out, “Marcus?”

  After another moment of silence, he answered, “Come on back, Samara.”

  Taking a deep breath, she started down the corridor. As she walked, her heels sank into a thick pile of Berber that absorbed her footfalls.

  Marcus’s office was located at the end of the hallway, confirmed by the brass nameplate on the door that read MARCUS WOLF, J.D., ESQ., FOUNDER AND CEO.

  The man himself was seated behind an enormous mahogany desk in a large office suite featuring mahogany-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an impressive view of the downtown skyline, now shadowed in nightfall. More cardboard boxes were piled on the floor and on a round worktable in the middle of the room.

  Marcus was on the phone with a client. When he glanced up and saw Samara standing in the doorway, he went very still. Her nipples grew erect as his dark eyes slowly raked over her, taking in her long bare legs and sexy stiletto heels. She could tell, by the way his lids grew hooded, that he liked what he saw.

  She couldn’t wait to show him more.

  “Thanks again for calling, Mr. Toussaint,” Marcus said into the phone. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

  Samara stepped into the office as he hung up the phone and slowly rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off hers. He’d shed his suit jacket and tie, and the sleeves of his gray pinstriped shirt were rolled to his elbows. He looked breathtakingly masculine, and sexy as all get out.

  “You should know that the doors were unlocked,” she told him, toying with her belt strap. “If I’d been some deranged defendant who’d lost to you in court, you’d be in trouble right now, Mr. Wolf.”

  His mouth twitched. “Is that right?” he murmured, rounding the desk to walk toward her. With each step that brought him closer, her heart drummed wildly in anticipation. When he’d reached her, he gazed down at her. “And what about you, Ms. Layton? Am I in any danger with you?”

  Samara licked her lips into a sultry smile. “You tell me.” Without another word, she untied her trench coat and let it fall open to reveal her half-naked body.

  Marcus’s eyes widened, and he swore softly under his breath. His gaze devoured her like she was the last morsel of food on a starving man’s plate.

  “You like?” she whispered seductively.

  He nodded wordlessly, his heavy-lidded eyes following her hands as she moved them slowly across her flat, softly muscled belly and up toward her ribcage. When she reached the underside of her breasts, she paused, then slowly, tantalizingly, squeezed herself.

  Marcus closed his eyes and groaned as if he were in pain. “Samara…”

  She loved the way he said her name, especially now, when he was so turned on she could feel the heat radiating from his body. It aroused her to know she could wield this power over him, this gorgeous, powerful man who could have any woman he wanted.

  “Open your eyes, Marcus,” she softly commanded.

  His thick, ebony lashes lifted to reveal eyes that glittered with desire. She felt a shiver of anticipation for what was to come.

  Holding his gaze, she slid the trench coat from her shoulders with deliberate slowness and let it fall to the floor around her. He made a rough, inarticulate sound, then reached out and grabbed her, hauling her into his arms and kissing her so hungrily her head spun. With a soft moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck and feasted on his lips and tongue until they were both groaning wi
th need.

  Breaking the kiss, Samara reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. He watched her, his lids at half-mast, his breathing shallow and ragged. When she’d finished her task, he shrugged out of his shirt and impatiently tossed it aside, then reached for her again.

  But Samara had other ideas. Evading his grasp, she turned and crossed to the door with a provocative sway of her hips, feeling his burning gaze on her scantily clad body. Because she was a workaholic, she didn’t get to the gym as often as she would’ve liked, but she knew she looked good in the skimpy lingerie she wore, with her round breasts, shapely ass and long, curvy legs.

  She closed and locked the door, just in case the cleaning crew hadn’t finished their nightly rounds yet. She didn’t want anything or anyone to interrupt the business she and Marcus were about to conduct.

  As she turned and started back across the room, he watched her like a ravenous wolf about to pounce on its prey. With his chest bared, he was a magnificent sight to behold, with beautiful mahogany skin and muscles that rippled over broad shoulders and an impressively sculpted abdomen. Just looking at him made Samara want to go for a long, hard ride astride him. Her breath quickened at the thought.

  Reaching him, she kissed his soft lips, then skated her open mouth along the rugged curve of his jaw. He cupped her bottom as she rained hot kisses down the smooth hardness of his chest. When she drew a dark nipple into her mouth, he shuddered. She laved and suckled the flat bud with her tongue until it hardened in response.

  “Samara,” Marcus said, low and hoarse. “I—”

  She pressed a finger against his lips, silencing him. Smoldering dark eyes followed her as she knelt in front of him and slowly unzipped his pants. She felt him tense as she reached inside his boxers, and then he groaned as her hand closed around his throbbing erection, freeing him. Just as she’d suspected, the man was hung, mouthwateringly so.

  She felt a rush of heat between her thighs when she raised her gaze to his, and watched him watching her as she grasped the base of his long, thick penis and flicked her tongue over the head, snakelike. He sucked in a sharp breath.