Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  “All right, Marcus. I’ll go to Atlanta with you.” She chuckled quietly. “I can hardly refuse the man who single-handedly bailed my employer out of financial ruin.”

  Marcus grinned, not above using her gratitude to his advantage, if that’s what it took to get her on the plane with him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight. And pack something dressy. I’m going to take you to my brother’s restaurant.”

  “Your brother owns a restaurant?”

  He nodded. “It’s called Wolf’s Soul. Saturday night marks the fourth year since it opened. I’d like you to commemorate the special occasion with me.”

  She smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  So was Marcus. She had no idea just how much.

  1

  Samara couldn’t believe what an incredible week she was having.

  First, the Institute had received the necessary funds to stay in business. And she’d had the privilege of informing nine employees that they wouldn’t have to start looking for another job.

  And then she’d experienced the most incredible sex of her life, having more orgasms in one night than she’d had in five years.

  Now she had a romantic weekend getaway to look forward to.

  Life didn’t get any better than this, and she had Marcus Wolf to thank on all counts.

  “Does that smile mean its safe to show my face?”

  Samara glanced up from sifting through a pile of quarterly reports to find Melissa hovering uncertainly in the doorway of her office.

  Samara scowled at her. “Just so you know, I didn’t appreciate being tricked into having lunch with Paul.”

  “I know,” Melissa groaned, looking guilty as she stepped into the office. “For the record, I felt really horrible about doing that to you. But it wasn’t my idea.”

  Samara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Whose idea was it?” Melissa swallowed hard. “Um, Gary’s.”

  “I hope you’re ready to become a widow,” Samara grumbled, “because when I get my hands on your husband, I’m going to kill him. Actually, I should kill both of you, because you should have known better than to set me up like that. Why in the world did you agree to such a thing, Melissa?”

  “Paul covered for Gary on a big project a few weeks ago while he was out sick with the flu. Gary wanted to do something nice for him in return, and he knows how much Paul likes you.”

  “Which is exactly why I’ve never gone out with Paul,” Samara said, exasperated. “I don’t want to lead him on, and I think what you guys did today was incredibly unfair to him—to both of us. Not to mention the fact that Marcus was there with a client, and I felt really awkward when he came over to say hello. I mean, we’re not officially dating or anything, but that might change in the near future. Being caught on a ‘date’ with another man is not the best way to start a relationship.”

  Melissa sighed heavily. “I know. I’m truly sorry, Samara. And so is Gary.”

  “You should be,” Samara snapped. “I would never do that to you. To either of you.”

  “I’m really sorry. If it makes any difference, I guess I didn’t realize that you and Marcus were getting serious. If I’d known, I never would’ve agreed to Gary’s idea. How can we make it up to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Samara muttered darkly. “Give me a few days to come up with something really diabolical.”

  Melissa grinned, relieved. “Fair enough. In the meantime, we’d love to have you over for dinner this weekend. We’ll make whatever you want, and I promise Paul will be nowhere in sight.”

  “Sounds tempting, but I can’t make it this weekend.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you must know, I’m going out of town.” She hesitated. “With Marcus.”

  Melissa’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. We’re going to Atlanta, and that’s all I know at this point so don’t ask me a million questions.”

  Melissa grinned knowingly. “So you and Marcus Wolf are getting serious about each other. You just met on Saturday, and you’re already taking trips together?”

  Samara smiled sheepishly. “I know it sounds crazy, Melissa. I can’t really explain it myself.”

  “Girl, no explanation necessary. He’s Marcus Wolf—enough said.”

  Long after Melissa left her office, Samara couldn’t stop reflecting on their conversation. Melissa was right. Things were moving fast between Marcus and Samara, and it was totally out of character for her. The Samara everyone knew—hell, the Samara she knew—didn’t do the things she’d done with Marcus over the past week.

  Granted, Samara was no wide-eyed innocent little girl. She’d been curious about sex ever since she was a little girl, when she’d accidentally walked in on her mother and her latest beau getting it on in the shower. At the age of sixteen, while traveling overseas with Asha, she’d lost her virginity to a smooth-talking Belgian boy who’d introduced her to the heady delights of French kissing—and a number of other things.

  Samara had always maintained a healthy attitude about sex. It was meant to be enjoyed. Although in her experience, not enough men seemed to grasp the concept of how to actually make it enjoyable.

  Thank God Marcus did.

  Still, it would be foolish to fall for him. Men like Marcus Wolf didn’t commit to monogamous relationships. They played the field, running through women faster than water through a colander, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. And when these men finally decided to settle down—if they ever settled down—they married trophy wives, and kept a string of mistresses on the side. Samara had

  Taming the Wolf

  no interest in becoming someone’s trophy wife or brokenhearted exlover. She was too smart for that. Life had taught her the dangers of surrendering her heart to anyone. The first man who’d betrayed her had been her very own father. From all accounts, Nathaniel Layton was a kind, decent man who’d done the right thing by marrying the girl he’d accidentally impregnated. Yet he hadn’t even stuck around for Samara’s birth. He’d packed his belongings and stole away like a thief in the night, never looking back. Not caring that he left two shattered lives in his wake, that his departure would set a course in motion of heartache and disillusionment.

  Samara would not make the same mistake her mother had. She wouldn’t leave herself vulnerable to any man, no matter how generous, compelling and sexy he was.

  She’d enjoy this little fling with Marcus, and when it was over, she’d walk away with her dignity—and her heart—intact.

  Her very survival depended on it.

  Chapter Eight

  B

  y nine o’clock Saturday morning, Marcus and Samara were aboard his private jet bound for Atlanta. Samara looked incredibly sexy in an orange tube top and a pair of low-rise blue jeans that fit her like a glove and had Marcus itching to peel it off her body and eat her like a Dove bar. Her healthy black hair was neatly braided and hung in a thick plait between her shoulder blades. Marcus thought she looked as delicious as the soft shade of raisin lip-gloss she wore, the moist sheen making her lips appear even juicier than usual.

  A vision of her mouth wrapped around his penis gave him an instant erection. He shifted slightly in the cushioned seat, wondering if he’d be able to keep his hands off her until they reached their destination. It was only a two-hour flight. But he was so horny, even that seemed too long to wait.

  Oblivious to his predicament, Samara was staring out the window at tufts of white clouds interspersed with patches of pale blue sky. “No matter how many times I traveled as a child,” she murmured, “I never got quite used to being on a plane.”

  Marcus leaned toward her. “But you’re all right now?” he said, both question and gentle assurance.

  Samara turned to look at him. “I’m fine. But you should probably get the Dramamine from my carry-on, just in case.” At his slightly alarmed expression, she laughed and covered his hand with hers, warm satin sliding over his skin and into his bones. “Relax, Marcus. It w
as a joke.”

  His mouth curved in a slow grin. “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  94“Just for that, I should keep the little gift I brought for you.” She looked at him in surprise. “You brought me a gift?” He nodded. “Close your eyes.” As she did, he reached under his

  seat and withdrew a rectangular box containing the beaded African necklace she’d been admiring yesterday. “Don’t peek,” he reminded her, then smiled as she squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. He reached around her, clasping the necklace around her throat.

  “There,” he murmured. “Now you can look.” She opened her eyes, then squealed in shock when she saw the necklace around her throat. “Oh, Marcus! It’s beautiful! I was admiring it yesterday at the bazaar. How did you—”

  He chuckled softly. “I was there, remember?”

  She smiled, gently fingering the exotic beads circling her slender throat. The necklace looked even better nestled against her beautiful brown skin. “You shouldn’t have bought this. It was ridiculously expensive, and God knows you’ve already given me enough money.”

  “I gave the Institute money,” Marcus corrected her. “And don’t tell me how to spend my money, woman.”

  The look she gave him was so tender, his throat went dry. Man, she’s low maintenance, he silently marveled. He’d heard of women who didn’t bat an eyelash at receiving $20,000 diamond earrings.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” Samara said softly. “This was incredibly sweet of you. I’ll never forget it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said huskily. “You look like a Nubian goddess. That’s what I thought of you when you first appeared onstage at the fashion show.”

  She chuckled grimly. “I don’t even want to know what you thought of me after you met me.”

  He grinned. “I wouldn’t tell you anyway,” he said with a mischievous wink. “Too X-rated.”

  She laughed, her cheeks flushing as she settled back against her seat.

  Marcus stretched out his long legs in the spacious cabin. “So you traveled a lot as a child. With your mother?”

  Samara nodded. “She often took me with her on photo shoots. We went everywhere. From Versailles to Tokyo to Sydney, you name it.”

  “That must have been exciting.”

  She shrugged, gazing out the window. “It had its moments. After a while though, I simply craved the stability of my grandmother’s house. I got homesick a lot.”

  “That’s understandable.” Marcus studied her rigid posture, reading the nonverbal language. It was a topic she didn’t discuss often and probably with good reason. Although he knew very little about the fashion industry, he could only imagine how overwhelming the lifestyle must be—especially to a kid forced to keep up with the frenetic pace.

  “Did you ever want to follow your mother into the fashion business?”

  “Once. A long, long time ago.” She turned to look at him, surprising him with the frankness of her next words. “You’ve probably already figured out that my mother and I aren’t close, not even remotely. She thinks I should take more of an active role in her company; I disagree. When I say this to people, they think I’m insane. After all, what sane individual would turn down the opportunity to call their own shots at a multimillion-dollar empire? What sane individual wouldn’t leap at the chance to live in the spotlight, to enjoy a jet-setting lifestyle?”

  Marcus met her heated gaze calmly. “I don’t think you’re insane.”

  Her eyes grew soft, her smile warm with gratitude. The combination hit him squarely in the chest. “That’s why you’re different, Marcus.”

  “So are you, baby girl. And that’s what makes you special. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  Damn, why had he said that? The more she looked at him like that, with those mesmerizing dark eyes and bewitching smile, the more he felt himself falling under her spell.

  Clearing his throat, he continued, “Walter Floyd tells me your mother used to work for him. That’s how he met you.”

  Samara nodded. “My mother was working as a maid for a family in Philadelphia when Walt hired her to manage his store part-time. She’d been married and divorced at a very young age. She did what she could to keep a roof over our heads, but she had her pride too. When her employer made a sexual advance one day, my mother told him off—and we got thrown out of their house. For about two weeks, we’d sneak into Walt’s shop after closing time and sleep in the storeroom. And then one day he arrived earlier than usual and caught us fast asleep on the floor. He and his wife were kind enough to take us in for a while, until my mother finally worked up the courage to return home to D.C. to accept help from her mother.”

  Her low chuckle was mirthless. “You can imagine how shocked my grandmother was to discover that the daughter she’d sent off to college had not only gotten married and divorced, but was now herself a mother.”

  “Your mother kept your existence a secret?” Marcus asked, unable to mask his surprise. “How’d she pull that off?”

  “By telling her mother that she really liked Philadelphia and planned to remain there after college. By inventing stories of study abroad internships whenever my grandmother wanted to visit her at school. Their relationship had been strained to begin anyway because they could never see eye to eye on anything. Once my mother left home for college, it was that much easier for them to grow further apart.” Samara gazed out the window, absently fingering her necklace. “I guess my mother and I are repeating the same vicious cycle.”

  Marcus fell silent, wanting to offer her some measure of comfort but not knowing how. While her story saddened him, it also strengthened his conviction that a relationship between them could never work. Samara had suffered enough hardship in her life. She didn’t need the added burden of being involved with a man who could never love her as completely as she deserved, who would bring his own set of emotional baggage to the table.

  They were both damaged goods. Nothing could ever come of their attraction to each other, no matter how intense it was.

  But that’s okay, Marcus told himself. He and Samara were two mature, consenting adults enjoying a mutually satisfying relationship. As long as they kept their expectations simple, there was no reason they couldn’t continue seeing, and satisfying each other, for a long time.

  A very long time, he amended, watching Samara’s round, curvy bottom as she excused herself to use the restroom. He felt a straining at his zipper and realized that at the rate he was going, it would take twice as long as usual to get this particular woman out of his system.

  1

  When Samara returned from using the restroom, Marcus was setting out breakfast on the small cherry table across the aisle from their seats.

  She paused to admire the sight of him in a black T-shirt and faded jeans that clung to the corded muscles of his thighs and hugged an ass you could bounce quarters off. It was the first time she’d ever seen him out of a suit—except, of course, when he’d been gloriously naked and lying on top of her.

  He turned at that moment and caught her drooling over his butt. The answering hunger in his dark eyes made a heat pool between her legs.

  To hell with breakfast, she thought. The only thing she had an appetite for was the man standing before her. She couldn’t remember who moved first. The next thing she knew, she and Marcus were kissing and frantically undressing each other. Clothes went flying across the cabin. Hard, urgent fingers bit into her flesh as Marcus knelt, gripping the waistband of her jeans and panties and dragging them off her body. With a ragged groan, he buried his face in her abdomen, his warm breath fanning the flames licking through her like wildfire.

  When he stood, lifting her into his arms, she locked her legs around his waist and closed her eyes. She heard a condom package tear, then cried out as he impaled her with one deep, powerful stroke.

  They tumbled backward, Samara landing on top of him as they fell into one of the seats. She straddled him, bracing her hands on his big, muscled shoul
ders as he grasped her buttocks. He thrust rhythmically inside her, hot and huge, whispering erotic promises that singed her cheeks and left her quivering.

  Up and down she slid on him, riding him, their bodies making wet slapping sounds as sweat gathered on their skin. Their coupling was rough, elemental, purely carnal. With each desperate thrust, the burning ache between her legs intensified, driving her toward a shattering climax.

  She leaned down letting strands of her loosened hair brush his nipples, then moaning as he reached up, flicked his wet tongue over her distended nipples. She threw back her head and arched backward as he feasted on her breasts, setting her whole body on fire. It was too much. She never wanted their lovemaking to end.

  Marcus reached up, cradling the back of her head and bringing their mouths together for a hot, mind-numbing kiss that left her panting for more.

  “Look at us.” His voice was a rough, husky command. “Then look at me. I want to see your face when you cum.”

  She shivered at his words, then let her eyes wander downward to where their bodies joined. She watched in breathless fascination as his thick, dark penis slid in and out of her. Aroused by what she saw, she began to move faster and faster, gliding up and slamming down the rigid length of his shaft until her inner muscles began to clench spasmodically around him. Their gazes locked. She called his name hoarsely as they exploded in unison, soaring higher than any airplane could take them.

  1

  Wolf’s Soul was located in the hub of downtown Atlanta, just a few blocks from the famed Fox Theater. Marcus and Samara had barely entered the restaurant that evening before people started greeting them. Stylishly dressed men approached to exchange vigorous handshakes with Marcus while beautiful women slid coy smiles at him. Marcus moved easily through the crowd as he greeted old friends from Morehouse, clients of the Atlanta firm and former business associates, keeping one hand at the small of Samara’s back the entire time.