Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  At least not until after the wedding.

  She made a U-turn at the next traffic light and headed back toward Marcus’s office building.

  Minutes later she climbed out of the car and retrieved the laptop from the trunk. She wouldn’t stay long, she told herself firmly. No more than ten minutes.

  Her steps were jaunty as she entered the building and rode the elevator to the tenth floor. The thought of seeing Marcus always filled her with breathless anticipation, much as it had that night when she’d showed up at his office wearing nothing but lingerie beneath her trench coat.

  The reception area was empty when she arrived. Samara glanced around in search of Marcus’s receptionist, who didn’t get off until six. Seeing that Laura’s computer was still on, Samara decided she was probably in the restroom.

  She waited around for another minute before heading down the corridor to Marcus’s office. He hadn’t mentioned any evening appointments, so she should be safe.

  As she approached the door she heard the low murmur of voices. Marcus’s deep timbre was followed by a woman’s low, sultry drawl.

  For some reason, the woman’s voice struck Samara as familiar. A foreboding sensation crawled over her and settled in the pit of her stomach. It was the sort of feeling one got before receiving bad news. A second before she stepped through the doorway, she remembered whom the sex-kitten voice belonged to.

  She came to a dead stop.

  The sight that greeted her would be permanently etched into her brain. It was the sight of Marcus and Antoinette Toussaint locked in a passionate kiss. Antoinette sat on his desk, one hand curved possessively around his neck as he stood between her legs.

  Samara blinked in stunned disbelief for a moment, not wanting to accept what she was seeing. Her stomach twisted violently and nausea surged upward.

  At that moment, Marcus glanced up and saw her standing in the doorway. He jerked his head back from Antoinette’s and stepped away from the desk.

  But it was too late. Samara had seen enough. Trembling with outrage, she set the laptop down on the floor and spun on her heel. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  As she stood at the bank of elevators furiously pressing the down button, she heard Marcus in the reception area.

  “I didn’t know she was here, Mr. Wolf,” the receptionist was apologizing. “I stepped away for a minute to use the restroom and— ”

  “Don’t worry about it, Laura.” Marcus pushed through the door and approached Samara.

  Before he could open his mouth, she said icily, “Save it, Marcus. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Let me explain—”

  “What’s to explain? Now I know what really goes on when you’re ‘working late’ at the office!”

  “Come on, Samara, you know it isn’t like that.”

  She whirled on him. “I saw you, Marcus. Do you think I’m dumb and blind?”

  Over his shoulder, she saw Antoinette Toussaint appear in the reception area. The sight of the woman in a stunning leather body suit only fueled Samara’s wrath. She spun around and started for the stairs, refusing to wait around for the elevator with Marcus and his lover.

  Marcus was right on her heels as she yanked open the stairwell door. “Samara, wait! Just listen to me.”

  “No!” She hurried down the steps, cursing her high heels for slowing her escape. On the next landing, Marcus grasped her upper arm and pulled her to a stop. She struggled against him, pummeling his broad chest with her fists. “Let go of me!”

  “Not until you calm down and listen!”

  “Calm down? You want me to calm down? God, I’m such an idiot. I trusted you, Marcus. I trusted you!” Her voice broke and tears stung her eyes.

  Marcus pulled her closer to him. “I wasn’t kissing her, Samara. You have to believe me.”

  Her chest heaved as she glared up at him. “Wait, let me guess. Antoinette was kissing you, but you weren’t kissing her back. Is that about right?”

  “Yes,” Marcus answered, sounding annoyed that she made the scenario sound so implausible.

  “Oh, please! Do you take me for a fool, Marcus?”

  “It’s the truth!”

  “She was sitting on your desk, Marcus. What were you doing while she sat her ass down on your desk, huh?”

  “I’ll admit it looked bad, but nothing happened, Samara. I swear to you.”

  “I don’t believe you. You were kissing her, Marcus. I saw you!”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t believe everything you see.”

  “Don’t give me that!” By now Samara was trembling violently, and she feared that any minute she’d start crying. But she refused to give Marcus that satisfaction. She yanked her arm free and started down the stairs again. “Leave me alone, Marcus. Go back to your sexy supermodel in her Catwoman suit.”

  Marcus swore viciously as he followed her. His Southern accent was more pronounced in his anger. “I don’t want Antoinette Toussaint, I told you that before!”

  “You told me a lot of things before, none of which matter now.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Samara halted mid-step, turned and glared up at him. “It means that it’s over between us, Marcus. We’re finished.”

  He grimaced at the finality of her words, then tried to reach for her again. “Come on, Samara, you don’t mean that.”

  She twisted out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again, or so help me God I’ll kill you!”

  Stunned by the force of her anger, Marcus stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re willing to throw everything away on a simple misunderstanding.”

  “I’m not the one who threw everything away, Marcus. You are.”

  “No, sweetheart, you are. You’ve completely misconstrued the entire situation, and you’re too proud and stubborn to see that.”

  “Go to hell, Marcus.”

  His expression hardened. “Maybe it’s better it happened this way, before we both made the biggest mistake of our lives by getting married.”

  “Amen to that.” Samara’s legs were shaking so badly she was afraid she would collapse. She hoped Marcus couldn’t tell. “Thanks for doing us both a favor, Marcus.”

  His scowl was ferocious. He gave a terse nod of farewell, turned and marched back up the stairs. Samara stood where she was, listening to his receding footsteps above the roar of her hammering heart. Only when she heard the stairwell door clang shut on the tenth floor did she allow a tortured sob to escape.

  She took the elevator down to the lobby and rushed outside to her car. She sped out of the parking lot and got as far as the next street corner before the tears spilled, fast and bitter. She stopped at a red light and banged her fist against the steering wheel.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  1

  What the hell just happened?

  Marcus shook his head as he returned to his office. He couldn’t believe how quickly things had escalated out of control. One minute he’d been discussing wedding plans with his father, the next minute he was having a heated argument with his fiancée.

  Ex-fiancée, he corrected himself. And all because she didn’t trust him.

  Trust. When all was said and done, that’s what it boiled down to. Not Antoinette’s thwarted seduction attempt. Not the seemingly compromising position Marcus had been caught in. Samara’s inability to trust him was the real issue. On some level he’d always known her insecurities would come between them. He hadn’t known, of course, that it would happen so soon. And he’d hoped when the time came, they could work through it together.

  So much for that idea.

  Marcus paced the floor angrily as he replayed the whole scene in his mind. Samara hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself. She’d tried and convicted him without a trial, hurling accusations and insults. But what hurt Marcus the most was her total lack of faith in him. Under the circumstances, he knew he would have been just as furious if the shoe was on the other
foot. God knows he had his own share of trust issues to work through. Stumbling upon Samara in the arms of another man would’ve felt like déjà vu, thrusting him back to his childhood and that fateful afternoon he’d walked in on his mother and her lover.

  Taming the WolfBut if the shoe was on the other foot, he would have given Samara a chance to explain! She hadn’t bothered to grant him even that.

  It was better this way, he told himself.

  No one should have to go through life trying to prove their trustworthiness to another. If he and Samara had gotten married, that’s exactly how it would’ve been. How long could he have put up with constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if his wife was waiting for him to mess up so that she could walk out on him?

  Hell, no. He needed her unconditional trust. If she couldn’t give him that, then there was no point in going through with marriage. A relationship built without trust was doomed for failure.

  With a savage oath, he kicked at the trash container and took no satisfaction in spilling the crumpled paper contents. He sat down at the computer and reopened the case brief he’d been working on before Antoinette interrupted.

  He couldn’t concentrate on a single word.

  Shutting off the computer, Marcus grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase. He paused in the doorway and regarded the laptop Samara had returned. Who told her he needed the damn thing back anyway? He had two others!

  Cursing a blue streak, Marcus picked up the laptop and shoved it inside the mahogany armoire where the others were stored. He strode from the room without bothering to lock up the bureau. If the cleaning people wanted to help themselves to his office equipment, they were more than welcome to it.

  If Marcus never saw another laptop again, it’d be too soon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Y

  ou look like hell.” Samara didn’t look up as Melissa appeared in her doorway the next morning. She pretended to be totally engrossed in her paperwork—although her mind hadn’t processed a single thing.

  She’d cried herself to sleep the night before and awakened with the grit of insomnia in her eyes. Images of Marcus and Antoinette Toussaint had plagued her dreams all night and kept her tossing and turning. Somehow, she’d managed to get dressed and drag herself to the office by seven. But she couldn’t stop staring at the phone. She vacillated between hoping Marcus would call, and wanting him to drop off the face of the earth.

  She was a complete and utter wreck.

  “Seriously though.” Melissa stepped into the office and closed the door. She held a steaming mug of herbal tea in her hand. Her obstetrician had restricted caffeine from her diet since the women in her family had a history of developing hypertension during pregnancy. Melissa hated herbal tea.

  But she had bigger concerns that morning. “What happened last night, Samara?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Samara stared at the report in her hand. The words and figures blurred in her vision. She didn’t realize she was crying until Melissa hastily set down her mug and knelt at her side. She rubbed Samara’s back in soothing circular motions.

  “Shhh. Just take deep breaths. That’s it, just like that.”

  188“I’m such an idiot, Melissa,” Samara blubbered. “I should have known it was too good to be true! I kept thinking that it was, but I went along with it anyway. I’m such a fool. My mother’s right about men. They can’t be trusted—well, except for Gary and Richard Yorkin. And my old friend Walter Floyd. But that’s about it!”

  “What happened between you and Marcus?” Melissa asked gently.

  “What you should be asking is what happened between Marcus and Antoinette Toussaint.”

  Melissa frowned. “Who in the world is Antoinette Toussaint?”

  Samara wiped her tears and told Melissa the whole sordid story. Melissa was livid by the time she finished.

  “I can’t believe he did that to you,” she raged.

  “Believe it. He did.”

  Melissa rose and began pacing before Samara’s desk. “It doesn’t make sense, Samara. From what you’ve told me about Marcus, settling down was the farthest thing from his mind before he met you.”

  Samara sniffled. “And your point is?”

  “Meeting you changed him. He asked you to marry him, for God’s sake! Men like Marcus Wolf don’t take that kind of step unless they’re absolutely certain they’ve met the right woman. Why would he just throw it all away on some bimbo?”

  “You haven’t seen this particular bimbo,” Samara grumbled. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous. An Amazon. Sex on stilts.”

  “And I suppose you’re chopped liver?” Melissa sounded exasperated. “Come on, Samara, you know it takes a whole lot more than good looks to snare a man like Marcus Wolf. Give him more credit than that.”

  Samara glared at her friend. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

  “Sweetie, you know I’m always in your corner. But I just don’t want to see you make a huge mistake that you might regret someday— when it’s too late.”

  “I think it already is. I told him to go to hell and thanked him for doing us both a favor by cheating.”

  “Ouch.” Melissa cringed. “Well, you were rightfully upset. People say things in the heat of the moment they don’t always mean.”

  “Oh, I meant it.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Look, Melissa, I know you mean well. But you weren’t there. You didn’t see what I did.” Samara closed her eyes as if to shut out the painful memory of Marcus’s betrayal.

  Melissa’s expression softened. “And you’re absolutely sure it looked like he was kissing her back?”

  “It did to me. And even if he wasn’t, what was that hussy doing on his desk in the first place? Something was definitely going on between them.” Her mouth curved in a mirthless smile. “You know what’s so ironic? The first time Marcus and I ever made love was in his office. Afterward I teased him about being the proverbial boss that fools around in his office right under his employees’ noses. We got a good little chuckle out of it. I guess the joke’s on me, huh?”

  “Oh, Samara,” Melissa said sadly.

  “It’s all right, Melissa. I don’t want you worrying about me. Stress isn’t good for you or the baby. I’ll be fine. I’m in a lot of pain right now, but I’ll get over it eventually. I have no other choice.”

  Melissa looked unconvinced. “Can you promise me one thing?”

  “What’s that?”

  “If Marcus calls and wants to talk, will you at least hear him out? Give him a chance to better explain himself?”

  Samara knew that the odds of Marcus ever calling her again were one in a million. The final look he’d given her had been lethal and filled with contempt. It was nearly her undoing.

  “Promise me?” Melissa pressed.

  “I promise.” But beneath the pile of paperwork on her desk, Samara’s fingers were crossed.

  1

  Over the next two weeks, Samara threw herself into work like never before. Each day she worked for thirteen hours straight, from sunrise to sundown. By the time she crawled home, she was too exhausted to do much more than eat a solitary meal, shower and hit the sack. Her body ached almost as badly as her heart, which worked to her advantage. She was so physically drained that she actually managed to grab more than a few hours of sleep.

  She checked her voice mail messages on a nightly basis, hoping to hear Marcus’s voice.

  He didn’t call.

  On her first weekend without him, Melissa invited her over for dinner. Samara knew her friend’s hospitality had more to do with pity than a burning desire for Samara’s company. Samara hadn’t been much company since she and Marcus broke up.

  She accepted the invitation out of politeness, then wished she hadn’t.

  Gary and Melissa Matthews lived in Adams Morgan, an upscale Washington, D.C. neighborhood. Their spacious apartment was filled with more than conte
mporary furnishings and the original African oil paintings they enjoyed collecting. Their home was filled with love.

  Throughout the evening, Gary treated Melissa with the utmost affection and concern. He was attentive to her needs—adjusting the thermostat if she were cold, retrieving her bedroom slippers when her feet began to ache, refilling her juice to ensure that she got her daily recommended fluid intake. When they smiled at each other, no one else seemed to exist.

  The couple’s obvious contentment was an excruciating reminder of Samara’s own loss. Although she didn’t begrudge her friends their happiness, she found it hard not to envy them.

  She wanted to go home.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the community fund-raiser in two weeks?” Melissa asked after dinner. Gary had disappeared into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Sounds of an NBA basketball game poured from the small color television tucked into a corner.

  Samara groaned loudly. She’d almost forgotten about the mayor’s biannual fund-raiser banquet. Richard Yorkin had attended without fail as the Institute’s representative. As the new executive director, it was Samara’s responsibility to continue the tradition. When the invitation arrived several weeks ago, she’d stuck it inside her desk drawer and forgotten all about it.

  She sent Melissa a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go in my place?”

  “I knew you would ask, and the answer is no. You know how important it is for the Institute to be represented at these functions. If there are ever any extra funds in the city budget, we want to be seriously considered as recipients. And Mayor Williams expects to meet and greet FYI’s executive director, not their accountant.”

  “I know, I know.” Samara sighed gloomily. “It’s just that I’m not feeling very sociable these days.”

  “All the more reason to get out there and mingle. You never know, Samara. Dressing up and attending some black-tie affair might do you a world of good.”

  “If you say so. Will you at least go with me in case I need a little handholding? You know I’m not very good at these social mixers.”