Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  “You’ll be fine. But, yes, I will accompany you. Gary, too. Maybe Paul Borden could even come as your date.” When Samara opened her mouth to protest, Melissa rushed on, “Don’t worry, it won’t be like a real date! It’s common for friends to escort each other to formal affairs. No one likes to show up at these things without dates.”

  “I don’t mind,” Samara countered grumpily.

  “You will if Marcus Wolf shows up with that bimbo on his arm. Sorry,” she added when Samara flinched, “but it’s the truth. If you want to show him that you’ve moved on with your life, this is as good a start as any.”

  Samara reflected on that conversation the entire ride home. As much as she hoped Marcus didn’t show up at the banquet with Antoinette Toussaint, she knew it was highly possible. If the two hadn’t been involved before last week, they were definitely an item now. Men like Marcus Wolf didn’t skulk around licking their wounds. And women like Antoinette Toussaint didn’t wait long to go after what they wanted. Samara had cleared the path for the other woman to move in for the kill. If Marcus’s ego was feeling the slightest bit bruised, he’d be Antoinette’s for the taking.

  Sickened by the thought, Samara parked her car and trudged inside her house.

  1

  As soon as Marcus got home from work on Monday evening, he stripped out of his suit and changed into sweats, then left the penthouse and drove to Rock Creek Park for a run. He needed to clear his head, and his nightly workout with the weight equipment at his place wasn’t going to cut it.

  He headed onto one of the narrow trails and joined the steady flow of joggers, runners and power walkers jockeying for position. The air was still damp and humid from the showers that had pelted the city that afternoon. The surrounding trees dripped and the grass at the edge of the footpath was muddy. The clouds hung low and heavy, making the night appear later than it was, and threatening more rain.

  Marcus’s thoughts raced a mile a minute as he ran. He’d been operating on nothing but sheer adrenaline for the past week. Sleep eluded him at nights, and eating had become little more than a mechanical function. He had to keep reminding himself that without nutritional sustenance, he couldn’t operate at his maximum capacity. And if that happened, his clients suffered. If his clients suffered, business suffered.

  Marcus didn’t need any more suffering in his life. Losing Samara was more than enough for him to handle at the moment.

  Donovan and Timothy had been trying, unsuccessfully, to get Marcus to open up about his feelings. They’d heard about what happened that evening and didn’t need more details. All they wanted to know was what Marcus planned to do about the situation.

  Marcus hadn’t decided.

  Between endless meetings and conference calls, he’d found himself staring at the phone. On several occasions he’d contemplated calling Samara. He’d even gotten as far as picking up the phone and dialing nine digits. But before he could bring himself to punch in the final number, his pride kicked in and he hung up in disgust. Why should he make the first move? She was the one who’d ended their relationship, not him. She was the one who’d ruthlessly told him to go to hell. The ball was in her court. If she opted out of the match, so be it.

  Besides, he hadn’t decided whether or not he was ready to forgive her.

  Marcus was so absorbed in his musings that he didn’t notice when it started to rain. It was only when another runner jostled him as she scurried off the footpath that Marcus became aware of his surroundings. He reversed direction and started for his car, in no particular hurry.

  As he walked, he saw a young couple with a small red-haired child in tow. They’d been enjoying an evening stroll in the park when the showers started. Instead of dashing for cover, they continued their leisurely pace. Laughing, they held their faces toward the sky and collected rainwater in their open mouths.

  Marcus’s steps slowed as he stared at the little family. As he watched, the couple grabbed both of the child’s hands and hoisted her between them. She giggled and squealed in delight as they swung her high in the air.

  Marcus’s heart constricted painfully in his chest. He came to a complete standstill, hands braced on his hips as the rain soaked him to the bone. He didn’t care. In that moment he realized what he wanted more than anything. A family of his own. A wife and child to return to at the end of each workday.

  A family to make his house a home.

  But these things weren’t meant to be. Not unless he settled for someone other than Samara.

  Marcus closed his eyes and lifted his face to the warm spring rain.

  The only woman he wanted was Samara. But maybe it was time to accept the possibility that he might never have her. And if that was the case, he’d have to learn to move on.

  He walked back to his car and drove home.

  No sooner had he peeled off his drenched sweatshirt and turned on the faucet for a hot shower did the doorbell ring.

  For a moment he wondered if Samara had been conjured up by his thoughts. His pulse accelerated.

  He grabbed a towel and went to answer the door, mopping at his damp head as he walked.

  But it wasn’t Samara who waited on the other side of the door.

  Antoinette Toussaint stood there looking vastly different from the way he’d last seen her. She’d traded in the leather body suit for a snug pair of denim jeans and a simple white shirt knotted at the waist. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that made her appear more youthful, almost vulnerable. And she wore a lot less makeup—not that she needed much to begin with.

  The transformation was like night and day.

  Marcus propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and regarded her lazily from beneath his eyelashes. “Don’t tell me. You were in the neighborhood and decided to stop by my house.”

  Antoinette smiled winsomely. “Actually, Marcus, I came out of my way just to see you,” she admitted. “I wanted to apologize for what happened last week. I was way out of line for coming on to you like that, and I’m sorry if I messed things up between you and your girlfriend. If you want, I could talk to her and straighten things out between the two of you.”

  His mouth twitched. “Thanks for the offer, Antoinette, but I think you’re the last person Samara wants to hear from. Next to me, that is.”

  “I’m really sorry. I’ve been feeling incredibly guilty ever since it happened.”

  And pigs could really fly. “How’d you get up here? Wait, let me guess. You charmed your way past the security guard.”

  “There are times when it pays to be a fashion model.”

  “Hmm. I suppose I should be grateful you’re not a serial killer.”

  Antoinette grinned. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  “As long as it doesn’t happen again,” Marcus said evenly.

  “You have my word.” She swept an appreciative look across his bare, muscled chest. “Mind if I come inside for a minute?”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  She pouted. “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No. And if it’s all the same to you, I have an appointment with a hot shower that shouldn’t be kept waiting much longer.” He started to close the door.

  Antoinette sighed dramatically. “It’s just as well, I suppose. I don’t trust myself not to sneak into the shower while you’re in there and have my way with you.”

  Marcus chuckled in spite of himself. “Good night, Antoinette. Go home.” He closed the door on her sultry laughter.

  He waited until he’d reached the bathroom before removing his sweatpants. And just in case Antoinette had sweet-talked a spare key to his penthouse out of the security guard, he locked the bathroom door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The mayor’s biannual community fund-raiser banquet was held at the opulent Omni Shoreham Hotel in Washington, D.C. Crystal chandeliers glistened from vaulted ceilings as

  white-jacketed waiters served exotic hors d’oeuvres on silver trays. Linen-covered tables with elegant cen
terpieces were arranged in a semicircle, leaving the middle of the floor open for dancing, milling around and the all-important networking. Receiving a formal invitation to the event was considered a major coup in most social circles. Ticket prices were astronomical, and the closer one sat to the mayor, the more one paid. Proceeds from the fund-raiser were donated to various charitable and community organizations.

  All of D.C.’s movers and shakers were in attendance. Local businessmen, politicians, and civic and community leaders milled about in formal attire. Armed with business cards and plastic smiles, they worked the room making contacts and vying for the television news cameras, hoping their rehearsed sound bites would make the eleven o’clock broadcasts.

  It was exactly the sort of pretentious gathering Samara detested. Melissa nudged her as they made their way around the ballroom. “Stop fidgeting. It makes you look bored.”

  “I wonder why,” Samara murmured.

  “Even if you are bored, you’re not supposed to show it. Here comes Alberta Graves. Smile.”

  Samara assumed the appropriate expression and exchanged pleasantries with the D.C. Council chairwoman. When Alberta Graves moved off to greet other guests, Melissa sent Samara an approving nod.

  “You’re getting better at this. There’s hope for you yet.”

  Maureen Smith“Gee, thanks.”

  “How’re you holding up?”

  Samara didn’t have to ask what her friend meant. She’d heard

  through the grapevine that Marcus was expected to be in attendance that evening. He’d been invited as one of the mayor’s personal guests.

  So far he hadn’t arrived. She hoped she could duck out before he did.

  “Just relax,” Melissa reminded her for the umpteenth time. “You look fabulous. But I’ve already told you that.”

  Samara glanced down at herself. She wore a black chiffon creation from her mother’s spring collection. Provocative, sleek and sophisticated, the gown accentuated the firm roundness of her breasts and sleek torso. One shoulder was left completely bare before the silk material skimmed down to her shapely waist and flared from the knees. After much deliberation, she’d decided to wear her hair loose and parted down the center. The front edges had been bent with a flat iron to achieve a trendy feathered look. She told herself the decision to wear her hair down had nothing to do with Marcus liking it better that way.

  She’d never been a very good liar—not even to herself.

  She smiled at Melissa, who was understated elegance in black crepe. “You don’t clean up too bad yourself, Mrs. Matthews.”

  Melissa grimaced. “My feet are killing me in these heels. I swear, I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next seven months of this swollen-ankle business.”

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Nice try. Once we greet Mayor Williams, we can take a break.”

  Samara peered through the crowd to see a line of people waiting to talk to the mayor. Her heart sank.

  “On second thought,” Melissa said as she spied the long procession, “We can catch up to him later. Gives me a good excuse to keep you here longer. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the longing stares you’ve been sending toward the exit. Let me repeat myself.

  199We’re not leaving this shindig until you’ve formally introduced yourself to the mayor. And definitely not until I’ve gorged myself on that scrumptious-looking food.”

  Samara followed the direction of her friend’s hungry gaze. Long serving tables were laden with everything from succulent prime rib au jus to smoked salmon. Unlike Melissa, the sight of all that food didn’t make Samara want to stuff herself. If anything, she felt slightly nauseous. She looked away with a mild shudder.

  Gary and Paul Borden stood in unison as the two women returned to the table. Both men looked handsome and debonair in black tuxedoes, their wingtips polished to a shine. They helped the women into their seats.

  Paul smiled warmly at Samara. “We were just saying how lucky we are to have accompanied two of the most beautiful women here tonight.”

  Melissa beamed with pleasure. “Isn’t that sweet?” she said to Samara.

  Samara had misgivings about inviting Paul to the banquet for fear of leading him on. But so far he’d been nothing but a gentleman. Since he hadn’t called her after their last lunch together, she wondered if he’d finally lost interest in her. She hoped so. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  About the time Samara was beginning to relax, she glanced up and froze.

  There, standing across the room with the mayor and several city councilmen, was Marcus. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that fit his tall, muscular frame to mouthwatering perfection. He looked like he had just stepped from the cover of GQ, right down to the hand thrust carelessly into one pocket. With little or no effort, he was the epitome of masculine power and raw magnetism.

  The sight of him took her breath away. She didn’t know how on earth she’d missed his arrival, but now that he was there, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. And she didn’t have to look around the crowded ballroom to know that she wasn’t the only woman with that problem.

  Samara willed him to look her way but was afraid of what would happen if he did.

  And then it happened.

  As if in slow motion, he lifted those fathomless black eyes and looked right at her. Her heart thudded as hard as if he’d actually reached out and touched her. The moments that passed while they stared at each other seemed like an eternity.

  A flash of color to his right drew Samara’s eye. Her heart plummeted at the sight of Antoinette Toussaint, resplendent in gossamer gold satin. As Samara watched, Marcus bent his head toward hers so that the woman could murmur something into his ear.

  Samara looked away quickly, but not before Melissa caught her eye. Her expression was sympathetic. Are you okay? she mouthed.

  Samara nodded jerkily. She was not okay, but she saw no point in broadcasting her misery to everyone else at their table.

  Paul snagged a fluted glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. He looked sullen.

  Dinner followed the mayor’s opening remarks. Samara couldn’t force down more than a few bites of the lavish offerings. When she excused herself to use the ladies room, Melissa stood as well.

  Samara laughed in spite of herself. “No, sit and finish your dinner. Let’s dispel the myth that women always have to go to the bathroom in pairs.”

  Melissa scowled at her but complied.

  Only a few other women occupied the luxurious marble bathroom. Samara walked to the sink, moistened a paper towel and pressed it to her flushed cheeks. She felt like she was coming down with the flu. As soon as she got home, she would take something and hopefully nip the virus in the bud. It was her own fault for not taking better care of herself.

  When she raised her eyes to the mirror, her reflection was joined by Antoinette Toussaint’s.

  Oh, great. Just what she needed—a cat fight.

  Cool amber eyes assessed her. “Samara, right? Imagine us running into each other again. This is—what—the third time in less than three weeks?”

  “Something like that,” Samara answered in a tight, controlled voice.

  Antoinette eyed her critically. “You don’t look too good, Samara. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine.” She knew this bitch was not pretending to be concerned about her!

  “Listen, Samara.” Antoinette’s voice lowered to a discreet murmur. As if she wanted to protect their conversation from eavesdroppers. “I feel a bit awkward in light of what happened a few weeks ago. Despite what you may think, it was never my intention for you to walk in on me and Marcus that way. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you.”

  Anger and humiliation tightened Samara’s chest. “No more difficult than it must have been for you,” she countered with stinging sweetness.

  Antoinette’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know. That w
hole ‘other woman’ thing.” It was Samara’s turn to discreetly lower her voice. She leaned closer to Antoinette for added effect. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to feel that you’re second best. You know, because you’re always reduced to being the other woman. It must take a terrible toll on your self-esteem.”

  Antoinette’s expression hardened. “I wouldn’t worry about my self-esteem if I were you. Your time would be better served figuring out how to keep your man happy so he doesn’t have to go looking for the ‘other woman.’ “

  Samara flinched. She couldn’t help it. Antoinette’s cruel taunt struck too close to home. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Look, Antoinette, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. We could do this all night and, frankly, I have better things to do with my time.”

  She started to move past the woman when Antoinette spoke again. Her voice dripped with triumph. “As long as we’re being so honest with each other, Samara, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Prior to that day you walked in on us, Marcus and I weren’t involved. But thanks to your childish insecurities, that’s about to change.” She touched an elegant hand to her coiffed hair. Her full lips curved into a temptress’s smile. “And unlike some women who shall remain nameless, I know how to keep a man happy. Enjoy the rest of the evening, Samara. You can be sure Marcus and I will.”

  Samara left the bathroom without another word. If she’d felt ill before, she felt even worse now. Antoinette’s snide revelation confirmed what she’d already known deep down in her heart: Marcus had been telling the truth. She’d wrongly accused him of kissing Antoinette, and now it was too late to take back her angry words or undo the damage she’d caused to their relationship.

  Needing some fresh air, Samara headed for the private lobby outside the ballroom. A pair of French doors was open for guests to enjoy the warm night breeze. She stepped onto the terrace and stood at the decorative banister overlooking Rock Creek Park.

  God, what a royal mess she’d made.