Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  Paul didn’t utter another word as Marcus turned and strode out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  1

  Marcus was gone when she awakened. Samara told herself she was a fool for being disappointed. She couldn’t have expected him to crawl into bed with her and remain the entire day. They no longer had that kind of relationship. Last night she’d apologized for not trusting him, but it was too late. Marcus wasn’t going to forgive her. His dead silence had made that abundantly clear. It was time for her to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with her life.

  Grim with determination, Samara climbed out of bed and stood. So far, so good. She walked gingerly to the bathroom and flipped on the light switch, then nearly bolted from the room when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked like death. Disheveled hair everywhere, deep bags underneath her eyes, a sickly pallor to her skin.

  Had Marcus seen her this way? Shaking her head, Samara bent over the sink to splash cold water on her face and brushed her teeth.

  She was heading to the kitchen for a glass of water when the nausea returned, sending her right back to the bathroom.

  After emptying what little remained in her stomach, she flushed the toilet and sank down weakly onto the cool tiled floor. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She could no longer dismiss the suspicion that had whispered through her mind during the night. Her illness had nothing to do with the flu virus.

  She was pregnant.

  Pregnant.

  Samara groaned as the word hammered through her brain. No, this couldn’t be happening to her. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not now, and not by a man who no longer wanted her.

  But even as her mind rebelled against the notion, Samara knew better. Her period was two days late. Although her cycle was sometimes erratic, she instinctively knew this wouldn’t be one of those months when her period arrived unexpectedly after a brief delay. She and Marcus had made love more than a few times without protection. They’d known the risks and had taken them anyway. And now she was pregnant.

  Pregnant.

  She was a walking cliché—a woman who’d risked it all for love, only to lose everything in the end. God, what was she going to do?

  Samara’s eyes snapped open. First, she needed to confirm her suspicion before deciding on her next course of action. If there was even a remote possibility that she wasn’t pregnant, she had to know.

  Pushing herself to her feet, Samara undressed and took a quick shower. Praying for a reprieve from the nausea, she threw on clothes and rushed out to the nearest drugstore.

  Half an hour later, she had her answer.

  Three different home pregnancy tests confirmed that she was pregnant.

  Numb with shock, Samara stared back and forth between each plastic applicator. Different brands, same results.

  She was going to have a baby.

  She, who’d always prided herself on being too smart to let such a thing happen. She, who mentored teen mothers like Brianna Lynch and taught other girls to practice safe sex. She, who had vowed not to become a single parent like her mother.

  Samara would have laughed at the sheer irony of the situation—if there were anything even remotely humorous about it. She was pregnant, alone and scared.

  Her gaze dropped to her flat waistline. A tiny life was growing inside her. A life she and Marcus had unknowingly created together. Did she dare tell him? How would he react to the news? Would he be angry or elated?

  Samara scraped her hand through her hair. She didn’t have to tell him. If they never saw each other again, he’d be none the wiser. Just like her parents. Samara’s child would be raised as she herself had been raised—without a father.

  She shook her head as tears burned her eyelids. She didn’t want to raise her child alone. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because she knew the emotional toll it would take on both of them. She had only to look at her own life to know how painfully true this was.

  Taming the WolfShe loved Marcus. She wanted him in her life. She wanted him in their baby’s life.

  But if he no longer wanted to be with her…what was she going to do?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marcus got the surprise of his life that morning when he arrived home to find his brother waiting for him in the lobby of his apartment building. Michael Wolf stood at

  the security desk, laughing and conversing with the security guard as if they were old buddies. “What are you doing here, Mike?” Marcus asked, dumbfounded. “And when did you get in?”

  “I flew in late last night. I knew you wouldn’t be home, so I crashed at a hotel for the night. Came over first thing this morning.” Michael eyed his brother’s rumpled appearance, taking in the wrinkled white shirt that hung over his black tuxedo pants and the jacket slung carelessly over Marcus’s arm.

  Michael grinned. “Must have been one helluva party you attended last night. Where’ve you been all night?”

  Marcus grunted in response. He inclined his head toward the grinning security guard. “Morning, Mr. Parker.”

  “Good morning, son. You gonna answer your brother’s question? Inquiring minds wanna know.”

  “I plead the Fifth.” Marcus headed for the elevators. A cab arrived almost at once.

  Michael followed him. “Seriously, Little Man, where did you spend the night? Wait a minute. What happened to your hand?”

  Marcus glanced down, calmly acknowledging the trace of blood on his fist. He hadn’t even noticed it while he drove home. He removed a handkerchief from his tuxedo jacket and wiped his hand. “It’s nothing. What’re you doing here, Mike?”

  216“I came to rescue you from yourself. And from the looks of it, I got here just in time.” Michael grabbed his hand and examined it. “That blood wasn’t yours. Whose was it?”

  “Nobody’s. Don’t worry about it.” Marcus propped a shoulder against the wall and closed his eyes. He was drained—mentally and physically. All he wanted was a hot shower and a magical elixir to make him forget the past two and a half weeks.

  Michael studied him shrewdly. “It’s even worse than I thought. Let me guess. You saw some guy coming onto Samara at the party and you went ballistic.”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.” Marcus stepped off the elevator. “Let’s just say he had what was coming to him, and then some.”

  Michael chuckled and drew an arm around his brother’s neck. “Defending your woman’s honor, ATL style. That’s my boy.”

  Inside Marcus’s penthouse, Michael filled a large bowl with ice and passed it to Marcus. “You know the routine. Keeps the swelling down.”

  Marcus leaned against the counter and stuck his fist inside the bowl. It was like old times again. The Wolf brothers had always looked out for each other when it came to fights. Growing up in a rough neighborhood, brawls had been like a rite of passage. You either learned how to defend yourself, or you got the crap beat out of you on a regular basis.

  Marcus was glad to see his brother, although he wasn’t sure he would feel the same once he discovered the reason for Michael’s surprise visit. He eyed him suspiciously. “What did you mean about rescuing me from myself?”

  “Glad you asked.” Michael folded his arms across his broad chest. “We’ve all decided this thing between you and Samara has gone on long enough.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. “We?”

  “The Atlanta contingent—me, Dad, your employees at the firm who, through no fault of my own, caught wind of what happened. No doubt from talking to folks at the D.C. office.” At Marcus’s scowl, Michael grinned. “Even the most loyal servants will gossip, Marcus. Anyway, I’ve been sent here as an emissary to broker peace between the two warring factions known as Marcus and Samara.”

  “I hate to break it to you,” Marcus groused, “But this isn’t the U.N. Samara and I can handle our own problems without outside interference.”

  “Which would explain why you’re both so miserable.”

 
; Marcus set down the bowl with a thud. “Stay out of this, Mike.”

  “I can’t. I’m not allowed to return home until you and Samara get back together.”

  “And what about the restaurant?”

  “It’s in good hands. Being the boss means I can do whatever I want, remember? I’m long overdue for a vacation anyway.” Michael clasped his hands behind his head with a smug grin. “So it looks like I’m in for the long haul, Little Man.”

  Marcus shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he started from the kitchen. “Stay as long as you want. I could use some good homecooking anyway. I’ve been eating out too much.”

  Michael snorted. “I’m not here to be your personal chef.”

  “But you will be. You won’t be able to stop yourself. Matter of fact,” Marcus drawled, “Feel free to make breakfast while I’m in the shower.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about going to see Samara.”

  Marcus stopped cold in his tracks. His tone was flat. “What for?”

  Michael shrugged. “I’m in town. Why not?”

  Marcus didn’t want Michael talking to Samara. After watching her at the table with Paul Borden last night, he’d realized he didn’t want to see her with any man—not even his own brother.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said in a low voice.

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not feeling well. She was throwing up all night.”

  Michael was silent. If Marcus had been facing him, he would have seen the sharp, discerning look that filled Michael’s dark eyes. “She was throwing up?”

  “Yeah. I told her to stay home and get some rest. So leave her alone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Satisfied, Marcus left the kitchen. “After breakfast,” he called on his way down the hallway, “I’ll drive you to the hotel to pick up your things.”

  “I told you I’m not making breakfast!” Michael called after him. There was no response.

  Muttering under his breath, Michael opened the refrigerator and surveyed the meager contents. Bottled water, a few takeout containers, some overripe apples in the vegetable tray.

  Michael shook his head in disgust. His brother lived like the stereotypical bachelor. If he weren’t a multimillionaire with the means to feed himself, he would probably starve to death.

  Michael hoped fatherhood would improve Marcus’s eating habits.

  1

  Marcus finished eating and sat back in his chair with an approving nod. “Not bad. Not as good as something you could make, of course, but it definitely hits the spot.”

  While Marcus showered, Michael had gone across the street to the Foggy Bottom Deli and bought a few croissants filled with ham and egg. They ate outside on the balcony to enjoy the mild spring morning.

  Michael’s mouth curved cynically. “Even if I’d wanted to fix breakfast, I had nothing to work with. Your refrigerator is so empty I can hear an echo.”

  “Yeah, well, grocery shopping hasn’t really been one of my priorities.”

  “Funny you should mention that. What are your priorities, Marcus? Does getting your life back in order appear somewhere on that list?”

  Marcus scowled. “Don’t start with me, Mike. I told you before that I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Come on, Marcus, this is me you’re talking to. I used to change your diapers and wipe your snotty nose. Open up the vault and tell me what really happened between you and Samara.”

  “As I told you and Dad over the phone,” Marcus said tersely, “Samara and I decided not to get married. End of story.”

  “What prompted the decision?”

  “We had an argument.”

  “That must have been one hell of an argument. What was it about?”

  Marcus stretched out his long legs. He’d forgotten how relentless Michael could be when he wanted something. Like a pit bull on steroids. He couldn’t begrudge him though. It ran in the family.

  Marcus pushed out a deep, ragged breath. “She thought I was cheating on her with a client’s daughter.”

  Michael raised an eyebrow. “And what gave her that idea?”

  “She walked in on us kissing and drew her own conclusions. She didn’t give me a chance to explain that Antoinette had caught me by surprise, and I was about to pull away right before Samara walked through the door.” Anger roughened his voice. “She stormed out of the office, we argued, and the rest is history.”

  Whistling softly through his teeth, Michael picked up his bottled orange juice and took a long swig.

  Marcus waited. He knew what his brother’s next question was.

  “Has she given you another opportunity to explain what happened?” Michael asked.

  “Better than that. Last night she apologized and asked my forgiveness.” Bitterness edged his words.

  Michael studied his stony profile. “You didn’t accept the apology.” When Marcus remained silent, Michael shook his head incredulously. “I don’t believe this. Not even you can be that cold.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The shift in the tension between them was subtle, but there just the same. “It means that this is your modus operandi, Marcus. When someone hurts you, you punish them for it. You kill them with your silence. No matter how repentant they are or how many times they try to make amends, you don’t relent. You lord your anger and disappointment over them like it’s a source of power. How do I know this? Because you’ve been doing it to Mom for the past twenty-five years!”

  Marcus grew very still. “We’re not talking about her. Leave her out of this discussion.”

  Undaunted by the lethal fury that hardened his brother’s tone, Michael leaned across the table. “Don’t you see the pattern, Marcus? Mom made a mistake and spent the next twenty-five years of her life doing penance for it. Now it’s Samara’s turn. She’s been tried and convicted in the Supreme Court of Marcus Wolf. Her sentence is to spend the rest of her life blaming herself for what happened and wishing the man she loves could find it in his heart to forgive her. She and Mom have become cellmates.”

  Marcus scowled. “It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “Because Mom betrayed us!” Marcus roared. He shoved to his feet and began pacing up and down the balcony. “Don’t talk to me about her as if she’s the victim here. She’s not!”

  “No, because everyone knows you’re the only victim of what happened. Poor little Marcus who walked in on his mother and her boyfriend in the middle of their afternoon tryst. Poor disillusioned Marcus who would be scarred for life.”

  Marcus stopped pacing and glared at his brother. “What the hell’s going on here? Where is this coming from?”

  “Ever since Mom and Dad got divorced, you’ve been brooding through life like a wounded little boy. Everyone made allowances for your temper tantrums when you were a child because we understood you were hurting and needed to work through your pain in your own way. But here’s a news flash, Marcus: You aren’t the only one who was hurting. Dad was hurting, Mom was hurting and I was definitely hurting. Did you think you were the only one who cried behind closed doors, or wiped away tears when you thought no one else was looking?”

  Marcus’s chest heaved as he fought to control his labored breathing. “Are you calling me self-absorbed, Michael?” he asked in a low, quelling voice. “After all the late-night conversations we had? After we would talk for hours on end about never having children because we didn’t want to put them through the same bullshit we were going through? Are you saying your feelings never mattered to me?”

  “What I’m saying, Marcus, is that we all suffered—you, me, Mom and Dad. But twenty-five years later, you’re the only one still carrying a grudge! When are you going to cut the Wounded Martyr act and let go of the past once and for all?”

  “Just pretend it never happened, right? Bury my head in the sand and act like everything’s fine and dandy, like Mom never violated our trust?”

/>   Michael slammed his fist down on the table. “Listen to you! You act as if you’re perfect, like you’ve never made a mistake in your entire life!”

  “I never cheated on my spouse and left my kids to fend for themselves!”

  Michael bounded to his feet. His tone was low and scathing as he approached Marcus. “Do you even know why Mom and Dad got married in the first place? Of course you don’t. You’re too full of your righteous anger to hear what anyone has to say on the matter.”

  “What difference does it make? It doesn’t change what happened.”

  “No, but it sure as hell sheds some light on a few things. For starters, did you know that Mom and Dad weren’t dating at the time they got married? Mom was actually involved with someone else, someone she planned to marry right after high school. He got killed in a drunk driving accident. Mom and Dad were good friends, so naturally she turned to him for consolation. One thing led to another, and they wound up sleeping together. It was something they both regretted immediately afterward, but it was too late.

  “Four weeks later, Mom found out she was pregnant. She was devastated. Her father—our esteemed grandfather who would take the belt to us if we stepped out of line—was one of those strict doit-by-the-book Baptist ministers. She was scared of what he’d do if he found out she was pregnant. Having a child out of wedlock wasn’t an option, and neither was abortion. When she told Dad she was pregnant, he was crushed. He wasn’t any more prepared for parenthood than she was. But being the honorable man he’s always been, he offered to marry her. Mom reluctantly accepted. She felt she had no other choice. But there was something else.” Michael paused and took a deep breath. “She didn’t think the baby she was carrying was Dad’s. She had slept with her boyfriend two nights before he was killed. She was with Dad three nights later.”

  Marcus stared at his brother in stunned disbelief. “What are you saying, Michael? That we’re half-brothers?”

  Michael watched him through narrowed eyes. “Would it matter?”