Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  Samara frowned. “What I walked in on looked bad,” she agreed, “But if I really trusted Marcus, I would have given him the benefit of the doubt. If I had stumbled upon him leaning over a dead body, I would’ve given him a chance to explain the situation before accusing him of murder. Why should this have been any different?”

  “You misunderstood what I meant by ‘extenuating circumstances.’ You have a family history of trust issues, darling. By virtue of your birth, you were born with a predisposition not to trust members of the opposite sex. Throughout your life, I painted a portrait of men as the big bad wolves. Wolves in sheep’s clothing. It was only natural that you inherited my cynicism, my flawed inability to separate the good ones from the bad ones.”

  Samara slanted her mother a dubious look. “That sounds like a cop-out.”

  Asha shrugged elegantly. “It’s the truth. You know it as well as I do. Besides, Marcus is an attorney. Defense attorneys, for example, have used far less substantial arguments in getting their clients acquitted. If you go to Marcus and explain your background, I’m sure he’ll see the merits of your case.”

  “Marcus already knows my background. In fact, my ‘trust issues’ are probably the main reason he’s keeping his distance. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life walking on eggshells around me. Can’t say that I completely blame him, either.”

  But a tiny part of her did blame him. She’d made a bad judgment call. Didn’t she at least deserve a second chance? Was he so willing to throw everything away on a simple misunderstanding, as he’d accused her of doing?

  Samara leaned her head back against the sofa. She remembered the impression she’d had of Marcus when she first met him. She’d thought he would be dangerous and formidable if ever crossed. She’d known he hadn’t gotten where he was in life without having a street fighter in him.

  Her mouth curved ruefully when she recalled Melissa’s urgent voice mail message about Marcus and Paul Borden. Marcus had proven Samara right on both counts. He was ruthless and a street fighter.

  “So that’s it?” Asha demanded. “You’re just going to walk away from the only man you have ever loved—the only man you will ever love—without a fight?”

  “I’m too tired to fight, Mother. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly feeling in top form.”

  Asha gave her a soft, pitying smile. “Does Marcus know you’re carrying his child?” At her daughter’s startled look, she laughed. “Darling, I knew the minute you opened the door! I took one look at you and could tell.”

  Samara chewed her bottom lip. “When I got sick last night, I told Marcus I was coming down with the flu. But if you could tell, then maybe—”

  “He doesn’t have a clue, darling, take my word for it. Men can be incredibly dense creatures at times, even men as highly intelligent as your Marcus. If you told him you have the flu, that’s what he will believe until he has reason to suspect otherwise.” She laid a loving hand upon Samara’s cheek. “As for this sickness, chère, I have the perfect remedy. An old family recipe. I can send Pierre to fetch the ingredients from the store. He’s been waiting patiently in the limo, no doubt spying on your neighbors like the busybody he is.” She paused. “Before I call him, I must warn you that Pierre has been around women all his life. He knows the signs and symptoms of pregnancy. If I send him to get what I need, he will put two and two together. Do you have a problem with him knowing?”

  “I don’t care,” Samara mumbled. “I’m desperate.”

  “Don’t worry. He is the soul of discretion—at least when it comes to my private affairs. I trust him completely. He’s one of the very few men I trust, but perhaps that’s because he’s more like one of us than…” She and Samara looked at each other and burst into laughter.

  “Dear Pierre,” both women murmured fondly in unison. Asha called him on her cell phone and gave him instructions.

  Within minutes, it seemed, Pierre arrived with ginger ale, peppermint leaves and baking soda. Samara wrinkled her nose as Asha mixed and stirred the concoction before handing it to her.

  Samara regarded it skeptically.

  “Drink up, darling. You’ll feel better.”

  “All of the other girls swear by this stuff,” Pierre added coaxingly. “It’s not a rare occurrence to have a model or wardrobe assistant show up at work and become violently ill on the spot—much to the absolute horror of one particular designer who shall remain nameless. He was so mortified that he had to be moved to another office down the hall, claiming that he could not think creatively while the wretched stench lingered in the air.”

  “Pierre,” Asha said mildly, “ferme le bouche.”

  Pierre clamped his mouth shut, but his blue-gray eyes twinkled mischievously at Samara. She made a face at him.

  “Bottoms up.” She downed the contents of the glass and tried not to gag.

  “As long as you’re able to keep the fluid down,” Asha said, “it should work.”

  When Asha disappeared into the kitchen to rinse out the empty glass, Pierre leaned across the sofa with a conspiratorial look. “If you want the father of your baby to be brought to his senses,” he whispered to Samara, “Give Asha the word and she’ll take care of it.”

  Samara laughed in spite of herself. “Pierre, I didn’t get knocked up by some lowlife, if that’s what you’re thinking. He doesn’t even know. And, no, I don’t want my mother to interfere.”

  Pierre sniffed. “If you change your mind, let me know. You should see what Asha arranged to have done to André Leclerc after he assaulted you. She even demanded a Polaroid to ensure that the job had been done to her satisfaction. Let me just tell you it was not pretty.” Pierre gave a delicate shudder. “ ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’—and don’t even think about messing with her daughter!”

  Samara’s eyes widened in shock, but before she could ask Pierre to elaborate, her mother returned from the kitchen. “Pierre, dearest, I’ve decided to spend the night with my daughter and tend to her needs. Would you run to the hotel and retrieve my personal effects?”

  “You really don’t have to stay, Mother. I mean, it’s not that I couldn’t use the company,” Samara added almost shyly, “But I wouldn’t want to impose on your time.”

  “Nonsense. It’s no imposition, and the only reason I came to town was to see you.”

  Both women exchanged tentative smiles. A milestone had been reached in their relationship. If nothing else came out of this catastrophe, Samara knew she finally had her mother back.

  “Besides,” Asha drawled humorously, “staying here gives me more time to work on you. If all goes well, by morning you will realize that you simply cannot live without Marcus Wolf, and you’ll be ready to do whatever it takes to win him back.”

  Pierre clapped his hands together gleefully. “Goody! I get to help plan a wedding!”

  1

  Asha awakened at six A.M. and sent for her limousine. While she waited, she watched Samara slumber peacefully in her bed. It had been so many years since Asha indulged in such a luxury as watching her daughter sleep. She regretted that she’d missed so much of Samara’s life. She regretted so much time had been wasted.

  No more.

  The ginger ale recipe had worked like a charm. Samara’s nausea had abated, allowing her to hold down a light meal of chicken broth and saltines. Afterward she and Asha had enjoyed a spirited poker match. It wasn’t until afterward, when Asha had been beaten in embarrassing succession, that she learned Samara was a poker tournament champion. Before Samara could celebrate too boisterously, Asha suggested that she lie down to avoid “overexerting” herself.

  “Want to find out the sex of your child?” Asha had asked as they settled down on Samara’s bed.

  Samara gave a listless shrug. “I haven’t decided. I’m still trying to adjust to the idea of single parenthood.”

  “If you have to raise this child alone—note the emphasis on the word ‘if’—you will do just fine. We Dubois women are survi
vors, always have been. And you know that I will always be here for you and my grandchild.” She stopped abruptly. “Did I just say that? Am I really going to be a grandmother?”

  Samara grinned ruefully. “Afraid so.”

  Asha struck a thoughtful pose, pretending to consider the notion. After a moment she heaved a dramatic sigh. “Very well. I suppose it had to happen eventually—might as well happen while I’m still young and vigorous enough to enjoy my grandchild. At any rate, what I meant before is that I know of a way to tell if you’re having a boy or girl.”

  Samara looked skeptical. “You don’t really believe that superstitious stuff, do you?”

  “Humor me.” Asha reached up and unclasped her gold Cartier necklace. “Lie flat and lift your sweatshirt a little.”

  Samara complied, then watched in wide-eyed fascination as the diamond pendant swung like a pendulum above her flat abdomen. Before the pendant slowed to a complete stop, it suddenly changed direction and began to swing counter-clockwise.

  “A boy,” Asha announced. “You’re going to have a boy in November.”

  Tears glistened in Samara’s eyes. “A boy,” she murmured quietly. “He’s going to look just like Marcus. The Wolf men have strong genes.”

  Asha smiled gently. “Get some rest, darling. You’ve had a long day.”

  And now as she stood gazing down at her sleeping daughter in the pale light of dawn, Asha knew what she had to do.

  “Where to, madam?” inquired the chauffeur once Asha was comfortably settled in the backseat of the Rolls Royce.

  “Back to the hotel. I need to shower and change into something more appropriate.”

  A snowy eyebrow lifted. “More appropriate?”

  “Yes.” Asha gazed out the window with an enigmatic smile. “I have a very important meeting this morning. It could be a hostile takeover, and I should look the part.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcus had barely arrived at the office on Monday morning when William Toussaint called. “We missed you on Friday evening. You left rather unexpectedly.” Marcus didn’t miss the veiled accusation in the man’s tone.

  “Something personal came up.”

  “Yes, Antoinette was quite distraught over seeing you leave with

  another woman. My wife said she spoke of nothing else all

  weekend.”

  Marcus decided he’d had enough subterfuge. William

  Toussaint had been hinting at a possible match between Marcus

  and his daughter for weeks. Each time Marcus had politely changed

  the subject, not wanting to offend his client.

  He had no such qualms now. “I have to be frank with you,

  William. I’m not interested in dating your daughter. Not now. Not

  ever. If that’s going to be a problem for you, you’re more than

  welcome to take your business elsewhere. No hard feelings.” A startled silence fell on the other end. William Toussaint

  coughed, then cleared his throat. “Don’t be ludicrous, son! You’re

  the best attorney I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. I

  wouldn’t give that up for the world—not even for Antoinette.” He

  hesitated uncertainly. “I’ll see you next month for our meeting?” “See you then.”

  After Marcus hung up, he booted up the computer to get some

  work done. He had a ton of things to accomplish before he left early

  for the day. He had a very important evening ahead of him. He was going to get Samara back.

  When his intercom buzzed, he scowled at the interruption and

  spoke testily, “What is it, Laura?”

  Maureen Smith“Mr. Wolf, you have a visitor in the lobby. She said she doesn’t have an appointment, but she needs to see you.”

  “Who is it?” Ever since the Antoinette fiasco, he’d been leery about receiving unexpected visitors. He was about to instruct Laura to have the person schedule an appointment when she came back with a reply he’d never expected.

  “It’s Asha Dubois, sir.”

  Marcus froze. What was Samara’s mother doing at his office?

  He could take three guesses.

  “Mr. Wolf?” Laura prompted.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Asha DuBois’s appearance was causing a considerable stir in the office. When Marcus stepped into the lobby, he was met with mild pandemonium. Donovan and Timothy lounged on opposite ends of the reception desk, never ones to miss an opportunity to converse with a beautiful woman. Laura was gushing all over herself between taking phone calls. Even the more reserved Helen seemed starstruck as she stood before the fashion mogul. One of Marcus’s paralegals had retrieved the latest issue of Essence on which Asha graced the cover. Asha graciously autographed the magazine for her.

  In a tailored red power suit and matching stiletto pumps with her dark hair swept into a no-nonsense twist, Asha Dubois looked like she belonged at the head of a corporate boardroom. She was the kind of woman who kicked butt first and took names later. Marcus could always appreciate that kind of killer instinct in a person.

  As long as it didn’t come at his expense.

  Asha looked up unhurriedly at his appearance. For a moment he was taken aback. The resemblance between mother and daughter was uncanny.

  And people thought he and his father looked alike!

  “Mr. Wolf,” Asha Dubois greeted him in smooth, cultured tones. “I was hoping I could have a moment of your time.”

  241As if anyone ever refused her. She had the regal bearing of a queen. At any minute he expected his employees to bow at her feet in supplication.

  He inclined his head coolly. “Right this way, please.” He led Asha Dubois into his office and closed the door—in case any of his awestruck employees were bold enough to eavesdrop.

  Marcus gestured Asha Dubois into a chair. “May I offer you a drink? Coffee, tea, orange juice? It’s early, but I also have brandy if you’re interested.”

  “No, thank you.” Asha settled into the chair and crossed her long, elegant legs. “I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Wolf, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m here on my daughter’s behalf.”

  Marcus took his seat behind the desk. “Does Samara know you’re here?”

  “Of course not. She would kill me if she found out. I trust you won’t tell her.”

  It wasn’t a request. It was an order. “If you’d rather I didn’t…”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. At any rate, Mr. Wolf—”

  “Marcus.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Please call me Marcus.” His mouth twisted cynically. “I almost became your son-in-law. It seems ridiculous for you to call me Mr. Wolf, don’t you think?”

  Asha narrowed her eyes at him. “All right, then. Marcus it is. I’m here because I want to know how long you intend to continue this absurd separation from my daughter.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, that really isn’t any of your business.”

  “Of course it is. She’s my daughter and I care very much what happens to her. She’s heartbroken over you. It’s very naïve of you to assume that I would stand by and watch her suffer needlessly.” Her voice grew several degrees frostier. “You may or may not be privy to the nature of our estrangement, but before you sit there in judgment of me, I’ve made amends with Samara. It’s your turn to do the same.”

  “Is that right?” Marcus asked, amused. “Do you intend to force me?”

  “Don’t be absurd. I would never force any man upon my daughter. But then, I don’t have to. Surely you know that.” He inclined his head. “I do.”

  “However,” Asha continued archly, “I’m not opposed to whisking Samara away with me for a while, perhaps introducing her to some new acquaintances during our travels. Not to advocate a rebound relationship, you understand. Just to remind her that she is a young, healthy woman with plenty of options. And if she happens to meet someone she connects with, then…
” Asha lifted her shoulders in a very French shrug. “I would rather see my only child experience some semblance of happiness with another man than remain miserable and alone. Any mother would. You understand, don’t you?”

  The implication was clear. Marcus removed the metaphorical dagger from his chest and calmly set it aside. The idea of Samara meeting and falling in love with another man was unbearable. But he refused to give Asha Dubois more ammunition.

  “One thing you’ll learn about me,” he said, deliberately even, “Is that I don’t respond well to threats.”

  “I’m not threatening you, Marcus. I want nothing more than to see you and Samara resolve your problems, because I know that would make her happy.” Asha leaned forward intently. “Think real hard before you walk away from what could be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Marcus turned his head, gazing out the window for a moment. “You should know,” he began softly, “That before you arrived here this morning, I was going to have a talk with Samara about us getting back together.”

  He felt, rather than saw, Asha stiffen in the chair. He knew exactly what she was thinking. She was afraid she’d antagonized him into changing his mind. So the Mighty Asha Dubois could be rattled.

  Her voice was remarkably calm. “And now?”

  He turned back slowly to meet her composed gaze. “I’m glad that you and Samara have worked out your differences. You mean a great deal to her, so I know how important the reconciliation was to her. Just so that we understand each other though, I want you to promise me that you will never hurt her again. Because once your daughter and I are married, I’ll consider it my personal responsibility to protect her from anything or anyone that might harm her.” He paused to let his meaning sink in. “Including you.”

  Asha stared at him through narrowed eyes. For a few moments neither spoke. And neither backed down.

  And then slowly a smile crept across Asha’s face. She smoothly uncrossed her legs, rose and walked to the door. She stopped and turned to him. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Marcus Wolf.”

  He leaned back in his chair with an indolent smile. “I think you might be right.”