Taming the Wolf (19 page)

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.

But 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.

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.”

“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.

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 contemporary 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.”
“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.

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.