Seducing the Wolf (13 page)

Taylor was instantly wary. “What?”

“We’ve all been thinking—”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Well, if you want specifics, I’m referring to myself, Boyd, your aunt and uncle, Tru.” Elyse paused. “Even your father.”

Taylor was surprised. “You spoke to Dad?”

“Not by choice,” her mother grumbled. “Tru insisted on taking us out to lunch yesterday. You know he’s never stopped trying to play peacemaker, and since he’s been in Iraq for the past year, I couldn’t very well refuse his simple request to spend time with his parents. Anyway, we were talking over lunch, and one thing we all agreed on is that maybe it’s time for you to come home.”

Taylor sighed, shaking her head at the ceiling. “Mom—”

“Before you get mad,” Elyse rushed on, “no one’s trying to tell you what to do with your life. Given how successful you are, I’d say you’ve handled your life just fine, and we’re all very proud of you. But just think about this, darling. Your father and I are here in D.C., and Tru may be retiring from the army soon. With any luck, he’ll finally meet someone special and settle down. What if you and Aidan got married? Wouldn’t it be nice if we all lived in the same town? Wouldn’t it be wonderful for your children and Tru’s to grow up together?”

Taylor frowned. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself, Mom? Tru isn’t even married, and Aidan and I aren’t thinking about marriage.”

“Maybe
you’re
not,” Elyse countered, “but I’m sure Aidan has thought about it.”

Taylor went still, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Did he say something to you?”

“He doesn’t have to. I know how he feels about you. I’m willing to bet the only reason he hasn’t proposed is that he’s afraid you’ll turn him down. Would his fears be unfounded?”

Taylor slowly exhaled. “I’m not ready—”

“So you keep saying. But I have to wonder…” Elyse trailed off.

Taylor didn’t want to ask. But she had to. “You wonder what?”

“Is it that you’re not ready for marriage? Or is it that you don’t want to marry Aidan?”

Taylor’s mouth ran dry. She swallowed hard.

“Darling?” her mother gently probed.

Before Taylor could respond, there was a firm knock on her door. “Room service!”

She frowned in confusion. She hadn’t ordered room service. Dinner had been the last thing on her mind when she’d returned to the hotel.

“I have to go, Mom.” She rose from the bed, secretly grateful for the reprieve. “I’ll call you back in a few days. And please don’t tell Tru I’m here. If I’m able to come next weekend, I want to surprise him.”

“All right. I won’t tell him,” her mother promised. “Make sure you get in touch with Aidan tonight.”

“I will.” Taylor hung up, tucked the phone into the pocket of her robe and tightened the sash, then left the room to answer the door.

A hotel employee stood there with a linen-covered dining cart. “Room service for Taylor Chastain.”

“There must be some mistake,” Taylor said with a puzzled half smile. “I didn’t order anything.”

“I know. Dr. Wolf did.”

Taylor was surprised. “Dr. Wolf?”

“Yes, ma’am. May I?”

Taylor hesitated, then stepped aside so the server could roll the cart into the suite. She closed the door and walked over as the young man expertly uncorked a bottle of wine and poured her a glass.

She tentatively accepted it, then couldn’t resist asking cynically, “Does Dr. Wolf make a habit of ordering room service for female guests even when he’s not staying at the hotel?”

The server didn’t blink. “Not to my knowledge, Miss Chastain. But I can tell you that this meal didn’t even come from any of our restaurants. It was specially delivered from Villa Christina.”

“Oh.” Taylor blushed, feeling somewhat chastened as she watched the young man lift the silver lid from the main dish. Her mouth watered from the savory aromas that wafted up to her nose.

“Costola di Vitello,” the server announced. “Grilled veal porterhouse, parmesan gnocchi, balsamic cipollinis and baby carrots in veal jus.”

Taylor smiled. “It looks delicious.”

A lovely arrangement of pink azaleas graced the dining cart. Taylor’s pulse quickened when she saw a small white card nestled between the flowers.

Setting down her untouched glass of wine, she picked up the card and read the note dictated in a bold, slanting font:
Since we were unable to make our dinner reservations, I thought I’d have dinner brought to you. Thanks for spending the day with me. It was beautiful. Yours, MW

Taylor couldn’t fight the warm rush of pleasure that flowed through her. It should have angered her that Manning had made dinner reservations without consulting her first. But she wasn’t angry. If anything, she felt a little sad that their time together had been cut short.

“Can I get you anything else, Miss Chastain?”

Taylor shook her head distractedly. “Let me get my purse—”

“No tip necessary, ma’am. I’ve already been generously compensated. Enjoy your dinner.” The server flashed her a warm smile before departing.

Alone once again, Taylor stared down at Manning’s note, her eyes lingering over every word. She thought of the letters she’d never received from him. Letters she’d waited for, prayed for with the desperation of a drowning girl grasping at a piece of floating driftwood. But the letters never came. At a time when she’d needed him the most, Manning had deserted her.

It took her years to get over the pain of his rejection. Years of immersing herself in her music and her studies, ruthlessly pushing herself to become the best violinist she could be. She ate, slept and breathed the violin, channeling her heartache into the pursuit of perfection. After distinguishing herself at Juilliard, she’d successfully auditioned for a coveted spot in the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. By the time she left for Paris, she’d received numerous awards and prizes, performed with several legendary artists and amassed rave reviews from major music critics. As an internationally acclaimed soloist, she’d recorded five albums to date, won a Grammy and regularly saw her music in the top ten of
Billboard
magazine’s classical chart.

Living well is the best revenge
, her mother had often told her.

Was that why Taylor had come to Atlanta?

Did she secretly want to punish Manning for hurting her all those years ago? Had she hoped to run into him so that he could see how good she looked and how well she was doing without him?

Taylor frowned at the thought. She’d never been a petty or vindictive person. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got back at exes by slashing their tires or hooking up with their friends. She didn’t entertain revenge fantasies. She was better than that.

Wasn’t she?

A burst of music from her cell phone jarred her out of her musings.

For the first time ever, the sound of Bach’s Double Violin Concerto filled her with dread.

She pulled the phone out of the pocket of her robe but didn’t pick up. She wasn’t ready to talk to Aidan. She wasn’t ready to hear the concern in his voice, the anger and suspicion.

She wasn’t ready to confess her sins. 

As the regal notes of Bach’s violin washed over her, she closed her eyes and wondered what piece would best capture Manning. Something fiery and tempestuous. Complex and powerful.

Something seductive…

When the music suddenly stopped, Taylor opened her eyes and stared down at the silent phone.

After the longest minute, Aidan called back.

Drawing a shaky breath, Taylor pressed the answer button and murmured, “Hey, baby.”

“Thank God you finally picked up! I was beginning to think something terrible had happened to you! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“I know,” Taylor said, stuffing Manning’s note into her pocket. “I just got your messages. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Where have you been?” Aidan demanded.

She hesitated. Her throat was so tight, she felt like she was choking. “I went to Callaway Gardens.”

“Callaway Gardens?”

“Yeah. Remember I told you I wanted to go there?”

“I remember.” Aidan sounded disgruntled. “Did you forget to take your phone or something?”

“No. I had it.” Taylor swallowed dryly. “I turned it off during the orientation film at the Discovery Center. I forgot to turn it back on when I left the theater.” The lies tasted bitter in her mouth. Like ashes.

She picked up her glass of wine and took a long sip.

“So you were at Callaway Gardens all day?” Aidan asked.

“Yes.” She paused. “It’s a big place. There was a lot to see, and I still didn’t get to everything.”

Aidan was silent.

Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, Taylor walked to the sofa and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her. She could feel Manning’s note pressed against her hip, a burning reminder of her betrayal. She reached inside the pocket, curled her fingers around the card and slowly pulled it out. She found herself rereading the last two lines:

Thanks for spending the day with me. It was beautiful.

“Did you go there by yourself?” Aidan asked, finally breaking his silence.

Taylor’s throat constricted. She drank more wine before answering, “I did.”

When Aidan said nothing, she wondered if he believed her, if he could sense her guilt through the line.

His next words gave no indication. “So how was it?”

“It was…” Taylor stared down at Manning’s note, then closed her eyes and whispered achingly, “It was beautiful.”

11

M
anning sat hunched over a glass of whiskey at the long mahogany bar tucked into the back of Wolf’s Soul.

After parting ways with Taylor, he’d instructed Mr. Haley to drop him off anywhere but home. Without asking questions, Mr. Haley had taken him to his cousin’s restaurant, though Mike was out of town on business.

As Manning climbed out of the limo, he’d told his driver not to wait for him. He’d catch a cab home after he got good and blitzed.

It was Saturday night, so the restaurant was even more packed than usual. A live band was performing onstage. The spotlight shone on a voluptuous mahogany sister who was singing something soft and bluesy that further darkened Manning’s mood and sharpened his pain. The pain rolled off him in waves, warning others to keep their distance as he sat alone at the end of the bar trying to numb his emotions with eighty proof Jameson whiskey.

He was working his way through his fourth glass when the songstress began crooning a number by Ella Fitzgerald. It was a slow, melancholy ballad about mistakes made and loves lost. Something Manning knew all about.

As he listened to the wistful song, his mind drifted back in time to the day he’d found Taylor standing alone beneath a large sycamore tree after school. She’d been listening to her Walkman, lost in her own world until he’d walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked around and saw him standing there, she’d smiled so radiantly he lost his breath for a moment. As she removed her headphones, he’d asked her what she was listening to. When she shyly told him Ella Fitzgerald, he’d been intrigued—and impressed. While every other kid he knew was only interested in rap and the latest pop tunes, here was Taylor vibing to the music of a great jazz legend.

To this day, Manning couldn’t hear a song by Lady Ella without thinking of Taylor.

“Yo, Manny.”

Jarred out of his reverie, Manning glanced over as his longtime friend, Quentin Reddick, plunked down on the empty stool beside him and clapped him on the back. “Wassup, man. What’s good with you?”

“Not much,” Manning grumbled morosely.

The bartender came over, grinning at Quentin. “What can I get you, Counselor?”

“I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

Shooting an amused glance at Manning hunched over his drink, Joe observed wryly, “I don’t think you want what
he’s
got, if you catch my drift.”

Quentin gave Manning a long, appraising look. “You’re right. Get me a beer instead.”

Joe laughed. After delivering the cold brew, he grinned ruefully at Quentin. “Keep him company. He needs it.”

Manning scowled. “Do I look like I want company?”

But the bartender had already moved off to serve other customers.

Quentin chuckled, wagging his head at Manning. “What bug crawled up your ass tonight?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ice cubes clinked in Manning’s glass as he downed more whiskey. “What’re you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be somewhere getting a lap dance?”

Quentin smirked. “For your information, I had a date.”

“With a stripper?”

“Nah. Your girlfriend wasn’t available tonight.”

Manning gave him the finger.

Quentin laughed and took a swig of beer. He wore a blue dress shirt and tailored dark slacks. With his golden complexion, hazel eyes and irrepressibly wicked smile, he was a chick magnet whose womanizing reputation was legendary around town. So was Manning’s, for that matter.

“What happened to your date?” Manning drawled sardonically. “Don’t tell me you got stood up.”