Taming the Wolf (13 page)

Across town, Marcus had just hung up the phone with a client when the intercom on his desk buzzed. “Mr. Wolf, you have a visitor,” announced his receptionist.

Marcus frowned, his hand stilling over the legal pad he’d been making notes on. It was after five o’clock, and he knew he didn’t have any other appointments that day.

Unless…
“Her name is Celeste Rutherford, sir.”
The blood drained from Marcus’s head. Not Samara, as he’d

briefly hoped. Instead, the visitor was the last person on earth he would have expected.
Slowly, unsteadily, he rose to his feet.
“Mr. Wolf?”
He took a long, deep breath. “Please send her in, Laura.”
He didn’t trust his legs to carry him out to the reception area to meet her. Not after all this time.
Moments later, his mother stepped into the office almost tentatively, and Marcus’s heart clutched painfully in his chest. Ten years. That was how long it had been since he’d last seen her. Ten years.
Celeste Rutherford looked the part of a prosperous doctor’s wife in a mauve silk blouse tucked into pale cashmere slacks, her tiny feet covered in matching designer pumps. Her black hair was cut in short, stylish layers that accentuated her oval-shaped face. After all these years, her creamy skin remained smooth and unlined. But not even the expensive cosmetics she wore could conceal the faint lines of strain around her cinnamon-brown eyes and soft mouth.
A fine-boned hand lifted self-consciously to touch the pearl necklace clasped around her throat. “Hello, Marcus,” she said quietly. Her expression was guarded as she watched him, as if she fully expected to be met with a barrage of angry accusations.
Marcus inclined his head coolly. “Mother.” He remained planted behind his desk, wanting the physical barrier between them—needing it. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“No, thank you. Your secretary already offered.”
He nodded slowly. “How’ve you been?”
“I’m fine. I don’t know whether or not your father told you that I was coming to town with Grant—”
“He told me.”
She nodded. “Grant is giving a surgical lecture at a medical convention at Johns Hopkins, so I wanted to take the opportunity see you. It’s been so long. At least ten years.”
“At least.”
She bit her bottom lip as if she were trying to decide what to say next. “Marcus, I am truly sorry for missing your law school graduation. Grant and I never intended for our honeymoon to coincide with that date. It’s just that we weren’t able to go right after the wedding because Grant was needed at the hospital, and I—”
“You don’t have to explain, Mother.” The corner of his mouth lifted sardonically. “It was Greece. Who could blame you for not passing up on such a trip?”
“Marcus—”
“How is your husband, by the way?” He still couldn’t bring himself to utter Grant Rutherford’s name aloud. It felt like blasphemy against Sterling Wolf.
Celeste hesitated before answering evenly, “He’s doing well. One of his recent studies on stem cell research is being published in the New England Journal of Medicine. The Mayo Clinic has received even greater publicity and financial contributions as a result of Grant’s research work.”
“Congratulations, to both of you.”
“Thank you.” She cast an appreciative look around the large office. “You’ve done extremely well for yourself, Marcus. We’re all very proud of you.”
His mouth curled in a mocking half smile. “Nothing but the best, right, Mother?”
Her eyes returned to his. “Maybe this was a mistake, my coming here like this. I assumed since your father told you in advance that I would be in town…” she trailed off, nervously stroking the pearl necklace again. “I suppose I just thought—”
Marcus arched a cynical brow. “What? You thought I would welcome your visit with open arms?”
“And would that be so terrible?” she asked, her voice rising on a shrill note. “I’m your mother, Marcus. Nothing you say or do will ever change that fact. Nothing.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he said coldly.
She turned away from him, facing the mahogany-paneled wall of books so that he wouldn’t see the sheen of tears in her eyes—too late. When she spoke, her voice was husky with emotion. “How long will you punish me for what happened between me and your father?”
Marcus was silent, his fisted hands jammed into his pants pockets. Anger pumped hard through his veins, as raw as ever.
“I don’t know how many times I can apologize to you for the way things happened,” Celeste continued.
“Things didn’t just happen, Mom. You made them happen.”
She spun around. “You have no idea what you’re talking about! You were just a child, Marcus. You knew nothing about my true relationship with your father!”
“I know he loved you more than life itself,” Marcus said in a low, controlled voice, “And you betrayed him in the worst possible way. I don’t need to know much more beyond that.”
“Don’t you?” she cried.
Marcus’s expression hardened. “Are you about to tell me that Dad abused you, cheated on you, or mistreated you in any kind of way?”
Her moist eyes softened. “Of course not. You know better than that, Marcus. Your father was—is—the most decent man I’ve ever known.”
“And you repaid his ‘decency’ by cheating on him.”
“It’s been twenty-five years, Marcus! How much longer are you going to carry this grudge against me? Your brother has forgiven me. We speak to each other quite often, did you know that? When he agreed to attend my wedding, we had a long heart-to-heart talk and resolved everything between us. He was just as hurt by the divorce as you were, but he was willing to put the past behind him and move on. Even your father has forgiven me, Marcus! Why can’t you?”
“I guess I’m not as magnanimous as Michael and Dad,” Marcus said mockingly.
“I don’t believe that! You are one of the most generous people I know. I haven’t forgotten the way you were as a little boy, defending your classmates from bullies, running errands for the elderly people in our neighborhood who couldn’t get around on their own. You always had such a big heart, so much love to give. I wasn’t at all surprised when you became the kind of attorney that would help others. It was like you were answering a calling.” Her voice broke as a single tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She sniffed and dabbed at the errant drop without looking at him. “You’re not a cruel person, Marcus. I know what it must be doing to you to hold on to this much hatred. Even if you don’t care what it’s doing to me, at least think about yourself.”
“Don’t you dare pretend to care about my well-being!” Marcus roared. “You haven’t cared since the day you walked out on us without a backward glance. You didn’t even fight for custody—you didn’t want us!”
“That’s not true! Of course I wanted you and Michael—you’re my children, for God’s sake! The only reason I didn’t push for custody was because I knew your father was hurting enough. The last thing either of us needed was a bitter custody battle. I couldn’t do that to him. Besides,” she added, her voice lowering, “in those days, I knew that no judge would look favorably upon my behavior.”
“Your infidelity, you mean.”
“Yes, my infidelity,” she hissed, her eyes suddenly flashing. “I have many regrets about what happened, Marcus. I regret that I felt desperate enough in my marriage to cheat on your father. I regret that you had to walk in on me with Grant that afternoon. I regret that all of you were devastated by my reckless actions, and that our family was torn apart as a result. Believe me, I will carry those regrets to the grave. But I do not regret meeting Grant Rutherford.” She didn’t falter at the dangerous look that filled Marcus’s face, but bravely continued, “I fell in love with Grant almost from the moment we met at the hospital. I know it was wrong of me, a married woman, to have such strong feelings for another man. But sometimes, baby, we have no control over who we fall in love with or why. All we know is what the heart dictates.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” Marcus said caustically. “You knew damn well what you were doing when you got involved with a doctor from the hospital. You wanted an out, Mother. And out from a marriage that kept you from having all the material possessions you wanted, things that Dad could never give you. Why don’t you just admit it?”
Celeste closed her eyes and held a trembling hand to her mouth. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a strained whisper. “If you can believe such a thing about me, then I guess I should abandon any hope of reconciliation between us once and for all.”
Marcus turned away from her to face the window. He couldn’t believe how badly shaken he was. He felt like that ten-year-old boy again, wanting his mother’s comforting arms around him at the same time he wanted to push her away for good. His chest hurt from the internal struggle raging through him, his emotions warring against one another.
She’s your mother. It’s time to forgive her, pleaded one voice.
She hurt you, countered the more cynical side of him. You know you can’t trust her. Don’t be a fool.
He closed his eyes. “I just want to know one thing,” he said quietly.
“What is it, Marcus?”
“Did you ever love Dad?”
His mother was silent for so long that he wondered if she’d left the room without saying goodbye. But he knew better. He still sensed her presence, just as surely as he’d done as a child whenever she got home from her late shift at the hospital. In those days, even before she crossed the threshold, he was already awake and waiting up for her.
Finally she spoke. “Yes, Marcus, I did love him. In my own way, I will always love your father.”
Marcus said nothing, keeping his back to her.
“Grant and I will be in town for a week,” she said gently. “We’re staying at the J. W. Marriott. We wanted to visit some friends and do a little sightseeing before returning to Minnesota.” She hesitated. “I would love nothing more than to have dinner with you, Marcus. Just you and me. We have so much to discuss. If you’re open to it, I’m leaving my card with our hotel room and phone number.”
He heard her place the card on his desk, but still he didn’t turn around.
“Please, Marcus. Call me.”
It was only when he heard the door close softly behind her that he turned from the windows, hands thrust into his pockets, his muscles rigid. For several moments he just stared at the plain white business card she’d left on his desk. Then slowly, almost against his will, he reached over and picked it up.
The front of the card read: CELESTE W. RUTHERFORD, M.S., R.N., ADMINISTRATOR. Respectfully known as the “power duo,” she and her husband served on several hospital boards, including the board of trustees at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. They relocated there when Grant was offered a surgeon position in the clinic’s internationally renowned neurosurgery department.
On the back of the card, Celeste had written their hotel room and phone number in her graceful, distinctly feminine handwriting—the same handwriting that once graced Marcus’s field trip permission slips and report cards. He remembered the way she used to hug him and kiss the top of his head, congratulating him for getting straight A’s, urging him to tell her all about the fun places he’d visited.
Marcus’s heart clutched painfully at the memory. There was no denying that she’d been a good mother, incredibly nurturing and attentive to her children. Marcus had adored her, which was what made her desertion that much harder to accept.
Following the divorce, she’d attempted to remain active in their lives, attending their basketball games and school events as often as possible, showing up for her court-appointed visits. But as the years passed, her efforts waned until she disappeared completely from the picture. Once she and Grant got married and moved to Minnesota, they hardly ever heard from her. But by then, Marcus had stopped returning her sporadic phone calls and letters altogether. He was in college, old enough to make his own decisions about whether or not to have a relationship with his mother. No one could force him to see or talk to her, and he definitely couldn’t be pressured into attending her wedding—which he’d refused to do.
The fact that she’d waited several years to remarry made no difference to him. As far as he was concerned, she had moved on with her life, while they’d been left behind to pick up the shattered pieces of theirs.
Abandonment was abandonment, any way you sliced it.
Frowning, Marcus looked down and saw that he’d crumpled the business card in his balled fist. He threw it into the wastebasket, then grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and left the office.

s he’d often done during law school before a big exam, Marcus drove around for the next three hours trying to clear his head and make sense of the things happening in his life.

Since Sunday night, he’d been struggling to come to terms with his feelings for her. He could no longer deny it. He was in love with her. Completely, irrevocably, in love with the woman.

It scared the hell out of him.
He’d never been in love before. And he sure as hell never expected to fall in love so quickly. That kind of thing happened to other people, not Marcus. If anyone had ever told him that he’d find himself in this position—over a woman he’d known less than two weeks—Marcus would’ve laughed in the person’s face.
He wasn’t laughing now.
He was running scared.
As he crossed the Potomac River and headed back into the District, a light rain began to fall. Without conscious thought, he pointed the car toward southeast D.C. By the time he pulled up in front of Samara’s old-fashioned house with its wide front porch, it was pouring so hard he could barely see through the windshield.
Although it was only nine o’clock, all the lights were off in Samara’s house. As he waited on the porch for her to answer the door, Marcus glanced up and down the tree-lined street and realized that the entire neighborhood was pitched black. The storm had knocked out the power.

Samara came to the door a few moments later, the soft glow of a candle illuminating the surprise on her face when she saw him standing there. The surprise quickly turned to wariness.

“What are you doing here?”
He gazed down at her. “I wanted to see you,” he said silkily. She hesitated, eyeing him a moment longer before opening the

door wider to let him in. As Marcus brushed past her, he caught the clean scent of shampoo and soap that clung to her skin. Her hair was wet, hanging in thick ropes over her shoulders and dripping down the front of her terry cloth robe. Imagining her warm and naked beneath the robe made lust coil inside him, just like that.