Taming the Wolf (18 page)

“Except for that floral-print number on the rack over there. The one that looked like a housecoat.”
Melissa made a face. “And let’s not forget that tacky skirt and halter set that’s designed for the stomach to protrude. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see anything attractive about pregnant women waddling around in public with their bellies hanging out—I don’t care what Marie Claire says.”
Samara laughed. “I agree, but then I’ve never been one to follow fashion trends anyway.”
“Your mother should seriously consider designing maternity wear. If anyone can make pregnant women look sexy, Asha Dubois can.”

“Just as soon as the two of you discuss how she’s going to design your wedding gown. I know it’s going to be spectacular.”
Samara fell silent.
Melissa stared at her. “Don’t tell me. You’re not going to ask her, are you?”
“Melissa, I haven’t even told my mother about Marcus, let alone that I’m engaged.”
“When do you plan to tell her?”
Samara shrugged, sifting through more maternity outfits. “I don’t know. It’s not like my mother and I are close, the way you and yours are. I’m not even sure how Asha would react to the news. Definitely not the way Marcus’s father reacted when we called him on Sunday. He was genuinely thrilled for us. And so were you. But my mother…that’s an entirely different story.”
“Samara,” Melissa said quietly, “Despite the strain between you and your mother, I honestly believe she cares about you and wants to see you happy.”
“I wish I shared that belief, Melissa, but I just can’t. And the last thing I want is to call her with my wonderful news and hear a bitter lecture about how men are not to be trusted. I’ve been listening to that lecture my entire life. Nothing’s changed.”
“You never know. She might surprise you with tears of joy.”
“Highly unlikely.” Not for the first time, Samara found herself lamenting the state of affairs between her and her mother. Of course she wanted nothing more than to pick up the phone and relay the news of her engagement to Asha like a giddy bride-to-be. But she had to face reality, and reality reminded her that their relationship was not one that invited shared confidences and “girl talk.”
Wanting to erase the mournful expression on Samara’s face, Melissa grabbed her arm and started for the nearest checkout counter. “Come on, girl. Let’s go have lunch. All this shopping has worn me and Junior out.”
“Junior?”
“Gary and I are hoping for a boy first. We figure if we refer to the baby as ‘Junior’ often enough, we just might get our wish. Don’t look at me like that. It’s no crazier than what the women of old used to do to determine the unborn child’s sex. You should hear some of my mother’s stories.”
Samara chuckled dryly. “Don’t worry, I seem to recall some of my grandmother’s wild anecdotes. And you’re right, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with calling your baby Junior. I’ll even hop on the bandwagon if it helps any.”
Melissa grinned. “I knew you’d make the perfect godmother.” As she dumped all the outfits onto the countertop, it was obvious she’d decided not to part with a single item. Samara smiled inwardly. Pending motherhood was already changing Melissa’s frugal ways.
“Let me pay for a couple of those,” Samara offered. “That way you can keep your word to Gary about not overspending.”
Melissa waved her off with a grin. “Just buy lunch and we’ll call it even.”
As they left Macy’s a few minutes later, Melissa said, “By the way, is there any chance that you and Marcus might consider pushing up the wedding date?”
“Why?”
“By the time September arrives, your matron of honor might need to be rolled up the aisle in order to fulfill her duties.”
Samara laughed and curved an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I’ll run the idea past Marcus.”

Late that afternoon, Marcus had just gotten off the phone with his father when his receptionist buzzed his extension. “Mr. Wolf, Antoinette Toussaint is here to see you.”

Marcus frowned in puzzlement. What was Antoinette Toussaint doing at his office? He’d had a meeting with her father earlier that day. Maybe William Toussaint had forgotten something and sent his daughter to retrieve it.

Marcus saved the file he’d been working on before his father called and exited the program. He stood just as Antoinette appeared in the doorway.

Antoinette Toussaint didn’t merely enter the room. She glided into the office with a seductive feline grace that reminded Marcus of an animal intent on cornering its prey. It seemed appropriate that she wore a skintight black leather body suit that molded her voluptuous curves like a second skin. A dangerous-looking pair of stiletto heels completed the femme fatale look and accentuated her statuesque build. Her lustrous ebony mane was swept back from her dark face and tumbled past her shoulders. Marcus would have to be dumb and blind not to notice what a strikingly beautiful woman she was, or the way she oozed sexuality seemed as natural to her as breathing.

Her sultry amber eyes were fixed on his face as she approached his desk. “Hello, Marcus,” she said in a low, throaty voice. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Marcus inclined his head in a slight nod. “That’s quite an outfit you’re wearing.”
She glanced down at herself and laughed huskily. “I just came from a photo shoot across town. I had nearly forgotten I was still in costume. No wonder I received so many interested looks on the way over here!”
Likely story. “What can I do for you this evening, Ms. Toussaint?”
She waved a hand tipped with red talons. “Oh, please. Call me Antoinette. Ms. Toussaint is my mother.”
“All right, then. What brings you here, Antoinette?”
“Actually, I was hoping to catch my father before he left. But when I got here, your receptionist informed me that my father’s appointment was this morning.” She gave an elegant shrug. “I must have gotten my times mixed up.”
“It happens,” Marcus murmured. He didn’t buy her explanation for one second.
“Since I was already here, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to say hello. This is quite an impressive office you have, Marcus.” Antoinette turned and walked over to a mahogany-paneled wall of books. Marcus knew the maneuver was meant to give him an unobstructed view of her tight, shapely ass.
He lowered himself slowly into his chair. He knew without a doubt that if he’d met Antoinette a month ago, they would already be lovers. And when the affair was over, they would’ve gone their separate ways. No hard feelings, no empty promises. No mess.
But he hadn’t met Antoinette a month ago. He’d met Samara first, and she had ruined him for all other women.
Marcus paused, momentarily startled by the realization that his bachelor days were behind him. He would never make love to another woman again. His wife would be his only lover for as long as they both lived.
Antoinette turned at that moment and sashayed toward him. “My father thinks the world of you, Marcus. You should hear the way he brags about you to all his friends and colleagues. One would think you were his own son.”
Marcus propped his elbows on the desk and steeple his fingers. “Your father is a generous man.”
“He is,” she purred. “But I certainly don’t think his glowing accolades are unwarranted. You are a remarkable man, Marcus Wolf.” She came around the desk and stopped mere inches from his chair. He watched in bemused silence as she rested a curvaceous hip against the desk. “Do you find me attractive, Marcus?”
His mouth twitched humorously. “That’s a ridiculous question if I ever heard one. But whether or not I find you attractive is arguable.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t intend to do anything about it.”
“Even if I give you permission?”
Marcus chuckled softly. “Believe me, Antoinette,” he drawled as he rose to his feet, “If I wanted to initiate something between us, I wouldn’t need your permission.”
Antoinette’s amber eyes flickered with excitement. She slid onto the desk and crossed her long legs. “You’re right. I doubt any woman in her right mind would ever resist you, Marcus.”
Before he could respond, Antoinette tugged on his loosened tie and pulled him toward her. Caught off guard, Marcus braced his palms on either side of her to steady himself. He had only a fleeting glimpse of the wicked satisfaction in her eyes before her hand grasped the back of his head and drew his mouth down to hers.

Samara was on her way home that evening when she remembered she still had Marcus’s laptop. She’d borrowed it over the weekend to get some work done while her own laptop was on loan to Brianna Lynch.

Samara glanced at the clock on her dashboard. It was five-thirty. She knew Marcus was still at the office; he’d told her earlier he planned to stay late to catch up on some paperwork. If he decided to take the work home instead, she didn’t want him to be without his laptop. She already felt guilty for monopolizing so much of his time. After playing hooky on Thursday, they’d spent the entire weekend together, alternately making love and watching old Blaxploitation flicks. The only time they’d ventured outdoors was to have lunch at a popular Foggy Bottom restaurant and visit a few jewelers.

As much as Samara enjoyed spending time with Marcus, she didn’t want to become dependent on his presence. She had to keep reminding herself that they were both busy professionals with many responsibilities. She didn’t want FYI to suffer any more than she wanted his practice to suffer.

“I don’t have to guess what you were up to on Thursday,” Melissa had teased her when Samara arrived at the office that morning. “I know exactly what ‘personal time off’ means when there’s a gorgeous man in the picture.”

Melissa had applauded Samara for putting pleasure before business, for once in her life. Samara didn’t plan to make it a habit.
At least not until after the wedding.
She made a U-turn at the next traffic light and headed back toward Marcus’s office building.
Minutes later she climbed out of the car and retrieved the laptop from the trunk. She wouldn’t stay long, she told herself firmly. No more than ten minutes.
Her steps were jaunty as she entered the building and rode the elevator to the tenth floor. The thought of seeing Marcus always filled her with breathless anticipation, much as it had that night when she’d showed up at his office wearing nothing but lingerie beneath her trench coat.
The reception area was empty when she arrived. Samara glanced around in search of Marcus’s receptionist, who didn’t get off until six. Seeing that Laura’s computer was still on, Samara decided she was probably in the restroom.
She waited around for another minute before heading down the corridor to Marcus’s office. He hadn’t mentioned any evening appointments, so she should be safe.
As she approached the door she heard the low murmur of voices. Marcus’s deep timbre was followed by a woman’s low, sultry drawl.
For some reason, the woman’s voice struck Samara as familiar. A foreboding sensation crawled over her and settled in the pit of her stomach. It was the sort of feeling one got before receiving bad news. A second before she stepped through the doorway, she remembered whom the sex-kitten voice belonged to.
She came to a dead stop.
The sight that greeted her would be permanently etched into her brain. It was the sight of Marcus and Antoinette Toussaint locked in a passionate kiss. Antoinette sat on his desk, one hand curved possessively around his neck as he stood between her legs.
Samara blinked in stunned disbelief for a moment, not wanting to accept what she was seeing. Her stomach twisted violently and nausea surged upward.
At that moment, Marcus glanced up and saw her standing in the doorway. He jerked his head back from Antoinette’s and stepped away from the desk.
But it was too late. Samara had seen enough. Trembling with outrage, she set the laptop down on the floor and spun on her heel. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
As she stood at the bank of elevators furiously pressing the down button, she heard Marcus in the reception area.
“I didn’t know she was here, Mr. Wolf,” the receptionist was apologizing. “I stepped away for a minute to use the restroom and— ”
“Don’t worry about it, Laura.” Marcus pushed through the door and approached Samara.
Before he could open his mouth, she said icily, “Save it, Marcus. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Let me explain—”
“What’s to explain? Now I know what really goes on when you’re ‘working late’ at the office!”
“Come on, Samara, you know it isn’t like that.”
She whirled on him. “I saw you, Marcus. Do you think I’m dumb and blind?”
Over his shoulder, she saw Antoinette Toussaint appear in the reception area. The sight of the woman in a stunning leather body suit only fueled Samara’s wrath. She spun around and started for the stairs, refusing to wait around for the elevator with Marcus and his lover.
Marcus was right on her heels as she yanked open the stairwell door. “Samara, wait! Just listen to me.”
“No!” She hurried down the steps, cursing her high heels for slowing her escape. On the next landing, Marcus grasped her upper arm and pulled her to a stop. She struggled against him, pummeling his broad chest with her fists. “Let go of me!”
“Not until you calm down and listen!”
“Calm down? You want me to calm down? God, I’m such an idiot. I trusted you, Marcus. I trusted you!” Her voice broke and tears stung her eyes.
Marcus pulled her closer to him. “I wasn’t kissing her, Samara. You have to believe me.”
Her chest heaved as she glared up at him. “Wait, let me guess. Antoinette was kissing you, but you weren’t kissing her back. Is that about right?”
“Yes,” Marcus answered, sounding annoyed that she made the scenario sound so implausible.
“Oh, please! Do you take me for a fool, Marcus?”
“It’s the truth!”
“She was sitting on your desk, Marcus. What were you doing while she sat her ass down on your desk, huh?”
“I’ll admit it looked bad, but nothing happened, Samara. I swear to you.”
“I don’t believe you. You were kissing her, Marcus. I saw you!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t believe everything you see.”
“Don’t give me that!” By now Samara was trembling violently, and she feared that any minute she’d start crying. But she refused to give Marcus that satisfaction. She yanked her arm free and started down the stairs again. “Leave me alone, Marcus. Go back to your sexy supermodel in her Catwoman suit.”
Marcus swore viciously as he followed her. His Southern accent was more pronounced in his anger. “I don’t want Antoinette Toussaint, I told you that before!”
“You told me a lot of things before, none of which matter now.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Samara halted mid-step, turned and glared up at him. “It means that it’s over between us, Marcus. We’re finished.”
He grimaced at the finality of her words, then tried to reach for her again. “Come on, Samara, you don’t mean that.”
She twisted out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again, or so help me God I’ll kill you!”
Stunned by the force of her anger, Marcus stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re willing to throw everything away on a simple misunderstanding.”
“I’m not the one who threw everything away, Marcus. You are.”
“No, sweetheart, you are. You’ve completely misconstrued the entire situation, and you’re too proud and stubborn to see that.”
“Go to hell, Marcus.”
His expression hardened. “Maybe it’s better it happened this way, before we both made the biggest mistake of our lives by getting married.”
“Amen to that.” Samara’s legs were shaking so badly she was afraid she would collapse. She hoped Marcus couldn’t tell. “Thanks for doing us both a favor, Marcus.”
His scowl was ferocious. He gave a terse nod of farewell, turned and marched back up the stairs. Samara stood where she was, listening to his receding footsteps above the roar of her hammering heart. Only when she heard the stairwell door clang shut on the tenth floor did she allow a tortured sob to escape.
She took the elevator down to the lobby and rushed outside to her car. She sped out of the parking lot and got as far as the next street corner before the tears spilled, fast and bitter. She stopped at a red light and banged her fist against the steering wheel.
Oh God, what have I done?