Taming the Wolf (20 page)

he mayor’s biannual community fund-raiser banquet was held at the opulent Omni Shoreham Hotel in Washington, D.C. Crystal chandeliers glistened from vaulted ceilings as

white-jacketed waiters served exotic hors d’oeuvres on silver trays. Linen-covered tables with elegant centerpieces were arranged in a semicircle, leaving the middle of the floor open for dancing, milling around and the all-important networking. Receiving a formal invitation to the event was considered a major coup in most social circles. Ticket prices were astronomical, and the closer one sat to the mayor, the more one paid. Proceeds from the fund-raiser were donated to various charitable and community organizations.

All of D.C.’s movers and shakers were in attendance. Local businessmen, politicians, and civic and community leaders milled about in formal attire. Armed with business cards and plastic smiles, they worked the room making contacts and vying for the television news cameras, hoping their rehearsed sound bites would make the eleven o’clock broadcasts.

Melissa nudged her as they made their way around the ballroom. “Stop fidgeting. It makes you look bored.”
“I wonder why,” Samara murmured.
“Even if you are bored, you’re not supposed to show it. Here comes Alberta Graves. Smile.”
Samara assumed the appropriate expression and exchanged pleasantries with the D.C. Council chairwoman. When Alberta Graves moved off to greet other guests, Melissa sent Samara an approving nod.
“You’re getting better at this. There’s hope for you yet.”

“Gee, thanks.”
“How’re you holding up?”
Samara didn’t have to ask what her friend meant. She’d heard

through the grapevine that Marcus was expected to be in attendance that evening. He’d been invited as one of the mayor’s personal guests.

So far he hadn’t arrived. She hoped she could duck out before he did.
“Just relax,” Melissa reminded her for the umpteenth time. “You look fabulous. But I’ve already told you that.”
Samara glanced down at herself. She wore a black chiffon creation from her mother’s spring collection. Provocative, sleek and sophisticated, the gown accentuated the firm roundness of her breasts and sleek torso. One shoulder was left completely bare before the silk material skimmed down to her shapely waist and flared from the knees. After much deliberation, she’d decided to wear her hair loose and parted down the center. The front edges had been bent with a flat iron to achieve a trendy feathered look. She told herself the decision to wear her hair down had nothing to do with Marcus liking it better that way.
She’d never been a very good liar—not even to herself.
She smiled at Melissa, who was understated elegance in black crepe. “You don’t clean up too bad yourself, Mrs. Matthews.”
Melissa grimaced. “My feet are killing me in these heels. I swear, I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next seven months of this swollen-ankle business.”
“Do you want to sit down?”
“Nice try. Once we greet Mayor Williams, we can take a break.”
Samara peered through the crowd to see a line of people waiting to talk to the mayor. Her heart sank.
“On second thought,” Melissa said as she spied the long procession, “We can catch up to him later. Gives me a good excuse to keep you here longer. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the longing stares you’ve been sending toward the exit. Let me repeat myself.

We’re not leaving this shindig until you’ve formally introduced yourself to the mayor. And definitely not until I’ve gorged myself on that scrumptious-looking food.”

Samara followed the direction of her friend’s hungry gaze. Long serving tables were laden with everything from succulent prime rib au jus to smoked salmon. Unlike Melissa, the sight of all that food didn’t make Samara want to stuff herself. If anything, she felt slightly nauseous. She looked away with a mild shudder.

Gary and Paul Borden stood in unison as the two women returned to the table. Both men looked handsome and debonair in black tuxedoes, their wingtips polished to a shine. They helped the women into their seats.

Paul smiled warmly at Samara. “We were just saying how lucky we are to have accompanied two of the most beautiful women here tonight.”

Melissa beamed with pleasure. “Isn’t that sweet?” she said to Samara.
Samara had misgivings about inviting Paul to the banquet for fear of leading him on. But so far he’d been nothing but a gentleman. Since he hadn’t called her after their last lunch together, she wondered if he’d finally lost interest in her. She hoped so. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
About the time Samara was beginning to relax, she glanced up and froze.
There, standing across the room with the mayor and several city councilmen, was Marcus. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that fit his tall, muscular frame to mouthwatering perfection. He looked like he had just stepped from the cover of GQ, right down to the hand thrust carelessly into one pocket. With little or no effort, he was the epitome of masculine power and raw magnetism.
The sight of him took her breath away. She didn’t know how on earth she’d missed his arrival, but now that he was there, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. And she didn’t have to look around the crowded ballroom to know that she wasn’t the only woman with that problem.
Samara willed him to look her way but was afraid of what would happen if he did.
And then it happened.
As if in slow motion, he lifted those fathomless black eyes and looked right at her. Her heart thudded as hard as if he’d actually reached out and touched her. The moments that passed while they stared at each other seemed like an eternity.
A flash of color to his right drew Samara’s eye. Her heart plummeted at the sight of Antoinette Toussaint, resplendent in gossamer gold satin. As Samara watched, Marcus bent his head toward hers so that the woman could murmur something into his ear.
Samara looked away quickly, but not before Melissa caught her eye. Her expression was sympathetic. Are you okay? she mouthed.
Samara nodded jerkily. She was not okay, but she saw no point in broadcasting her misery to everyone else at their table.
Paul snagged a fluted glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. He looked sullen.
Dinner followed the mayor’s opening remarks. Samara couldn’t force down more than a few bites of the lavish offerings. When she excused herself to use the ladies room, Melissa stood as well.
Samara laughed in spite of herself. “No, sit and finish your dinner. Let’s dispel the myth that women always have to go to the bathroom in pairs.”
Melissa scowled at her but complied.
Only a few other women occupied the luxurious marble bathroom. Samara walked to the sink, moistened a paper towel and pressed it to her flushed cheeks. She felt like she was coming down with the flu. As soon as she got home, she would take something and hopefully nip the virus in the bud. It was her own fault for not taking better care of herself.
When she raised her eyes to the mirror, her reflection was joined by Antoinette Toussaint’s.
Oh, great. Just what she needed—a cat fight.
Cool amber eyes assessed her. “Samara, right? Imagine us running into each other again. This is—what—the third time in less than three weeks?”
“Something like that,” Samara answered in a tight, controlled voice.
Antoinette eyed her critically. “You don’t look too good, Samara. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine.” She knew this bitch was not pretending to be concerned about her!
“Listen, Samara.” Antoinette’s voice lowered to a discreet murmur. As if she wanted to protect their conversation from eavesdroppers. “I feel a bit awkward in light of what happened a few weeks ago. Despite what you may think, it was never my intention for you to walk in on me and Marcus that way. I can only imagine how difficult that must have been for you.”
Anger and humiliation tightened Samara’s chest. “No more difficult than it must have been for you,” she countered with stinging sweetness.
Antoinette’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. That whole ‘other woman’ thing.” It was Samara’s turn to discreetly lower her voice. She leaned closer to Antoinette for added effect. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to feel that you’re second best. You know, because you’re always reduced to being the other woman. It must take a terrible toll on your self-esteem.”
Antoinette’s expression hardened. “I wouldn’t worry about my self-esteem if I were you. Your time would be better served figuring out how to keep your man happy so he doesn’t have to go looking for the ‘other woman.’ “
Samara flinched. She couldn’t help it. Antoinette’s cruel taunt struck too close to home. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Look, Antoinette, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. We could do this all night and, frankly, I have better things to do with my time.”
She started to move past the woman when Antoinette spoke again. Her voice dripped with triumph. “As long as we’re being so honest with each other, Samara, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Prior to that day you walked in on us, Marcus and I weren’t involved. But thanks to your childish insecurities, that’s about to change.” She touched an elegant hand to her coiffed hair. Her full lips curved into a temptress’s smile. “And unlike some women who shall remain nameless, I know how to keep a man happy. Enjoy the rest of the evening, Samara. You can be sure Marcus and I will.”
Samara left the bathroom without another word. If she’d felt ill before, she felt even worse now. Antoinette’s snide revelation confirmed what she’d already known deep down in her heart: Marcus had been telling the truth. She’d wrongly accused him of kissing Antoinette, and now it was too late to take back her angry words or undo the damage she’d caused to their relationship.
Needing some fresh air, Samara headed for the private lobby outside the ballroom. A pair of French doors was open for guests to enjoy the warm night breeze. She stepped onto the terrace and stood at the decorative banister overlooking Rock Creek Park.
God, what a royal mess she’d made.
“I thought I’d find you out here.”
Samara turned to see Paul Borden standing in the door. She managed a wan smile. “Just getting some fresh air.”
He joined her at the banister. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it? Half moon, glittering starlight.” His gaze met hers. “It’s a night for lovers.”
“Hmm.” Samara glanced away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“Is something wrong, Samara? You’ve been preoccupied the entire evening. I don’t even think you’ve noticed how many male heads you’ve turned—but then, that’s nothing new for you.” He chuckled. When she remained silent, he grew sober. “Anything you want to talk about? I’m a good listener.”
“I have a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about though.”
Music from the ballroom drifted through the open terrace doors. Paul held out his hand to her. “Dance with me?”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Come on, Samara, don’t be a spoilsport.” Ignoring her protests, Paul drew her into his arms and began swaying gently to the music. His breath was peppered with alcohol. Samara’s stomach recoiled.
She tried to pull away, but his arms were a steel band around her waist. “Paul—”
“Don’t worry, he’s not going to see us dancing together. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?” He drew back to observe her stricken expression. His mouth curled into a mocking sneer. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been watching him all night like a lovesick puppy? You think I don’t know why Melissa’s been monitoring you as closely as if you’re about to slit your wrists?”
“Paul,” Samara said, striving for composure, “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“I’m not drunk, I’m frustrated! There’s a big difference.” His laughter was a thin, harsh sound. “What is it with you women? I’ve spent the last two years playing Mr. Nice Guy, hoping you would give me just one chance to prove that we could be good together. Two whole years, Samara. And what do you do? You fall for the first good-looking thing to come along. Never mind that guys like Marcus Wolf never settle down with one woman. Never mind that he can’t make you happy!”
Samara wrenched herself free. “I’m going back inside.”
Paul grabbed her arm. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Get your hand off me, Paul.”
“I’m a decent guy, Samara. I work hard, pay my taxes, handle my responsibilities. I’m smart, attractive and I’ve even been told that I’m a great dresser. But I guess that’s not good enough for you. Women like you never settle for the nice guys. You prefer to be used and discarded at whim.” He tightened his painful grip and leaned closer, his face twisted scornfully. “Just like a whore.”
“You bastard!” Furious, Samara struggled to free her arm from his grasp.
“Is there a problem here?” said a low, deadly voice from across the terrace.
Samara and Paul looked over in unison to see Marcus standing in the entrance. Slowly he stepped from the shadows, as dark and forbidding as an avenging angel.
Paul released Samara’s hand. His tone was coldly mocking. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t Prince Charming to the rescue.”
Marcus’s expression was so ominous that Samara instinctively stepped in front of Paul. Her eyes beseeched Marcus. “Please don’t make a scene.”
He looked down at her, lethal fury smoldering in his eyes. “Go back inside, Samara.”
She shook her head. She didn’t want to be the cause of any bloodshed. “Please don’t do this, Marcus. Think about all those people inside. Think about your reputation.”
“Besides, this is none of your business,” Paul blustered from his safe position behind Samara.
Marcus took another menacing step forward. Samara put her hand to the solid wall of his chest. His muscles were rigid, primed for a fight. “All right, I’ll go inside. But not without you. Please, Marcus.”
“Get your things,” he said tersely. “I’m taking you home.”
“I drove her here!” Paul sputtered in protest. “She’s leaving with me.”
“I don’t think so.” Marcus’s tone was low and formidable.
Desperate to prevent a violent clash between the two men—a clash in which she knew Paul would come out the loser—Samara grabbed Marcus’s hand and started quickly from the terrace. His eyes didn’t leave Paul until they were back inside the lobby.
He followed Samara to the table to retrieve her purse. Melissa and Gary looked up in surprise at their approach.
“Hey, Marcus,” Melissa greeted him, then took one look at Samara’s strained expression and frowned. “What happened? Where’s Paul?”
“Out on the terrace. Marcus has, uh, offered to take me home since I’m not feeling well. Could you guys make sure Paul gets home safely? I think he’s had one too many glasses of champagne.”
Melissa nodded as understanding dawned. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”