share of lovers. He especially appreciated those who understood when it was time to move on, who weren’t determined to suck more out of him than he was willing to give. Marcus had no intention of settling down with anyone. Not any time soon, and possibly never. Considering how his own father’s marriage had ended, Marcus figured it wasn’t worth the risk. He didn’t need the aggravation of a broken heart or shattered dreams. And he was just superstitious enough to believe in history repeating itself.
The reality was that his success attracted all types of women, many of whom were after his bank account and not much else. God knows he’d encountered more than enough of them in his life. Even Samara, who could have her pick of any man she wanted, had an ulterior motive when she’d approached Marcus on Monday night. He wasn’t mad at her or anything. But he couldn’t let himself forget that. Because as soon as he let his guard down, he’d be hers for the taking. Just as she’d subdued that wild tiger during the fashion show, she would tame Marcus.
No way in hell would he ever let himself be tamed by any woman.
Not even a fine ass woman like Samara Layton.
1
Samara had made up her mind.
Tonight, on a night when the moon shone bright and full in the sky, she was going to catch a wolf.
Marcus Wolf, to be exact.
She figured she’d waited an appropriate length of time— twenty-four hours—to prove she wasn’t offering sex as payment for the generous donation he’d given FYI. And even if twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time, she didn’t care. For once in her life, she was going after what she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.
She’d set the plan in motion by calling his office that afternoon. His receptionist had put her through almost immediately.
“Hey, beautiful,” Marcus greeted her, the husky timbre of his voice pouring heat into her ear. “I was just thinking about you.”
Samara’s nipples got hard. She licked her lips. “Were you?”
“Yeah. You left your attaché case in my car. I figured you’d probably want it back at some point.”
She chuckled softly. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I was going to stop by your office today to pick it up, but I wanted to find out when you’d be there.”
“I have a meeting in half an hour. But I should be back around five-thirty, and then I’ll probably be here for the rest of the night buried in paperwork.”
Or buried in me. Samara smiled wickedly at the thought. “That works for me. I have a ton of things to do before I leave here anyway. If I drop by around seven, would that be too late?”
“Not at all,” Marcus murmured. “I’ll be here.”
After Samara hung up the phone, she finished what she’d been working on until five o’clock. Then she grabbed her belongings and left, surprising her employees, who were used to their boss pulling late nights at the office.
She’d spent a productive day making phone calls and drafting letters to neighborhood associations and corporations that had expressed an interest in participating in the Youth for the Arts and Literacy project. Now that FYI had the necessary funds to officially launch the venture, there was a lot or work to do.
But not tonight, thought Samara, climbing into her Avalon. She’d spent the last two years pouring blood, sweat and tears into preserving the Institute’s legacy of community service, doing whatever was necessary to keep the organization afloat. Dinner with Marcus last night had been about business.
Tonight was strictly for pleasure.
When she arrived home, she filled her tub with scented bath crystals from Victoria’s Secret and took a hot bath. When she’d finished, she rubbed mango body butter all over herself, slipped into the sexiest lingerie she owned, then stepped into a pair of sixinch stiletto heels she’d once bought on a whim and never really intended to wear. The shoes were downright lethal to walk in, but years of runway training—courtesy of
The reality was that his success attracted all types of women, many of whom were after his bank account and not much else. God knows he’d encountered more than enough of them in his life. Even Samara, who could have her pick of any man she wanted, had an ulterior motive when she’d approached Marcus on Monday night. He wasn’t mad at her or anything. But he couldn’t let himself forget that. Because as soon as he let his guard down, he’d be hers for the taking. Just as she’d subdued that wild tiger during the fashion show, she would tame Marcus.
No way in hell would he ever let himself be tamed by any woman.
Not even a fine ass woman like Samara Layton.
1
Samara had made up her mind.
Tonight, on a night when the moon shone bright and full in the sky, she was going to catch a wolf.
Marcus Wolf, to be exact.
She figured she’d waited an appropriate length of time— twenty-four hours—to prove she wasn’t offering sex as payment for the generous donation he’d given FYI. And even if twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time, she didn’t care. For once in her life, she was going after what she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.
She’d set the plan in motion by calling his office that afternoon. His receptionist had put her through almost immediately.
“Hey, beautiful,” Marcus greeted her, the husky timbre of his voice pouring heat into her ear. “I was just thinking about you.”
Samara’s nipples got hard. She licked her lips. “Were you?”
“Yeah. You left your attaché case in my car. I figured you’d probably want it back at some point.”
She chuckled softly. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I was going to stop by your office today to pick it up, but I wanted to find out when you’d be there.”
“I have a meeting in half an hour. But I should be back around five-thirty, and then I’ll probably be here for the rest of the night buried in paperwork.”
Or buried in me. Samara smiled wickedly at the thought. “That works for me. I have a ton of things to do before I leave here anyway. If I drop by around seven, would that be too late?”
“Not at all,” Marcus murmured. “I’ll be here.”
After Samara hung up the phone, she finished what she’d been working on until five o’clock. Then she grabbed her belongings and left, surprising her employees, who were used to their boss pulling late nights at the office.
She’d spent a productive day making phone calls and drafting letters to neighborhood associations and corporations that had expressed an interest in participating in the Youth for the Arts and Literacy project. Now that FYI had the necessary funds to officially launch the venture, there was a lot or work to do.
But not tonight, thought Samara, climbing into her Avalon. She’d spent the last two years pouring blood, sweat and tears into preserving the Institute’s legacy of community service, doing whatever was necessary to keep the organization afloat. Dinner with Marcus last night had been about business.
Tonight was strictly for pleasure.
When she arrived home, she filled her tub with scented bath crystals from Victoria’s Secret and took a hot bath. When she’d finished, she rubbed mango body butter all over herself, slipped into the sexiest lingerie she owned, then stepped into a pair of sixinch stiletto heels she’d once bought on a whim and never really intended to wear. The shoes were downright lethal to walk in, but years of runway training—courtesy of
Similar Books
