“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.
Chapter Eleven
As 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.
As much as his mother’s unexpected visit rattled him, thoughts of Samara dominated his mind. 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.
Maureen SmithSamara 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.
He cleared his throat. “No electricity, huh?” Unless you counted the electrical currents pulsing through his veins, heating his blood.
She shook her head. “I just got out of the shower and was about to blow-dry my hair when it went out.” Stepping away from the door, she moved soundlessly through the living room, lighting fragrant candles that cast long willowy shadows against the walls.
Marcus watched her, unable to tear his gaze away from her. In the white robe, with her dark hair clinging sleekly to her face and neck, she looked like a mythical creature silhouetted against the flickering flames.
Finished with her task, she started back toward him. “Did you get wet?”
Blood rushed straight to his groin. “What?” he said hoarsely.
In the candlelit gloom, he saw her eyes glitter. “Were you caught in the downpour?” she clarified, and he wondered if he’d only imagined the breathless note in her voice. “I can get you a towel.”
He shook his head, even as rainwater trickled into his ear. “I’m fine, thanks.”
A streak of lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the room. Their gazes locked, crackling with awareness. His body burned. His heart pounded so hard, it threatened to shatter in half.
137Samara drew a soft, shallow breath. “I’m going to put on some clothes,” she told him, turning and starting away. “I’ll be right—”
Reaching out, Marcus caught her arm to halt her retreat. She didn’t resist as he curved an arm around her waist and pulled her against his body so that her head fell back on his shoulder. The feel of her lush, shapely ass pressed against him made his dick throb with need.
He bent his head to nuzzle her throat, brushing his lips over her silky, fragrant skin, catching droplets of water with the tip of his tongue. She trembled hard.
“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “I tried, but I couldn’t do it. You’re in my blood, Samara.”
Her breath quickened as he drew her earlobe into his mouth and gently suckled. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he turned her face toward him. Dark, heavy-lidded eyes met his. Holding her gaze, he leaned down and kissed her, slow and seductively. Her lips were warm and incredibly soft, parting for him as he swept his tongue inside the velvet nectar of her mouth. She hungrily responded, sucking on his tongue as her body strained closer. His erection swelled painfully against her buttocks. His fingers tangled in her wet hair as he kissed her harder, crushing her lips under his, stealing her breath and giving it back as they panted into each other’s mouths.
With his other hand he reached inside her robe and cupped her left breast. She gasped, arching upward as he tweaked and tugged the nipple into a tight bead. She moaned and closed her eyes as he used both hands to fondle and caress her breasts until she writhed against him in mindless pleasure.
His heart thundered as he reached down to untie her robe, then slipped it from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He stroked his hand slowly down her side, tracing the voluptuous curves of her body, splaying his fingers across her flat belly. She shivered beneath his touch, her lids at half-mast as she gazed at him over her shoulder.
“Marcus…” Her voice was barely audible.
“I want you,” he murmured thickly, bending to touch his mouth to the nape of her neck, then trailing lower, kissing between her shoulder blades and running his tongue down her spine until he felt her shaking. “I want to do unspeakable things to you,” he continued, sinking to his knees behind her. “Things you can’t even begin to imagine.”
“Marcus…” she whispered pleadingly.
The breathless desire in her voice only fueled his own arousal. He wanted her so bad it hurt, but he wanted to savor every moment of the seduction, prolong their satisfaction for as long as he could.
He cupped the juicy swell of her rump and began to knead the muscles, groaning deep in his throat from the exquisite pleasure. “You have the sweetest ass I’ve ever seen,” he uttered, low and rough. “Makes a man lose his damn mind.”
She quivered uncontrollably as he kissed her buttock, the back of her knees, between her upper thighs.
“Bend forward and open your legs for me,” he huskily commanded. When she obeyed, he pressed his mouth to the hot, pulsing mound of her sex. She groaned sharply and arched her back.
Lust raged through his body, throbbing in his groin. Grabbing her hips, he rasped his tongue over her slippery feminine lips, murmuring hoarsely, “Damn, you taste like honey.”
“Oh God, oh God…” she whispered brokenly as he licked, nibbled and suckled her, filling his mouth with her essence. He tortured her until he thought she might explode, her hips undulating against him, her breath loud and gasping.
He brought her to the brink of fulfillment, then pulled away and lurched to his feet, drawing a protesting moan from her. Hands shaking, he unzipped his pants, almost breaking the zipper in his haste. He removed a condom from his wallet and quickly sheathed his engorged penis, so stimulated he nearly came from the pressure of his own hand.
As a rumble of thunder shook the house, he led Samara into the candlelit living room, bent her over the arm of the sofa, then entered her from behind. She cried out wildly, clasping him in her tight, wet heat. Too ravenous to be gentle, Marcus thrust hard and deep, taking her roughly and possessively. She moaned loudly, holding her bouncing breasts as he rammed in and out of her, showing her no mercy.
“Marcus…I’m coming!” she cried as her inner muscles contracted around his dick and her body trembled violently beneath him.
Moments later he exploded inside her with a force that tore a raw expletive from his throat. He gripped her waist and shuddered against her, rocked by one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever had. Fitting that it should be with Samara, the first and only woman he’d ever fallen in love with.
It was several minutes before he could even attempt to move. As he slowly withdrew from her body, a rush of warm liquid seeped out and slid down her inner thighs. He’d never been with a woman who came as hard and freely as Samara did. It was unbearably erotic.
He turned her around and lifted her onto the arm of the sofa, then wiped some of the slick moisture from her thigh. As she watched in heavy-lidded arousal, he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked her nectar from his hand.
“Delicious,” he pronounced huskily.
Her eyes rolled back in her head as a ragged moan escaped. Without another word, Marcus lifted her into his arms and started from the living room, in search of a bed for round two.
He was inside her, her legs wrapped around his waist, before they even made it to the hallway.
1
Hours later, they lay spent in each other’s arms, listening to the rain lashing against the windows, drowsily counting the number of times lightning arced across the night sky.
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t stay away?” Samara murmured, sprawled on top of him, her thick hair spread across his bare chest.
Marcus smiled lazily in the darkness. “Mmm, most definitely.”
She hesitated, then admitted, “I was beginning to think you’d lost interest.”
Hearing the wistful note in her voice, Marcus felt a sharp pang of guilt. He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t even think that’s possible.”
He felt her smile against his chest, and it filled him with warmth. “Before I forget,” he drawled wryly, “My father and brother send their regards.”
“Yeah?” There was unmistakable pleasure in her voice. “Well, tell them I said hello. I really enjoyed meeting them.”
“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual. Dad called me this morning wanting to know when you’d be returning for another visit.”
Samara chuckled softly. “I didn’t think he’d welcome me into his home again after the way I beat him and his friends at poker.”
Marcus grinned. “Where’d you learn how to play like that anyway?” he asked, angling his head to get a better look at her fa
ce. “I meant to ask you on Sunday.”
“I worked as a bartender during college. One of the other bartenders was a diehard poker player, so he thought it’d be fun to teach me.”
Marcus chuckled. “Let me guess. You became greater than your master.”
“You know it.” A flash of lightning revealed her satisfied grin. “I beat him so many times that he finally dared me to sign up for one of those national poker tournaments. Naturally, I couldn’t resist the challenge. A bunch of us rented an RV and drove cross-country to Vegas for the tournament and…” she trailed off, lifting one shoulder in a modest shrug.
“You’re kidding me. You’re a national poker champion?” When Samara nodded sheepishly, Marcus threw back his head and roared with laughter.
She lifted her head and glared playfully at him. “What’s so funny about that?”
Shaking his head, Marcus wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “You never cease to amaze me, Samara Layton. A humanitarian executive by day, a blues-singing poker guru by night.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a guru.”
“You beat Sterling Wolf. Trust me, you’re a guru.”
She grinned. “He took it pretty well though.”
“That’s because he likes you. Come to think of it, you seemed to have all of his buddies wrapped around your finger when it was all said and done.”
“I liked them. A few of them even reminded me a little of my grandfather—or at least how I’d always imagined him to be. He died in a car accident before I was born, but my grandmother told me so many stories about him that I felt like I knew him personally. I always wished I did.” She paused, then added a little forlornly, “I envy you and your family, Marcus. The three of you seem very close.”
“We are,” he soberly agreed. “We had no other choice.”
Silence lapsed between them for a few minutes. Thunder rumbled in the distance, signifying that the storm was finally moving off.
“I saw my mother today,” Marcus said quietly. He hadn’t planned to tell Samara about his mother’s visit, but the moment the words left his mouth, he knew it was the first of many private things he’d be sharing with her.
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