“Rough night?”
Quentin glanced up to find Marcus leaning in the open doorway with one shoulder propped on the doorjamb, hands tucked into his pockets. In no mood to be interrogated by another Wolf brother, Quentin grunted unintelligibly and reached for his phone to check his voice mail.
“I had to push our meeting up to ten-thirty,” Marcus informed him. “I’m going to be out for a few hours this afternoon.”
“Fine.”
Instead of leaving, Marcus entered the office and wandered over to the wall of windows. As he gazed out at the downtown skyline, the expression on his face reminded Quentin of a kid who was bursting to share a secret.
Reluctantly intrigued, Quentin set down the phone receiver. “What’s on your mind, Lit—Marcus?” He automatically checked himself before he called him “Little Man,” the nickname he and Michael had given Marcus when they were younger because he’d always tagged along after them, trying to hang with the big boys. Quentin made a point of not using the nickname when he and Marcus were at the office, but every so often it slipped out.
Marcus turned from the window, beaming from ear to ear. “Samara’s pregnant.”
“Really?” Quentin grinned broadly. “Hey, man, that’s wonderful news. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I suspected something was up when we were in France and she threw up after we went fishing. She said the smell of the fish bothered her, but I remembered how sick she got when she was pregnant with the boys.”
“Have you told the family?”
“Not yet. Samara wants to wait until after Mike and Reese have their baby. She says they deserve to enjoy their time in the spotlight, just like we did.”
“Thoughtful woman, that wife of yours.”
“Always.” Marcus smiled softly. “We have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. We’re hoping it’s a girl this time. Not that we’ll know for a few months.”
“Are you going to find out?” Quentin asked. “Or are you going to wait like Mike and Reese?”
“We want to know. Definitely. But either way, it’s all good.” Marcus looked happy enough to float away at any moment.
Quentin was surprised to feel a sharp pang of envy. Did he want what Marcus had? A doting wife, adorable kids, a big, beautiful house in Buckhead? Was hetrulyready to give up his bachelor pad, wipe his PDA clean of women’s phone numbers and become domesticated?
Seeing his frown, Marcus gave him a knowing, sympathetic grin. “Lexi still not speaking to you?”
“No.” Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know about that?”
Marcus chuckled. “You must have called her while she and Samara were out running errands for the baby shower. Samara says Lexi took one look at caller ID, saw your number and shut the phone off.”
Quentin scowled. “Don’t tell your brother. I don’t feel like hearing his damn mouth.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. But just out of curiosity, what’d you do this time?”
“For once,” Quentin grumbled morosely, “not a damn thing.”
Marcus gave him a long, assessing look. “I believe you.”
“Gee, thanks, Wolf.”
“No, I’m serious. I know what it’s like to be presumed guilty until proven innocent, and it’s no picnic.” He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “You know, Lexi reminds me a lot of Samara.”
“In what way?”
“Tough, headstrong, vulnerable. They both went through a lot with their mothers. And they both have daddy issues, which, unfortunately, makes it hard for them to trust the men who genuinely care about them.”
Marcus wasn’t saying anything Quentin didn’t already know. But considering that Marcus had successfully weathered the storm and gained Samara’s love and trust, Quentin figured the man probably knew what he was talking about.
“So what’s your advice, Confucius?”
Marcus smiled cryptically. “Don’t get caught kissing any supermodels.”
