The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) (16 page)

The uncertainty of the situation with David Holcombe had taken a toll on him, although he would never admit it to her. She was glad he’d finally told her about his mother. Knowing that crucial piece of information placed his goal of attaining the hotel in a different light.

Owning the Holcombe hotel wasn’t just another business deal for Marcus. Maybe he could finally let the heavy responsibility of avenging his mother’s mistreatment fall from his shoulders. Seventeen years was long enough for that self-imposed burden. With the contract signed, he could put it behind him and move on.

She took his hand and leaned forward, pouring her love and pride into a lingering kiss. “I hope this makes you happy,” she whispered.

Noticing the smudge on his lips, she took her napkin and dabbed off the glossy color. When she sat back, she saw his furrowed brow and dazed expression.

“I got it all off,” she said, showing him the stained cloth.

“No, I—” He stopped, his gaze unfocused and turned inward, as though he was figuring out a complex equation.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He pulled himself together with visible effort. “We did it. We convinced him. I’m going to own the Holcombe.”

“When will the contracts be signed?”

Marcus waited while the server took their orders and menus. When they were alone again he said, “A few weeks. We both agreed to do this in person. I…I need to see his face.”

She nodded. “Is there anything that would prevent the transaction?”

Marcus clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. “No. I want the Holcombe, no matter how I get it.”

Her heart stuttered. In that moment, he’d transformed into the ruthless tycoon she’d first met on the golf course. She’d been lulled by his tenderness, intelligence, and sense of humor, but she couldn’t forget her husband had a well-earned reputation. She wasn’t sure why that remembrance bothered her. He hadn’t been that man with her in a while.

“Let’s have a toast,” she said, raising her glass. “To you, Marcus. And to finally achieving your dream.”

That funny look crossed his face again before he lifted his wineglass and touched it to hers.

“So when will you turn over the G Street building?”

She hated bringing up this subject, but it was the reason they’d entered into this marriage. She’d kept up her end of their agreement, and he was getting his hotel. As unromantic as it seemed, she needed to make sure he held up his end of the bargain. This wasn’t personal. There were people depending on her.

“The moment the contract is signed, you’ll have the deed to the building in your hand.”

“This will mean a lot to those women and children, Marcus. And to me,” she added.

“I told you about my mother and why getting the Holcombe is important to me. Why were you willing to marry me for a building?”

She hadn’t expected the question. She had no pithy reply to offer, certain he wouldn’t be satisfied with the story she’d spun for others.

“I—” She broke off, reaching for another sip of wine. Bracing herself, she tried again. “On Valentine’s Day, six weeks after we became engaged, Devin and I went to a dinner party hosted by some friends. I heard him admit he was marrying me for the perks of being Senator Harrington’s son-in-law.”

The words stuck to the roof of her mouth, like too much peanut butter or a scandal-induced apology. The embarrassment, shame, and betrayal she’d felt would have been enough to send any woman running to the safety of her home.

But not a Harrington. She’d pasted a smile on her face and endured the dinner and conversation, loath to cause a scene lest it get back to the Senator.

“He’s an ass.”

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “The lure of the Harrington esteem entices many.”

The corded muscle that ran the length of his jaw flexed. She wondered if he was thinking about their own beginning.

“I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with the shelter.”

She took a deep breath and continued.

“Devin never liked driving in the city. Whenever we went out for the evening, he used his car and driver. That night was no exception. He’d drunk too much, leaving him sloppy and obnoxious. In the car, I told him what I’d heard and he laughed. He didn’t try to deny it.

“I was fed up and disgusted and I grabbed my cell. I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I’d call a cab or the Senator’s driver. I don’t know what Devin thought I’d do, because he grabbed the phone away from me and backhanded me across the face.”

“That son of a bitch,” Marcus growled, his nostrils flaring.

“My cheek was on fire. I’d never experienced that kind of pain before. I remember screaming for the driver to pull the car over. When we stopped, I opened the door and jumped out. The moment I cleared the backseat, the car took off. Even as the car drove away, I hadn’t thought Devin would actually leave me stranded. But when the taillights disappeared, I realized I was alone in a dangerous part of the city with no phone and no money.”

She paused momentarily when the waiter brought their first course, a heart of palm salad with lump crabmeat, then continued.

“I stumbled along a couple of blocks, looking for a convenience store or some reasonably safe place where I could borrow a phone. My cheek throbbed, but the freezing rain helped with the pain. At that point, a part of me still hoped Devin would come back.”

“Did he?”

“No. I’d gone a few more blocks when I saw a convenience store. I went inside and asked to use the phone. There was a woman there who let me use her cell. She said there was a shelter nearby and I could wait there until someone could pick me up. That woman was Shelly and she took me to the G Street Women’s Shelter.” She toyed with her napkin.

“What about Wentworth?”

Pamela laughed, although there was little humor in the incident.

“He called me at home the next day, claiming a severe hangover. He said he didn’t remember everything from the night before. That some of it was ‘fuzzy.’” She made air quotes with her fingers.

“What about hitting you and leaving you alone in a dangerous place? How did he justify that?” Marcus spat out the last word, his voice sharp with anger.

“He didn’t. He thought if he ignored the event and never brought it up, we would go on as if that night never occurred. I ended our engagement. I remember trying so hard to convince Shelly my bruise wasn’t what it looked like, but she was right. I did need help.”

Marcus took several slow, steadying breaths, his fingers releasing their death grip on his fork. “I wish I’d known all of this when I met him. I wouldn’t have been so polite.”

Remembering the tension-filled encounter, she smiled. “I hope I’m never around when you’re rude.”

“Then head in the other direction the next time we run into him.”

“Noted. But if that hadn’t happened, I would never have found the shelter. I stumbled across it by accident. But what if that had been my one chance to escape? What if I made a plan to get there, only to find a boarded-up space? Consistency is the key. The women’s shelter has to stay in that location, Marcus. That’s how it will best serve the community.”

Marcus reached out and cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and leaned into his strong hand, one that would only give her pleasure.

“You’re an amazing woman, Pamela Pearson. I won’t let anyone hurt you like that ever again.”

His voice vibrated with passion and her whole body flooded with warmth. She believed he would protect her. His wife. Pamela Pearson. She’d never tire of hearing her new name.

Nearby, another couple burst out laughing over some private joke, breaking the spell. They spent the next few minutes idly chatting until the server brought their main course to the table. After she and Marcus finished the pan-roasted duck breast, the server slid a dark chocolate cheesecake in front of her and a liqueur-laced coffee before Marcus. Pamela sank her fork into the dense treat, the creamy bittersweet taste exploding on her tongue.

“What do you think about taking a little trip once everything is settled with the Holcombe and the women’s shelter?” Marcus asked.

She looked at him, her next bite poised midair. “Where?”

“We never took our honeymoon, so I thought we’d spend a week in San Francisco.” He drank from his cup before looking at her. “I want you to meet my aunt and my cousins.”

Pamela forgot to breathe. She grasped the importance of that invitation. He’d been serious when he’d said he wanted their relationship to continue beyond their agreement. She put her fork down, her gaze never wavering from his.

“I would love that, Marcus.” Had he heard the quiver in her voice when she’d said “love,” or had it only sounded pronounced to her sensitive ears?

Chapter Sixteen

The drive back home from the restaurant had been sweet torture. Marcus closed the front door and turned around. Pamela launched herself into his arms. He caught her with a groan, kissing her deeply. He plundered her mouth, one hand at the base of her neck, holding her to him. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more of her. He tore his mouth away and rained kisses down the side of her face and her neck.

“That perfume you wear drives me crazy.”

Her head fell to the side. “I’ll order ten more bottles.”

“Send me the bill.”

She started on his shirt, releasing one button at a time. Blood was barreling through his body, with one destination in mind. There was no time for slow and easy. Hell, he’d lost one shirt the first time they made love. He’d assume the risk again. It was for a good cause.

But when he tried to help her, she moved his hands away, slowly shaking her head. Her green eyes glowed, the light mesmerizing him.

He watched her return to the buttons, finding her intense concentration on the task at hand incredibly sexy. The pink tip of her tongue peeked between her full lips and he leaned down for a quick taste. With the release of the last button, she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, right above his heart, and then trailed her lips across to his flat nipple. She stroked it with her tongue, her thumbnail lightly grazing the other. A moan rumbled out of him, from his very being, and he pulled her to him for another kiss. His tongue swept inside her mouth, savoring her. She was chocolate and red wine on his palate, a dessert created just for him.

Breaking their kiss, she turned and strolled seductively away from him. He followed, watching the sway of her hips in those enticing pants. Why had he ever thought she would be
less
sexy when covered up?

In their room, she shoved him against the wall and pressed her body the length of his. She took his earlobe between her teeth and licked away the sting. He grabbed her hips and ground into her and she laughed, pushing away from him and taking two steps back. He loved this side of her: carefree, teasing. Kryptonite to all of his defenses.

His eyes widened when she undid her pants and peeled them down her long, shapely legs. She kicked the garment to the side and untied the flimsy fabric she’d called a shirt. It joined her pants in a forgotten pile and she stood before him in wisps of black lace.

How did I get so lucky?

He reached for her, then cursed at her upraised hand. He didn’t move. She twisted the clasp between her breasts and the cups popped free. The sharp hiss of inhaled breath filled the room. She let her arms fall and the bra slid from her body, leaving her panties as her only covering.

She turned around slowly and treated him to the sight of her rear. Moisture evaporated in the heat of his mouth. The panties she wore were cut high in the back, leaving the lowest half of her bottom bare for him to see. His palms itched to squeeze the smooth roundness.

She bent over and slid them down, lifting one leg and then the other. Without turning to face him, she climbed onto the bed. She took her time, rolling over and settling back onto her elbows. She kept her legs bent at the knees and let them fall open. The show over, she peered at him through her lashes.

His heart beat double-time and Marcus thought he would explode. How had he gone so long without her in his life and bed? She was a thrilling contradiction. No one who saw her rubbing elbows with the elite could imagine the sultry picture she presented.

She smiled, the invitation clear. His gaze traveled up her body and locked back on hers. He unbuckled his belt and dragged it from his pants. He let it go and it fell to the floor with a clank, his boxer briefs and pants following soon after.

She licked her lips.

He got a condom from the bedside table and quickly covered himself. Moving with stealthy intent, he crawled onto the bed, his body covering hers inch by inch. He braced an arm on either side of her head and stared down into her eyes. Within their depths he saw caring, respect, and something deeper. He would never let her down.

“Pamela.” He whispered her name, awed by the emotion she engendered. She raised a hand to cup his cheek and ran her thumb over his lower lip. Turning his head, he kissed the center of her palm as he entered her.

Her back arched off the bed. He withdrew slowly before surging forward again and seizing her mouth in a soul-stirring kiss. They moved together, her hips coming up to meet his long, intense strokes. When she came, the quakes in her body triggered his climax. He threw his head back and roared as he pulsed inside her.

When he’d recaptured his breath, he leaned down and placed his forehead against hers. He couldn’t lose her. He’d do anything to prevent that from happening.

The next morning, Marcus slid out of bed, taking care not to disturb Pamela. Her sleep-tousled waves framed a face peaceful in repose. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her soft lips. Gathering up his shorts, shoes, and iPhone, he left the house for his daily run. Starting on the canal towpath, he set a fast pace, the flat dirt path clear of other runners so early in the day.

Their dinner last night had been special, and not because the restaurant boasted a James Beard Award-winning chef. Pamela had finally opened up to him about her previous engagement. Hearing what Wentworth said about marrying her had roused his blood to a simmer. Learning he’d hit her had sent it roiling. He wanted to smash his fist into the pompous asshole’s face.

He increased his pace, admitting some of his anger was directed inward. Was he any better than Wentworth? A big part of Pamela’s appeal as a wife for him had been her family’s name and stature. However, unlike Wentworth, he’d been honest about his motivations from the beginning. He hadn’t pretended to possess feelings that weren’t there.

They’d come a long way in the past three months, and now, maintaining such a pretense wouldn’t have been difficult. When he’d told her about the Holcombe deal, he’d been surprised by her response and how much it had meant to him. He’d been doing this for a long time and the numerous write-ups in the media as well as the zeroes in his bank account let him know he was a titan in his industry. But having someone feel proud of him for his accomplishments? It had been gratifying. In that moment, he knew he would do anything to see that look in her eyes again. He wanted to make her proud.

And that thought bothered him. Because maybe the Holcombe wasn’t his dream.

Maybe
she
was.

The melody of his phone’s ringtone pealed through his earbuds.

“When was the last time you were up at this hour on a Saturday morning?” he said, greeting Carter.

“We’ve got a problem.”

That got his undivided attention. There was no trace of the carefree playboy in the other man’s voice.

“What is it?” He tensed, awaiting the bad news.

“Holcombe wants a condition in the contract.”

“What condition? We’re done with negotiations. We’re drawing up the contracts for signing.”

“This is major.”

“Are we playing twenty guesses? Come on, man, spit it out.”

The silence was heavy until Carter said, “Holcombe has decided he’s not ready to retire.”

His stomach dropped.

What!

“He can’t back out of this deal.”

“He’s not backing out. He wants to sell you the Holcombe. But he’s decided to purchase another building.”

“If he wants a building, he should hire a Realtor. What does that have to do with me?”

“He’s already found a building he likes. It’s one of yours.” Another weighty silence. “It’s the building on G Street.”

The blood congealed in Marcus’s veins. “The building occupied by the women’s shelter?” he asked, but he knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“I told him, but it’s his final stipulation. If he doesn’t get the building, the deal is off.”

“But why
that
building?”

“He saw your press conference with Pamela last week. He knows you own the building, he knows it’s in a prime location, and he knows what he doesn’t want the building for.”

Marcus knew, too.
A women’s shelter.

Dammit.

He sank onto a cobblestone half-wall, his muscles suddenly weak. Two minutes ago he’d been riding a crest of happiness. Now…

“He can’t do this.”

“You know he can, Marcus.”

“But we have a verbal agreement,” he argued.

“True, but you know as well as I do how little that really means. He can still walk away.”

For the first time in years, Marcus didn’t know what to do. He was faced with two choices and the right one wasn’t patently obvious. The Holcombe could be his. All he had to do was trade a building. A cost-benefit analysis wasn’t necessary. The benefit of owning the Holcombe outweighed the cost of the G Street building.

But…Pamela. She’d held up her end of their agreement. He wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t for her. “He’s never going to get another offer like ours.”

“His attorney seems to think he’s willing to take that chance,” Carter said.

Pamela approaching him on the golf course.

Smiling at him while they danced.

Sitting next to him on the sofa.

Moaning as she came in his arms.

Marcus’s chest tightened and he tried one more time. “Offer him another property. We have a few in the area and more on the West Coast.”

“He was very clear. It had to be the building on G Street.”

Marcus scoured his brain for alternatives. He ran the scenarios over and over in his mind. In the end he was left with one basic truth. He’d been working toward this moment since he was twelve years old. He cared about Pamela. He understood the plight of the women in the shelter. He had given her his
word
.

But he had another promise to keep. To his mother. Tears burned his eyes as he exhaled and tipped his head back to look skyward.

Please forgive me, Pamela.

“Make the deal.”