The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) (9 page)

“Why? Why there, of all places?”

“I was trying to do what you would do. Like when you invited the Holcombes to the wedding. You want to buy the hotel. It’s the reason we’re getting married. And it’s available. Seemed like the perfect place to me.”

Of course it did, but it wasn’t. Not to him. It had been years since he’d visited the hotel and it called forth terrible memories. He hadn’t wanted to darken those doors until the building belonged to him and he’d fulfilled his promise to his mother.

A weight settled on his chest. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to get married at the hotel, but since Pamela already had permission, would Holcombe be offended if he didn’t?

Chapter Nine

The sharp crack ripped through the air as bat connected with ball and sent it soaring into the sky. The crowd roared to its feet as the Washington Nationals took the lead, three players crossing the plate.

Pamela leaned against the railing, admiring the view that stretched out before her: the alternating shades of green that crisscrossed the spacious field, the vivid Technicolor that flashed on the enormous scoreboard, and the enthusiastic fans who cheered their hometown team. There was a palpable swell of excitement, and she allowed it to gather her up and include her in its tide.

A Thursday afternoon at the baseball park wasn’t a usual entry on her social calendar. But when Marcus invited her to Pearson Enterprises’ employee appreciation day, she jumped at the chance to take a break away from their engagement scheme. Things had been tense since their argument at the shelter the weekend before. She’d thought he would love the idea of getting married at the Holcombe, but for some unexplainable reason, he’d gotten angry. Their brief truce now ended, they’d gone back to uneasiness. She didn’t know how long they would be married, but she didn’t plan on spending the time in simmering agitation. Today, they would get back on track.

In a platonic way, of course.

There would be no more kisses. A peck or two for show, but no more of the bone-melting embraces like the one at the St. Regis, or the hard, quick clinches that thrilled her down to her Jimmy Choo-clad toes. It would be madness to get involved with another man whose sole interest in her stemmed from her pedigree.

Most of the employees were gathered in the Presidents Club, one of the ballpark’s exclusive seating areas, which Marcus had rented out for the game. A few energetic ones had taken the employees’ kids and some of the local kids from the Boys & Girls Clubs of Greater Washington that Marcus had invited over to the jungle gym and batting cage in the Family Fun Area. He’d also reserved the lounge adjoining the club for private conversations or for anyone who needed a break from the boisterous group. Pamela had watched a couple of nursing mothers and sleeping toddlers take advantage of the peaceful alternative.

“Miss Harrington? Marcus asked me to bring you this.”

Pamela turned and saw a familiar pretty, petite blonde holding out a tall white plastic cup with the baseball team’s logo emblazoned in red on the front.

“What is it?”

“An iced chai latte.”

Pamela smiled, losing the battle not to let the thoughtful gesture matter. He remembered. She took a sip, the cool liquid a refreshing shield against the city’s humid afternoon heat.

“Thanks. And please, call me Pamela,” she said. “We met earlier. You’re Amanda, right?”

“Yes, I work in Development.” The other woman leaned next to her on the railing, her foot resting on the bottom rung. “Are you enjoying the game?”

“It’s been fun. I’m not a big sports fan, but the energy from the crowd is infectious.”

“The Nats have a lot of love here in DC.” Amanda leaned forward, her voice a conspiratorial hush. “I’m a Giants fan, but I have to admit they are fun to watch.”

“Giants? You’re from New York?”

Amanda laughed. “No, you’re thinking football. I’m talking about the baseball team. San Francisco.”

“That’s where Marcus is from. You came here with the company?”

She nodded. “I’ve been with PE for eight years. I started in an entry-level position straight out of college. After a few years, they offered to pay for business school. I jumped at the opportunity.”

“You’re a long way from home. You must miss your family.”

“I do. We’re very close. That was the hardest part about making the decision to relocate out here.”

“But it’s been worth it?”

Amanda nodded. “Absolutely. I’ve learned so much working with Marcus. He’s a great mentor and he’s extremely hands-on with the projects he chooses.” She frowned. “Well, he used to be. Since moving here, he’s delegated a majority of those duties to me.”

So he could devote all of his time and energy to the Holcombe? Why did that hotel engender an irrational longing in Marcus? Did its walls contain hidden treasure? Chests of jewels and gold coins? Secret historical documents?

“Marcus wouldn’t have given you that responsibility if he had any concerns about your performance. He’s a bit of a control freak.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Amusement laced Amanda’s words. “It’s been challenging and extremely rewarding. Speaking of rewarding, Marcus mentioned the work you do at the women’s shelter. That’s pretty awesome. He told human resources to be on the lookout for any applicants from the shelter.”

Pamela was surprised that he’d moved so quickly on his proposition. “He hadn’t told me. I thought he’d forgotten about it.”

“Marcus is driven and has earned his reputation as a fierce businessman. But no one is fairer or more supportive.”

Amanda left to join some of her coworkers and Pamela made her way inside the club. She told herself she wasn’t looking for Marcus, but her eyes missed that internal memo. They unsuccessfully searched for him amid the chairs and tables placed throughout the room. She garnered the same result from the long lines snaking past the catered dinner buffet. Finally, she turned her attention to the club’s centerpiece, a mahogany wood-and-granite bar, surrounded by scarlet fabric-covered stools. Her heart swelled at the sight of his broad shoulders in an official team jersey as he leaned against the bar.

He was talking to two members of Congress. As she drew closer, the muscles in his back stiffened and he turned. Her gaze locked on his and she felt helpless as his beautiful blue eyes reeled her closer. He smiled, took her hand, and pulled her to his side, their fingers intertwining. The contact sent shards of electricity down her body, as if she’d tangoed with a bolt of lightning.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“Thank you for the chai latte. It was a thoughtful gesture.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, his clean, sporty scent tickling her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, his touch completely erasing her previous promise to keep her distance.

“You’re welcome.” He flicked a finger against her cheek before turning to the two men. “You both know my fiancée, Pamela Harrington?”

His arm was a steel band around her waist, anchoring her firmly to his side. The heat from his flesh seared through the flimsy barrier of her shirt to burn against her skin. She reveled in that strength even as she fought reliance upon it. It wasn’t real and would end the moment he got the hotel.

Both men nodded. Congressman Blumfield shook her hand and said, “Of course. It’s good to see you again, Pamela. Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you, Congressman. I read about your wife’s involvement with the Autism Speaks charity auction. Tell her if there’s anything we can do to help, please let me know.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to your father’s benefit. But I heard he raised a pretty penny with his donation of an outing with him on Congressional’s Blue Course.”

A subtle shift of her body and she was free from Marcus’s grip. The absence evoked a keen ache, but the separation was necessary. Ignoring his frown, she greeted the other congressman.

“We didn’t mean to intrude on your gathering,” the man said. “We heard the club had been rented out for a company party and we wanted to see which generous bastard was responsible.” He laughed and slapped Marcus on the back. Turning back to Pamela, he added, “Seeing you is a bonus. How is your father? Haven’t seen him at Congressional lately.”

She stiffened. She still hadn’t talked to her father. Following her conversation with Alice, she’d called him at the estate, but had yet to receive a response. His stubbornness about getting a cell phone bordered on bizarre. “He’s been busy on the Hill. I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

When the men finally left, Marcus didn’t try to keep her with him. Maybe he sensed she needed a little space. But she couldn’t escape his presence. The heat of his gaze warmed her body, and she found herself seduced by the melody of his voice. She was caught in the gravity of their attraction, and by the last inning, awareness of him burned as bright as a supernova.

After the game, the kids were treated to an autograph session with some of the players. Pamela couldn’t contain her amusement at the third baseman’s double take when the large jersey-covered back was presented to him for his signature. When Marcus grinned sheepishly at her and winked, Pamela knew keeping her distance from him wouldn’t be possible.

“That was a wonderful thing you did,” she said, after the last employee bade them good-night. “Those kids will treasure this memory for years.” She smiled and touched the scribbled signature on his back. “They won’t be the only ones.”

“I did it for me as much as for them.”

“I’m trying to give you a compliment, Pearson. Accept it graciously.”

“I’ll take the compliment. But there’s something I’d like a hell of a lot more.”

His kiss was hot and possessive, proof of the physical connection that had flowed between them all day. They drew apart, their chests heaving, the air heavy with passion.

He ran his thumb across her lips, bent close, then whispered, “Come with me.”

An hour before, boisterous fans had packed the seats of the stadium, filling the air with their laughter and shouts of joy. Now, not even the stark artificial lighting could detract from the serene emptiness down on the playing field. Pamela peeked over her shoulder to find Marcus watching her, his vivid blue eyes thrown into shadow by the unnatural light.

Everything from his sun-kissed pale hair to his gorgeous eyes to his firm mouth called out to her, stoking the fire of yearning low in her belly. Their gazes locked in a duel. The silence stretched taut and tense between them.

She was the first one to break it. “Can you explain something to me?”

He didn’t try to hide the smirk that curved his lips. “Anything.”

“I’m not quite sure how we won.”

Lines furrowed in the center of his forehead. “We scored the most runs.”

“I know that! The other team was batting and I saw one of their players cross home base. That’s how you score runs, right? So if he did that, how did we win?”

“The batter was out at first base.”

“But the runner got to home first.”

“One of the many obscure, technical rules of baseball.” He paused. “Merkle’s Boner.”

“Pardon me?”

“The reason we scored the most runs. In 1908, a guy named Fred Merkle made one of the worst mistakes in baseball, leaving first base to head to the dugout after his teammate crossed home plate. Cost the Giants the game, and many say the National League pennant. Some people call the play Merkle’s Boner.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He shrugged. “I’m not, I swear. The rule states that a run doesn’t count if the runner advances home during a play when the third out comes from a forced out, which is what happened.”

“Huh,” she said, the words swirling in her mind to create a confusing stew. “And they couldn’t name it anything else?”

He laughed, the rich sound ricocheting off every sexual nerve ending. “That’s not an official term, but my guess is that it stuck because baseball is all about sex.”

She shook her head, still unwilling to tiptoe through this dangerous minefield. “No, it’s not.”

“Just think about it. You have Merkle’s Boner, which should be enough to rest my case, as your colleagues would say.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m still not convinced you didn’t make that up.”

His eyes fell to her breasts, which she’d mistakenly emphasized with her movement. She could feel her nipples tighten, his look a virtual caress. From the sudden tightness in his jaw, she knew that he’d noticed. She unwound her arms and slid her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

“I’m not making it up,” he continued a moment later. “Just trying to prove a point. Come here,” he said, the command as alluring as a hypnotic suggestion.

She went to him, her wedge heels silent on the grass. With one quick, smooth movement, he spun her so that she stood with her back against his chest, the field spread out before them. She trembled, his nearness threatening to override every security measure she struggled to keep in place. Goose bumps flared to life on arms left bare by her thin tank top. Every necessary inhalation made her aware of the strong, powerful body cupping hers.

“The game begins when the player comes up to the plate. His main objective? To score.”

His whispered words wove a spell, wrapping them in a sensual cocoon.

“He’s thrown a few pitches and sometimes he strikes out. But with a little patience, skill, and a touch of luck, he’ll make a connection and try to get to first base.”

Turning her head to the side, he took her mouth, his kiss deep and hungry and possessive. The awkwardness of their position was a turn-on. There was nothing she could do but hold on tight and enjoy the ride.

Sometime later—maybe a few seconds, maybe a few minutes—Marcus broke the kiss. His arms tightened around her and she fell back against his chest. She needed a moment to gather her wits about her, knew she should put distance between them.

Before she could act, he continued, trailing his fingers up and down her arms until all sensation was pinpointed in the sweep of those digits against her skin. “He likes first base, but if he stays there, he’ll never score. So, taking a deep breath and praying he makes it, he hurries to second base.”

Escape was no longer an option, no longer a necessity. She was in a daze, incapable of thought, only able to feel, swept away with his story.

“Marcus, I—”

His lips dipped to hers again, nibbling and sucking, drawing everything from her. His hands cupped her breasts, and even through the barrier of fabric they responded to him, swelling into his palms. She moaned, her head dropping to his shoulder. He squeezed, caressed, and plucked her nipples until she squirmed in a blaze of need.

The assault to her senses overrode every promise she made to herself, every defense she assembled. It blasted away any concerns about his intentions, any worries about her gullibility.