The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence)

by Livesay, Tracey

  “That’s impossible. There’s a ten-year waiting list.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Nothing is impossible if you know the right people.”

  Harrington gave him an assessing look, perhaps seeing him for the first time. “You’ve managed to do quite well for yourself. The business world is all abuzz about the boy who pulled himself out of poverty to become one of the wealthiest men in the country.”

  “You say that like it’s an insult.”

  “It’s not a compliment. Money isn’t the same as breeding. That takes generations.”

  “We’re people, not horses. And from what I’ve experienced, breeding doesn’t ensure decency, kindness, or happiness.”

  “There are numerous women who would find a man like you charming. Why my daughter?”

  Marcus frowned. “Because she’s beautiful, smart, funny, brave, and compassionate.” The truth of the words hit him as he listed each quality. She really was an extraordinary woman.

  “I know what she is,” Harrington snapped. “That’s why I take offense at your appropriation of her to get to me.” He inhaled deeply and adjusted the collar of his golf shirt. “Please tell me what you want so we can end this conversation.”

  “The wedding is tomorrow.”

  “I know. I’ll be there. But don’t mistake this as an endorsement of your union.”

  Marcus shook his head, stunned. “What have I ever done to you? You treat me with contempt because I made my money instead of inheriting it?”

  “No. Because there are formalities, protocols, and traditions that must be observed and you make a mockery of them all. You didn’t even have the decency to ask my permission.”

  His skin prickled like a thousand tiny arrows finding their bull’s-eye. His throat tightened, making it difficult to swallow. “I’m sorry you found out at the gala—”

  “What do you hope to gain by marrying my daughter?”

  His shame spiral deepened. Still, he struggled to maintain the facade. “Did it ever occur to you that I’m marrying her because I love her?”

  “People like you marry for love. We know it takes more than fanciful emotion to build a favorable alliance. That’s how it was when I married her mother, and it worked for us.”

  Harrington fiddled with the watch on his wrist. Marcus recognized it as a classic eighteen-karat-gold Rolex. It was a beautiful piece, the champagne-colored face and riveted bracelet links gleaming and well-kept. Too bad the man hadn’t taken care of his daughter with the same amount of love and attention to detail.

  “You had to claw and scratch your way up the mountain,” Senator Harrington continued. “As a man, I find that admirable. But that kind of struggle leaves a roughness that never goes away, no matter how much money you have to polish it with. And I don’t want that for Pamela. You’re too different. When she comes to her senses, she’ll come home to me. After a little time has passed, I’ll see that she’s married to a suitable spouse from a proper family.”

  An irrational flood of anger washed over him. He clenched his fists, causing moon-shaped indentations to mar his palms. He didn’t have to put up with this. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone. He was marrying Pamela, not her father.

  “Someone like Wentworth? She’s already decided the type of man she wants. She’s wearing my ring.”

  Harrington sighed and checked his watch. “This discussion has been pointless. If you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting someone who should be here soon.” He indicated the caddies and golf cart nearby. “At our gala’s silent auction, he won a round of golf with me.”

  Marcus smiled and lifted his chin. “You’re looking at him.”

  Pamela’s father stiffened, his posture going ramrod-straight. “That wasn’t the name Alice gave me.”

  “I know. I wanted it to be a surprise. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you go through with it. I wouldn’t want to taint you with my new money and roughness. It doesn’t matter to me if your presence tomorrow isn’t to support our marriage, but Pamela should believe her father is there to support her.”

  The presidential suite at the Holcombe was a spectacular room, the warm colors and the toile-covered walls giving it a timeless elegance.

  “You say the word and I’ll go get the car and pull it around front. We can make a run for it before anyone knows you’re missing,” Shelly said.

  “That’s not funny.” Pamela checked her hair and makeup in the mirror. She ran her fingers over the upswept strands and checked the blending of her foundation. It was flawless. She turned to her hair and makeup team. “Thanks, guys.”

  Shelly escorted them out of the suite, closing the door behind them. The fabric of her strapless coral dress floated around her legs. “I wasn’t joking.”

  Pamela rolled her eyes. “If I don’t marry him, we won’t get the building. Here, help me with my dress.”

  Shelly removed the cream fitted sheath from its protective cover, and Pamela slipped into the dress. The silk felt cool against her skin. She smoothed the fabric over her hips.

  “You can change your mind,” Shelly murmured.

  “I know, but I won’t. We’ve been through a lot to get to this point.”

  In the end, they’d decided on an intimate group of about forty. Pamela had tried to include the right mix of friends and business associates to maximize buzz and minimize resentment. Their guest list was 260 guests shy of the one for her wedding to Devin, and she wanted to make sure no one could question their exclusion. Navigating DC society required a deft touch.

  David Holcombe had personally reserved the Rose Arbor ballroom where they would hold the ceremony and the reception. He’d also provided this suite for her use before the ceremony.

  Everything was progressing according to plan. So why couldn’t she settle the rolling waves in the pit of her stomach?

  “The building isn’t worth your freedom.”

  “The building’s worth is debatable, but there’s no way you can look at the faces of the women and children at the shelter and not take advantage if given an opportunity to save them.”

  “Especially when the opportunity you want to take advantage of looks like Marcus Pearson.”

  Trying to deny it would be a lie. He was a gorgeous man, and the things he could do with his hands and his mouth should be a crime. The sexy game they’d played, the way he’d touched her, and the way she’d come right there on the field? She still couldn’t believe she’d allowed that to happen.

  Would she allow it to happen again? A question that had shoved its way to the forefront of her mind as thoughts turned from her wedding day to her wedding night.

  “What about tonight?”

  “Excuse me?” Had her face betrayed her errant thoughts?

  Shelly narrowed her eyes. “After the wedding? Are you both staying here or going back to his house?”

  “Back to his house. It’s my home for the foreseeable future.”

  Yesterday, while the Senator had been at the country club, she’d gone to the estate and packed up some of her clothes, shoes, and personal items and had them sent over to Marcus’s place. She’d unpack after moving into his home. She and Marcus had agreed that she would move in with him for the duration of their marriage, adding credibility to their ruse.

  There was a brisk knock on the door, followed by the sound of the electronic room key being used. The door opened and Alice entered, her gown the same shade of coral as Shelly’s. Her eyes sparkled and she clasped her hands to her chest. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Pamela paused. “Did he come with you?”

  Alice nodded. “I don’t know what happened, but when he came home last night he said he was going to attend.”

  She expelled a rush of air, then reached out and grabbed Alice’s hand. “Thank you.” Giving it a quick squeeze, she took the proffered tissue from Shelly and blotted her eyes. “Good thing I followed your rule of RSVP plus three.”

  “Have you done
the ‘something old’ thing yet?” Alice asked.

  “I’m not doing it.” Engaging in the whimsical ritual when the marriage wasn’t real seemed blasphemous.

  “You have to, it’s tradition. And you know how the Harringtons are about tradition. Something new?”

  “That’s easy. Her dress, her ring…her husband.” Shelly winked at her.

  “Something borrowed?”

  “The hotel, courtesy of David Holcombe,” Pamela smiled.

  Alice pulled a velvet satchel from her purse. “I have the old and blue items.” She emptied it onto Pamela’s palm.

  Pamela stopped breathing. Then her heart galloped in her chest and warmth flooded her body.

  “Mommy’s earrings.”

  The vintage sapphire-and-diamond cluster earrings brought back memories of watching her mother getting dressed to attend formal gatherings with her father.

  “I got them from the safe-deposit box. I thought you might like to wear them.”

  Pamela donned the earrings. Alice’s image blurred through a veil of tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Are you ready?” Shelly asked, picking up Pamela’s veil.

  Pamela knew she was doing the right thing. But as they headed down to the ceremony, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would look back on this moment as a negative turning point in her life.

  …

  Marcus held his glass of champagne and watched the woman talking to a federal judge.

  His wife.

  He still felt the tightness in his chest and slight dimming of his peripheral vision that accompanied his first sight of her. Beige fabric clung to her curves and fell softly to the floor. The color provided an alluring backdrop to her skin. Her long chestnut-brown hair was pulled back in a knot and graced with a white flower—an orchid, she’d laughingly answered. With sapphires and diamonds on her earlobes and her wedding ring the only adornment on her fingers, she personified elegant sophistication.

  The tinkling sound of ice cubes in a tumbler heralded Carter’s arrival.

  “Stop lurking in the corner and go to your wife. You’re not doing your plan any favors.” Carter placed his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and straightened his jacket. “While I was honored to be your best man, the action in here is unacceptable. The best-looking women are the bride and the maid of honor. I struck out with one and the other—well, you’re a lucky man, even if you’re too obtuse to realize it.”

  Marcus shot him a warning glance. “I know exactly how lucky I am. I’m another step closer to getting the Holcombe.”

  Carter looked around at the linen-topped tables, patterned carpets, and crystal chandeliers. “I know why you’d want to have it, but I don’t know what we’re going to do with it. You see one high-end luxury boutique hotel, you’ve seen them all.”

  His stomach didn’t churn at the entrance of other hotels—only the Holcombe. As he’d approached the heavy wooden doors with their solid brass handles, his mind replaced his tuxedo-clad image with his twelve-year-old self, complete with faded-knee jeans and dirty sneakers. But a tipped hat and open door surpassed his previous greeting. He wasn’t that boy anymore. That knowledge buoyed his step across the threshold.

  He belonged here, and soon it would be his.

  “I’m going to check out the hotel bar. At least one of us should get lucky tonight.” Carter gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and walked off. Marcus turned his gaze back on Pamela.

  For years, his sole focus had been on the Holcombe. Getting it. Owning it. And he was close. But the fire currently blazing in his gut didn’t burn to correct established wrongs, but to make this woman truly his. To complete tonight what they’d started this morning.

  Why couldn’t they? Senator Harrington had a point. In the past, people didn’t get married for reasons as impractical as love. They got married because they each needed something from the other person. He and Pamela could enjoy all the perks and benefits of being married and get what they both wanted. After their interlude on the baseball field, he knew she desired him, and he sure as hell wanted her. When she’d come apart in his arms, hunger overwhelmed his rational mind until he’d forgotten the inappropriateness of their location and had been on the verge of taking her right there.

  He strode across the room until he was standing at his wife’s side, then slid an arm around her waist. His body sighed when she leaned into him, his worries dissipating like mist when exposed to sunlight. Memories from another kiss, another night flooded back to overwhelm him. Leaning down, he dropped a kiss on her temple. “Time to go,” he murmured, and a thrill chased its way up his spine when she smiled at him, sparkles in her eyes.

  They made the rounds, bidding farewell to their guests. Pamela exchanged a long, tear-filled good-bye with Alice before approaching her father.

  The man sat at a table, granting requests for brief conversations and pictures like a District godfather. She walked up to him, her presence casting an unspoken spell for sequestration. People silently moved away until the two of them were alone. Marcus hovered nearby, respecting their privacy but available in case Pamela needed him.

  “Thank you for coming,” he heard her say. He was proud of her bearing. So regal and dignified. From this distance, he thought he saw something change in the man’s expression. A softening around the eyes and mouth.

  But a second later, Marcus was sure he’d been mistaken. Harrington looked around, clearly the center of attention, although the other guests studiously avoided looking in his direction. He stood and placed his hands on Pamela’s upper arms.

  “Good luck,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before walking away.

  She stared after her father, a frown marring the lines of her beautiful face.

  Marcus moved to her side and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

  She smiled, her lips trembling with the effort. A band wrapped around his heart and squeezed, the force stealing his breath. Instead of dampening his hunger for her, it acted as a rush of fresh oxygen, invigorating the flame.

  Taking her hand, he hurried toward the door. Thoughts of her limbs entwined in his sheets, her hair spilling on his pillow, the exotic contrast of her smooth brown skin and his white bedding, ran through his mind like a digital short in HD. All the blood left his brain and rushed to his groin. He fought the dizziness.

  Just a few steps more…

  Instead, he found himself face-to-face with David Holcombe. Was this some kind of joke? A way to annoy a new husband on his wedding day? All he wanted to do was get home to be with his wife.

  “Before you go,” Holcombe said, “I want to apologize. Your interest in purchasing the Holcombe hotel has come to my attention. This is a special property. I didn’t want my time wasted with lowball offers or offers from the wrong kind of people. You’re in real estate, you understand. Obviously they made a mistake in rejecting your offer, but that error has been rectified. Don’t think about it now, but if you’re still interested, I’d love to see a new letter of intent on my desk next week.”

  Marcus stood frozen to the spot. This was it. Holcombe was admitting the rumors were true. He’d never seen Marcus’s offers because Marcus hadn’t been the right kind of person. His relationship with Pamela had changed that.

  And now Holcombe wanted his LOI. Marcus had no doubt it would be accepted. His company had made an extremely generous offer.

  “I’ll get my team on it,” he said, glad his cool tone hid the significance of the moment.

  “Thank you, again, for letting us have the ceremony here,” Pamela said.

  “It was my pleasure to host the nuptials of one of DC’s young power couples.”

  They shook hands and Holcombe walked off, smiling. Marcus made note of the original ornate plaster moldings, ornamental fireplaces, and walnut paneling that were a hallmark of the hotel. Soon, it would all be his.

  Now he had time to focus on Pamela. He’d given their situation a lot of thought. He wasn’t read
y for their association to end. Due diligence on the Holcombe deal would take time. What if he spent that time letting Pamela get to know him? Then, when the need for their sham marriage ended, they could determine if there was the possibility for something more. Something real.

  As they drove to his house, he saw her looking out the passenger window, a thoughtful expression on her face. He reached over and grabbed her hand, hoping to focus her attention on him with his touch.

  “The wedding was great,” he said. “I’m in awe of how you managed to pull it all together.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled briefly at him before turning back to the downtown view.

  “Is everything all right?” Was she unhappy already? Had he misread the cues?

  “I’m fine. Really. I guess I didn’t anticipate it being so hard.”

  He frowned. “What’s so hard?”

  “The whole thing. It was beautiful, everything I’d always imagined. And I almost—” She broke off and sighed deeply, her eyes closing with the exhale. “It’s a good thing we ran into David Holcombe before we left. It appears your plan worked. This may be the shortest marriage in DC history.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The shortest marriage in DC history.

  Then there wasn’t a moment to lose.

  Marcus unlocked the door to his house, his thundering pulse making conversation impossible.

  She was here. Finally.

  Feeling impulsive, he lifted her up into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice rose, pitched high in surprise.

  “Carrying you over the threshold. It’s tradition.”

  Once inside, he spun her around with a flourish to shut the door. Her laughter rang full of joy, only to trail away as he slid her slowly down his body. Her breasts against his chest, his hardness against her belly as her feet settled on the blond hardwood floors with a click, filled him with something beyond comprehension. They stood still, their gazes never wavering.

  She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  When he’d made his proposal, he hadn’t imagined any complications. He’d suggested a simple business transaction and never doubted his steadfastness in its pursuit. But now, he could feel the shift in his focus as he divided his energies between his need for the Holcombe and his desire for Pamela. He was so close. David Holcombe wanted to see his letter of intent. And yet his mind was full with the woman in front of him. His gaze dropped to her lips and his finger followed, gliding over its pouty plumpness.