The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence)

by Livesay, Tracey

  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, awaitin
g 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.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Last night with Marcus had been incredible. Pamela wanted nothing more than to live the rest of her life with him. She felt cared for and protected in a way she had never experienced. She couldn’t wait until this whole episode was in their rearview mirror and they could begin their future together. With time and work, she knew they would be happy.

  Trying to juggle the eggs, cheese, and milk, she backed away from the refrigerator, closing the door with her hip. She’d begun whisking the eggs when she heard the front door open.

  “Perfect timing. I’m about to make a couple of omelets. How was your run?” When she didn’t get a response, she frowned. “Marcus?”

  Leaving the kitchen, she saw him leaning against the wall in the foyer. God, he was sexy. They’d had a late night. They deserved a lazy day. After breakfast and a shower, they could spend the afternoon watching the Nats. He could finish explaining how sex was like baseball, with the appropriate demonstrations.

  Upon closer inspection, she noticed he wasn’t stretching. “What’s wrong, Marcus?”

  He straightened and walked toward her, his eyes and mouth downturned. He took her hand. “Let’s sit down.”

  Her stomach churned. She followed him to the sofa and sat. “You’re scaring me. Is everything okay?”

  “No, I’m fine. Physically.” He swallowed with obvious difficulty. “It’s about the Holcombe deal.”

  Cold fingers danced along her spine. She squeezed his hand. “Oh no. Did it fall through? I thought you were signing the contract soon.”

  “We are.”

  In a burst of motion he got up from the couch and started pacing.

  A splinter of distress crawled beneath her skin, bothering her, forcing her to face something she didn’t want to address.

  He has the building now, Pamela. He doesn’t need you anymore.

  That wasn’t true. What they’d discovered had gone beyond their agreement. They could have kept their relationship platonic. He’d said he wanted to continue their marriage past their business arrangement. He didn’t have to say that to get what he needed.

  How else would you explain it? One day he finds out the Holcombe is his and the next he’s brushing you off.

  She could feel the tears gathering at the brink and she tried hard not to let them fall over the edge.

  “Did you make the deal with Holcombe?”

  He looked at her. “Yes.”

  “Are we over?”

  “No, not unless you want us to be.”

  Relief flooded through her so fast she thought she would faint from it. She laughed and stood up.

  “Then what’s the problem? Why are you acting like—”

  “Holcombe wants the G Street building.”

  Her heart skidded to a stop. “What did you say?”

  “The G Street building. Holcombe wants it.”

  “He can’t have it. It belongs to the women’s shelter.”

  “Holcombe wanted it as one of the concessions in the deal. Either give him the building or lose the deal entirely.”

  “That can’t be true. He’s just negotiating. He wants more money.”

  “Pamela, you know how important the Holcombe is to me. It was close and I had a decision to make.”

  I’ve worked too hard and come too far to let anyone get in my way, no matter how enticing the package.

  This wasn’t a discussion. He’d already made a decision.

  The numbness started at her toes, at her outer extremities. She flexed her fingers unconsciously.

  “You gave it to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Guess I should have gotten that contract after all.” She laughed, the hardness of the sound scratching her throat. “I don’t suppose David Holcombe wants a women’s shelter in his building, does he?”

  Marcus shook his head slowly. “Probably not.”

  “I see,” she said. The coldness progressed farther up her arms and legs. “What am I supposed to tell Shelly? The women and their children?”

  He looked away briefly, but brought his gaze back to hers, as if he willed himself to do it.

  “That they’ll have to move to a new location.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that in the beginning? If I’d found a new place for the shelter I wouldn’t be in this situation. If I’d done that you wouldn’t have your damn hotel!”

  He flinched but he didn’t look away from her.

  “How can you do this to them? How can you do this to me?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

  “I’ve been chasing this for almost two decades. I had no choice.”

  The coldness raced through the last of h
er barriers, freezing her until there was no feeling left. She couldn’t stop the tears. They coursed, unchecked, down her face.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she pleaded. “You said your mother could have benefited from a place like the shelter. There are other mothers and children who will need our help. Don’t take this from them.”

  “That’s not fair and you know it,” he said, his voice sharp with frustration. “I’m trying, Pamela, but what else can I do? Buy you another building? Consider it done. I’ll even take care of the relocation and pay for advertising to make sure no one is lost during the transition. Whatever it takes.”

  “That wasn’t our deal, Marcus. I told you how difficult zoning could be for the shelter.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  She could see it, the glimmer of sorrow in his eyes. It existed. But it wasn’t strong enough to overpower the ruthlessness. She’d failed them, all because she’d made the wrong choice. Again. And this time was worse. Devin had fooled her. Marcus had shown her who he was from the beginning.

  “I can’t believe this,” she said, absently rubbing her arms.

  “We’re married. That doesn’t have to change.”

  “I can’t stay married to you. Not now.”

  “It’s just a building. It’s done now. Let’s put it behind us and move forward. It doesn’t have to affect the rest of our lives.”

  “Are you kidding me? The hotel was your life mission, but my shelter, it’s just a building?” Her tears were bitter on her tongue.

  “Pamela—”

  “You’ve broken my trust. You’ve broken my heart. Do you believe we could have a relationship—a marriage—after that?”

  “Yes. This was a onetime occurrence. We won’t be in this situation again.”

  She had no words. She turned away from him and headed to the bedroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get dressed, pack a few things, and then I’m leaving.”

  “Not like this. Please!”

  “How can I stay? You knew how I would feel and you did it anyway.” She swiped angrily at the tears still streaming from her eyes. “I spent my entire life with a father who never put me first, who chose ‘the American people’ over me time and time again. Now you’ve done the same thing. You put yourself ahead of me. If I accept this now, you’ll always do it.”