The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) Read online

  She moved, dipping her head and backing out of his arms.

  Disappointment slammed through him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes had taken on an unfocused quality, clear signs that she wanted him. Yet she kept pushing him away. Was his blood not blue enough? His last name not prestigious enough?

  He wanted to curse. Instead, he placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her forward into the great room. Her eyes swept from the oversize plasma TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace to the large windows that showcased the C&O Canal.

  “It’s a beautiful home, Marcus.”

  “Thank you.” Aesthetically, it was true. But he took no satisfaction from its appearance. He lived here, but his office, where he spent the majority of his time, was a better representation of his tastes. He shrugged. “Make any changes necessary to help you feel at home here.”

  She turned to look at him. “That’s very generous, but based on what David said, I may not be here long enough for it to be worth the effort.”

  Her dismissive tone irked him. He’d given her freedom to redecorate his house, something he’d never considered before, and she’d turned him down. Maybe she thought he wasn’t worth the effort?

  “Let’s see what happens.”

  He watched her as she moved through his place, her fingers trailing along the surface of the antique sofa table and the back of the brown leather sectional. His eyes fastened on those long, slim digits. As they caressed the supple fabric of the drapes, he imagined those fingers sliding through his hair, feathering over his chest, stroking down his abs…

  And lower.

  Giving in, he swore under his breath, then stripped off his jacket and threw it over a chair.

  “What’s down there?” she asked, pointing to a hallway off the right of the living area.

  “The master living quarters.”

  She arched a brow. “Living quarters?”

  “In addition to the bedroom, there’s a sitting area and an office.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “And down there?” She pointed to the hallway across the room.

  “Two more bedroom suites and a workout room.”

  “So that’s where I’ll be staying?”

  He paused in the act of rolling up his sleeves. “If that’s what you want.” Her gaze flew to his face. He watched her bloom, a rosy flush washing over her neck and chest.

  She laughed, the sound shaky and uneven. “I can’t sleep on the couch.”

  He walked slowly toward her, marveling in the physical manifestation of her innermost wants. She took one step, two steps back before stopping, as though she’d hit an invisible wall. He kept moving and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

  “My bed is more comfortable.”

  She didn’t move, and heat surged through him. He wanted her. More than he’d wanted any other woman in his entire life. And he would have her.

  Pamela shook her head. She brought her arms up and displaced his hands. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

  “We can modify the agreement. It’s done all the time.” He raised a hand and brushed a thumb along her cheek. He rubbed it back and forth. She had the best skin, the color creamy and its texture smooth. Her lashes fluttered and she angled her head slightly, allowing him more access. He traced the line of her jaw and down the side of her neck to rest on her throbbing pulse.

  Oh yeah, she wanted him.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she whispered, her body leaning into his.

  “It’s a great idea,” he countered. He could watch her like this forever, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her skin flushed.

  “You’re caught up in the spirit of the wedding. It’s not real.”

  “You feel real,” he said, running his hands through her hair, loosening the pins, knocking the flower to the floor. The strands slipped through his fingers and released their intoxicating fragrance. He inhaled her scent and could deny himself no longer. He pulled her close and claimed her mouth.

  He wasn’t tentative, the boldness of Thursday night negating that option. She was his wife and he took possession of her, wanting everything she had to give him. She slid her arms up his chest and clasped her hands around his neck. He shuddered. Blood roared through him at the feel of her fully within his arms. His hands roamed up her side and down her back. He grabbed her bottom in his hands, pulling her against him.

  “Can you feel what you do to me?” he muttered.

  “Yes, and I want to do more.”

  With a groan, he crushed his lips back on hers, his tongue tangling, tasting, nibbling, licking, and still it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know if it would ever be enough. His hands felt for the zipper at the back of her dress, then lowered it a measure, liberating her upper arms.

  He tilted her back over his forearm and her breasts tumbled free from the fabric. He caressed one, then the other, the rounded forms deliciously heavy in his palm. He gazed at her while he flicked his thumb over each nipple. She shuddered, her breath coming in short, quick pants.

  “See what you do to me?” Her words were timed to the staccato pulse of her breath.

  She was exquisite. He wanted to be in her, on her, with her. He lowered his head and took one chocolate tip into his mouth. She melted against his tongue.

  “Tell me what you like, sweetheart. Do you like that?” He ran his tongue back and forth over the bud until it tightened into a peak.

  “Yes,” she panted.

  The beaded nipple was his personal sweet drop. He kissed it tenderly before turning his attention to its twin. After all, he prided himself on his thoroughness in all contract negotiations. He caressed her nipple with his tongue and she ground her pelvis against his.

  Anchoring her with his arm, he gathered her dress in his free hand, teased by the slow reveal of creamy smooth skin. When the bottom of the dress cleared her thighs, he hooked a finger beneath the waistband of her panties, then slid them down her legs.

  He slipped a finger inside. She was already so wet.

  “Is this for me?” he asked.

  He used the moisture coating his fingers to sift through her crisp curls and find her nub. He rubbed it slowly, his finger mimicking the prior action of his tongue.

  Back and forth. Back and forth.

  “Marcus, please. I—”

  She broke off, squirming as if unable to bear the pleasure. He stopped, but she moaned and moved closer. She was so damned responsive, like a fire that blazed for his pleasure only. He slipped another finger inside her and it joined the other in a snug cocoon. The thought of her body holding him just as warmly when he was inside her caused beads of sweat to form on his upper lip.

  He couldn’t take much more of this. He was going to burst.

  And then, sweet heaven, her muscles clenched his fingers. She cried and came apart in his arms. Her cheeks were flushed, her full lips moist and parted.

  He just might come from watching her.

  It didn’t matter that their marriage was based on a business contract. He didn’t care that she was a blueblood and he was raised blue-collar. He could care less about the Holcombe or the women’s shelter. His sole focus, the only thing that mattered, was making love to this woman.

  He lifted her, holding beneath her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The heat from her core seared the skin of his midsection and, impossibly, his erection hardened and strained toward the source. He moved until she was braced with her back against the wall.

  Need clawed his insides, compelling him to brand her as his. Their tongues met in a fierce duel. Her arms and legs clamped tightly around him, providing the freedom he needed to pull a condom out of his back pocket, discard his pants and boxer briefs, and suit up. In all of his fantasies about the conclusion of this day, he’d never imagined taking Pamela against the wall. Now he knew there was no other way this night could end.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, so close he could see the gleaming sparks of lightning in he
r eyes.

  “We’re doing this?”

  “Yeah, I think we are,” she said and smiled, tilting her chin up to press a wet kiss to his lips.

  He nipped at her bottom lip and soothed away the sting before surging into her with a blinding fervor. Each thrust was heaven and hell; he’d withdraw when the pleasure was too much but sink back in when he missed the sensation.

  He nibbled the luscious skin of her neck and shoulders. Her moans flooded his ears. The sounds of her pleasure and the sensuous movement of her body teased his release. Her muscles tightened around him and she cried out, her head falling back against the wall. The delicious bite of her nails on his skin pushed him over into the abyss. He cried out, his body trembling as the last of his orgasm ripped through him.

  They stood there, bathed in the scent of their lovemaking. He could see their reflections in the darkened windows, the stark picture of their naked bodies displayed against the black backdrop of the night sky. Her hair a wanton cloud, dress around her waist. His shirt unbuttoned, pants around his ankles.

  “You think other newlyweds make it to the bedroom?”

  She laughed, the sexy sound recharging sparks he’d thought truly spent. “Nothing about our arrangement is traditional. Why start now?”

  He smiled in response and let her legs fall from around his waist. She smoothed her dress over her hips and stood watching him as he pulled on and zipped up his pants. He kissed her briefly before walking into the bathroom to clean up.

  When he returned, she was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding two bottles of water. He grabbed the extra one and stood beside her.

  “I didn’t expect our first day as husband and wife to end like this.”

  “I did.” He shrugged. “Okay, I’d hoped it would.”

  The smile that lit her face robbed him of speech. He twisted the top off the bottle and took a drink.

  “Is this how you handle all of your contract modifications?”

  “Baby, you should see me at closings.”

  She laughed again and he swooped down for another kiss, capturing that wonderful sound and rolling it around on his tongue.

  She wound her arms around his neck, her body soft and pliant against his hardness. He was so lost that it took a second for the annoying sound to penetrate his haze of lust. But an insistent vibrating and buzzing against his thigh slowly invaded. He ignored it and the distraction went away, only to start again.

  “Is that your phone?”

  “Just ignore it,” he murmured against her neck.

  She sighed and pressed a quick kiss to his chin.

  “Go ahead. It must be important. I have some…personal issues to take care of. Why don’t I clean up and meet you back here in a few minutes?”

  He nodded. Checking the caller ID, he groaned. “Carter.”

  “Good news,” the other man announced, the sound of clinking glasses and low conversation in the background. “As I was leaving, Holcombe approached me and said he would entertain your bid.” When Marcus didn’t respond, Carter continued, “Your plan worked. I thought you should know.”

  “I did. Already know,” he clarified. His attention was on the seductive sway of Pamela’s hips as she walked down the hall, toward the bedroom.

  “I questioned your sanity at first, but I should have trusted your business savvy. It’s never let you down.”

  “Yes,” he responded, unsure of what he’d agreed to. God, he wanted her again.

  “Why aren’t you happy about this?”

  “What?”

  “Did I interrupt something?” A pause. “I thought this was just a pretense?”

  “It is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. This isn’t real. I’m just pretending. My plan, remember?”

  “I don’t know. For years, all I’ve heard is how important owning the Holcombe is to you. Now I inform you we’re close and all I get are distracted, monosyllabic utterings.”

  Anger snapped him from his trance. “The Holcombe is the most important deal I’ve ever negotiated and I’ve worked too hard and come too far to let anyone get in my way, no matter how enticing the package. Don’t ever question my dedication to acquire it.”

  “Glad to hear it. Anything you need me to do?”

  “Let’s get a jump on this. Find the past proposals we made and e-mail them to me. I’ll use them to draft the new LOI.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “I’ll expect them by noon tomorrow.”

  “I thought you were taking a few days off.”

  “I don’t need to waste any more time on this end of the deal. As you said, the plan worked.” He disconnected the call and looked up to see Pamela a few feet away, in the hallway, her head dropped down low.

  “Hey.”

  When she raised her head up to look at him, the shimmering glisten of held-back tears and the turned-down tightness of her full lips brought him up short.

  She’d heard what he’d said to Carter.

  “Pamela—”

  “I was coming to tell you I’m really tired so I think I’ll go to bed. Alone,” she added, when he took a step toward her. “Good night.”

  Son of a bitch!

  He watched her stiff retreat and wanted to run after her, but what could he say? He couldn’t deny what she’d heard. Maybe Carter had done him a favor by calling. He hadn’t lost focus, but maybe he had gotten…distracted. He was in the home stretch. He wouldn’t let himself get sidetracked.

  Now if he could only get his screaming, frustrated body to cooperate.

  …

  Pamela hunched over the espresso machine, needing the jolt of caffeine after another sleepless night. Day three of her marriage to a ghost. Marcus would leave before she got up in the morning and would return after she went to bed. The only evidence he’d been home the past few days was the stack of dishes that slowly grew in the sink.

  She was glad for his absence, not sure she wanted to face him. She oscillated between arousal, at the memories of her back against the wall and him thrusting into her, and anger that he’d used her and that she’d made it easy for him.

  The front door opened and she whirled around, her hand flying to her chest. Marcus walked in, sweating through shorts and a gray Stanford University T-shirt. She checked the clock on the oven. Seven fifteen.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, willing her heartbeat to return to normal.

  “It’s my house.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. I haven’t seen you in two days.”

  “I didn’t think you’d miss me.”

  “I didn’t.” She turned back to her coffee, adding cream and sugar. Peering over her shoulder, she saw him place his palms on the granite counter and lean against it, stretching his legs behind him. “You run?”

  “Every day.” He straightened, then brushed past her and opened the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. He twisted the top, tilted his head back, and swallowed the contents.

  The strong column of his throat, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the sleek muscles of his thighs… Pamela cursed the flush of heat that pooled in her core. Still, she ogled him, unable to look away.

  When he was done, he tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin and looked at her.

  Busted.

  Heat swept across her face and neck and she stared into her mug, shuffling her feet against the floor.

  “Are we going to talk?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “Our wedding night.”

  “No.” She headed out of the kitchen.

  Marcus blocked her exit. “The call I had with Carter wasn’t what it sounded like.”

  “Move.”

  “We need to get past this.”

  “I’m past it. In fact, I’m over it. Move.”

  “You’re acting childish,” he chided, like he was talking to a recalcitrant teen.

  She tensed and tightened her fingers on her cup. “And avoidance m
akes you mature? Where were you the past two days? What were you doing? I stayed here. You left. That’s childish.”

  “I was working on the revised letter of intent.”

  She blinked. “So?”

  “So, I sent it to Holcombe.”

  “A letter of intent? Is that your offer?”

  “For all intents and purposes, yes. It’s a nonbinding preliminary agreement that sets everything in motion. It’s the first step toward a contract.”

  “So he accepts the letter of intent and signs the contract? That should be fast, right?”

  “This isn’t a residential transaction. It’s more complex, more involved. We speak to the employees, check vendor contracts, and conduct environmental studies. We look at their financial records and—”

  “What’s the bottom line? How long until he signs the contract?”

  “Four months.”

  “Then it’s over?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

  “You’re kidding, right? We have sex and five minutes later you’re telling Carter your plan worked.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. It was a mistake that won’t be repeated.”

  The muscle in his jaw jumped. “Is that how you want to spend the next four months?”

  “Let’s not complicate matters. We know where we stand. We’ll use the time to strengthen your social position with Holcombe.”

  He studied her and she held his gaze, forcing her expression to remain neutral. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of glimpsing her inner turmoil. Finally, he nodded and stepped aside.

  Pamela forced a smile. “Good. Now there’s no need for you to waste any more time on this end of the deal.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The wedding of Pamela Harrington and Marcus Pearson made the front pages of both the Style and Business sections of the Washington Post. The local media foamed with eagerness to get the scoop on the sudden marriage of the old-money DC socialite to the self-made real estate mogul.