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

  His heavy ripped jacket displayed a collection of stains and was at least two sizes too big for his short, wiry frame. Since most people refrained from outerwear in ninety-degree weather, Pamela heeded the clanging of her instincts and moved to put the front counter between them.

  “May I help you?” she asked in what she hoped was a nonthreatening manner.

  He glared at her with cold, dead eyes partially hidden by the oily curtain of his hair. His lips moved, but he made no sound as his gaze skittered around the room as if searching for something.

  Or someone.

  “Can I help you, sir?” she repeated, praying she was mistaken and could dispatch him quickly and cleanly from the building.

  Who was here?

  Most residents were gone. There was a free concert on the Mall.

  Shelly?

  In the back with everyone else.

  Her breath caught in her throat when the man pulled his hand out of his pocket and aimed a gun at her head.

  Acid churned in her gut and her eyes refused to stray from the glistening black steel. She was no stranger to guns. Her father kept shotguns at the estate for hunting and skeet shooting. But this weapon, with its short barrel, wooden grip, and revolving chambers, screamed of a violence she’d never experienced.

  “Where is my wife? Is that bitch here?”

  The hair on the nape of her neck lifted at his coldly furious words. There was a silent alarm. Could she get to it without alerting the gunman? What if he saw her push the button?

  “What’s her name?” she asked, the uncontrollable shaking in her fingers making it difficult to press the small button hidden behind the counter, mere inches beyond her reach.

  “I told that bitch she couldn’t get away from me. Told her I’d never let her leave me.” The man wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, the movement taking her out of the gun’s crosshair. Knowing she had little time to spare, she edged closer to the silent alarm. Her fingers stabbed at the button. He swung the gun back in her direction.

  “What are you doing? Let me see your hands!”

  She raised them, palms outward. “Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “You’ve done enough. It’s all your fault. Another stuck-up bitch getting involved in something that’s none of your business.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry. If you would just calm down and—”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” he screamed.

  She flinched and took several steps back.

  “You put ideas into her head, made her think she could do better than me.”

  His hand shook and Pamela’s eyes locked on his trigger finger. She was going to die. She’d never get a chance to thank Alice for all she’d done after her mother had died. She’d never see her father or get a chance to try to mend their relationship. And Marcus. She’d never see him again, never kiss or touch him again, never figure out this thing between them…

  “You should’ve seen her when we first met. Nobody wanted her. I took her in, put a roof over her head. And this is how she repays me?” He stopped suddenly. “What’s back there?” he asked, waving the gun to indicate the door behind her.

  The door that led to the residential quarters. Bile filled her throat. No way could she let this man back where the women and children were.

  “Nothing important. Just storage.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She swallowed against the acid rising in her throat. “No, really. Blankets, old files, that sort of thing.”

  “Open it.”

  Stall. All she could do was stall until the police arrived. “I can’t. It’s locked and I don’t have the key.”

  “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  He looked her up and down, his stare making her flesh crawl. “You think you’re better than me?”

  She shook her head, working to control her face from betraying her building panic.

  “You’re all the same. She wasn’t better than me and neither are you,” he spat out. “Come here.”

  Her knees became melted butter. Oh, God. She couldn’t move.

  He raised the gun and cocked the hammer, the click turning her blood cold.

  “Move your ass or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she swallowed with difficulty. Placing her hands on the counter, she inched her way around it, each step taking her closer to him. This was it. He was going to kill her.

  The faint sound of sirens shrieked in the distance. The man cursed and lunged at her. Before she could move, he’d grabbed her arm and pressed his gun into the small of her back. He pushed her over to the door and peered out onto the street. “Did you call the cops?”

  “No. I didn’t, I swear.”

  “This ain’t over. I’ll be back for you, Sharon,” he yelled over his shoulder. He pressed the gun so firmly against her, she could feel the muzzle imprint on her spine. He whispered into her ringing ears, “They’ll have to go through you to get to me. Now, let’s go.”

  The stench from his breath and sweat-stained clothes filled her nose. She fought her gag reflex.

  “Please. I won’t tell them any—”

  “Open the damn door!”

  She did. He pushed her through it, the oppressive humidity receiving them, just as a police cruiser rounded the corner, its sirens blaring.

  “Fuck,” he yelled. His head swiveled between the car in the distance and his escape route in the opposite direction. Shoving her roughly to the ground, he took off. She landed heavily, her left knee and shin scraping painfully against the sidewalk, her palms burning as she tried to brace her fall.

  The first car screeched to a halt and both officers jumped out and pursued the gunman on foot. Another car pulled in behind the first and an officer hurried to her side.

  “Are there more inside, ma’am?”

  She shook her head, or maybe it was her body’s reaction to the events as relief flooded through her in a deluge and she began to tremble uncontrollably. The officer called for the paramedics.

  “Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

  Pamela nodded and hoped it was perceptible through the shaking. She’d been so close to dying, was sure he would kill her—

  They shone a bright light in her eyes and she jerked away, the movement making her dizzy.

  “Her pupils are dilated. She’s going into shock. Let’s get her to the hospital.”

  “Pamela!” Shelly rushed over, tears streaming down her face. “Ohmigod, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  She reached for Shelly, and on the third try managed to grab her hand. Coldness swept over her and her body trembled violently. “Marcus—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll call him,” Shelly said as Pamela was helped onto a stretcher.

  “No, don’t,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  Shelly’s eyebrows drew together. “He’s your husband, he should be at the hospital with you.”

  “He has…a meeting…about our…agreement.”

  Her friend looked unconvinced. As the paramedic loaded Pamela into the ambulance she cried out, “Don’t…call…Marcus.”

  …

  Marcus’s receptionist rarely put through personal calls, but she’d insisted he take this one.

  “Marcus, it’s Shelly, from the women’s shelter.”

  Something about her tone sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine. “What happened? Where’s Pamela?”

  “She’s at Georgetown University Hospital.”

  The blood rushed from his body, leaving him a frozen shell. Shelly continued speaking, but Marcus was unable to move, unable to respond.

  Something had happened to Pamela? A vise tightened around his heart and fear stole his breath.

  Oh God. What if she was…

  “Is she—”

  “She has a few bumps and bruises but she’ll be okay. She didn’t want me to bother you,” she confided, “but I thought you mig
ht want to go and be with her.”

  Bother him? She was his wife.

  “I do. And thanks for calling me.”

  He ended the call and immediately dialed Julia. “Cancel my meeting.”

  “The one with the financial auditor?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, sir, any delays could push back the signing date.”

  He knew that, but the meeting could last hours and Pamela needed him now. “We’re only reviewing account receivables and inventory. Call and tell him I was called away on an emergency and reschedule.”

  “Couldn’t Mr. Richardson handle it in your absence?”

  “That’s fine.”

  He hailed a cab outside his office, offering fifty dollars if the cabbie could get him to Georgetown University Hospital in under ten minutes. His mind raced and he wished he’d heard more of what Shelly had told him.

  What had happened to Pamela?

  Had she been in an accident on the way home?

  Had she been hurt?

  Handing over the bonus when the cabbie pulled up outside the hospital, he rushed the nursing station, his pounding heart his constant soundtrack.

  “I’m here to see my wife.”

  “Name?”

  “Pamela Pearson.”

  He showed his ID and a moment later he tore down the corridor, the bright fluorescent lights and astringent odors assaulting his senses.

  First. Second. The third curtain on the left.

  He yanked it aside, the friction of metal on metal jarring, even amid the sounds emanating from numerous life-saving machines. The sight of Pamela sitting on the hospital bed sent a tide of relief plunging through his body.

  No bandages. No casts. No bruises.

  “Marcus! What are you doing here?”

  Her hand came up to rest over her heart and her beautiful green eyes widened. She was genuinely surprised to see him. Had she really thought he wouldn’t come? That he’d leave her here alone? He sank onto the side of her bed, uncomfortably unprepared for the sudden emotion that hindered his speech. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, her cheek, and slowly, leisurely, her lips.

  “Are you okay? What happened?”

  She continued to stare at him. “You had the meeting about the Holcombe.”

  “I did.” He captured her chin and tilted her head right and left.

  “I told Shelly not to call you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. Please, tell me what happened.”

  “That’s what we were trying to determine, Mr. Pearson.”

  For the first time since entering the room, he noticed the other occupants. Two women stood to the side of the cubicle, their nondescript suits and rigid bearing labeling them as cops. Still holding on to Pamela’s hand, he turned to face them.

  “Why are you in my wife’s room?”

  “We’re detectives with the District’s Domestic Violence Unit.” He started to speak when one of the detectives held up her hand. “No one here is in any trouble. We’re only interested in the incident at the women’s shelter.”

  “Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with my wife?” Marcus waited until they were completely out of the cubicle before turning to Pamela. “I’ll call Carter.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I know my rights. But that’s not the point. You don’t need to call Carter. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “We had a problem at the shelter. One of the husbands showed up.” She paused. “He had a gun.”

  The icy grip of fear caught him again.

  “A gun?”

  He couldn’t escape the image of a nameless man pointing a gun at her, touching her.

  The thought of her in mortal danger terrified him more than anything else ever had in his life. What had he been doing when she was threatened? Had he been working on proposals? Had he been in a meeting? What if he’d lost her and he’d been across town none the wiser?

  His stomach churned and acid traveled up his throat. “You can’t go back there.”

  She leaned against her headboard. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re lucky,” he corrected. “That might not be the case next time.”

  “Nothing like that has ever happened before.”

  He was an idiot. He’d never before thought of the shelter as a dangerous place, but a lot of those women were escaping abusive situations.

  “This is not up for discussion.”

  “Really? You think you’re going to issue orders and I’ll blindly follow them?”

  “Yes, if you’re guided by common sense! A man with a gun came into the shelter. You were injured. I don’t care if it’s never happened before, I’m going to make damn sure it doesn’t happen again!”

  …

  Pamela didn’t relax until she was home and sitting on the sofa in the great room.

  “Don’t move,” Marcus said, pointing his finger for emphasis. He came back with her prescription and a glass of water. “The doctor wanted you to take a couple of these and rest.”

  “I know. I was there. Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink. She swallowed the two pills and sat back. “I wish I could lie here forever, but I really need to take a shower. I feel gross.”

  “You’re supposed to rest.”

  “I can’t until I wash the day off me.”

  He sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you—”

  He headed into the master bedroom, then she heard the sound of running water.

  “Where is that stuff you use?” he asked, passing through the great room.

  “What stuff?”

  “The bath stuff that smells all vanilla-y.”

  She laughed. “It’s in my shower.”

  Minutes later, he lifted her into his arms, startling a cry out of her.

  “Marcus, put me down. I can walk.”

  Ignoring her, he carried her to the bathroom. At the door he sat her on her feet, but when he started to follow her in, she turned and placed a hand on his chest.

  “Uh-uh. I can do this part myself. Go make phone calls, get some work done. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” she said. She took a deep breath and exhaled audibly, impatient for a moment alone. Lowering her voice she repeated, “Yes.”

  “Yell if you need anything. And do not lock this door. I don’t want to have to break it down to get to you, but I will.”

  The door closed behind him and she collapsed onto the edge of the jetted tub, massaging her temples as the events of the day came roaring back with the force of a cyclone. She was fine…for the most part. A little bruised, but that was nothing compared to what could have happened. Still, there was a second when she’d thought she could measure her time left on earth in heartbeats.

  The tub was filled to the brim with thick bubbles, scenting the air with her favorite fragrance. After shedding her clothes, she twisted her hair into a loose knot on top of her head, then slid into the silky depths. The heat soothed her aches and pains and she submitted, letting it do its job.

  Some time later, she stood and reached for the towel Marcus had thoughtfully placed on the side of the tub. She’d been surprised when he’d shown up at the hospital. She’d asked Shelly not to call, but she had.

  And he’d shown up.

  He’d canceled an important meeting regarding the Holcombe…for her.

  She’d never expected that in a choice between the hotel and her, he would choose her. It made her wonder if there was a chance for them. Could this turn into something real? Could he have feelings for her that mirrored the feelings she was starting to have for him?

  There were times when she caught him eyeing her with a voracious hunger, times when he guided her with a sure hand at the small of her back, or instances when he kissed her with warmth and tenderness the way he had at the hospital today…times when she wondered, what if?

  If she had died today, she’d have m
any regrets. But one of the biggest would have been that she hadn’t seized her courage and taken what she wanted, what had been freely offered. She’d been so concerned about her hurt feelings that she’d almost blown a special opportunity. This wouldn’t end the way she wanted. There would be no happily ever after for them. But while it lasted…

  She pulled her hair free, letting the strands unwind and wrap themselves around her shoulders. She would do this. She would take a risk and surrender to the desire that roared between them. He would get the Holcombe, she’d get the building for the women’s shelter, and when the time came for them to part ways, she’d do so with grace and dignity.

  “Marcus!” she called out, her heart performing somersaults. This was it. There was no turning back. She waited, self-consciously aware her only covering was a towel. He rushed to her rescue, his footsteps heavy and hurried.

  “What’s wrong? Do you need help? I—”

  He halted, the words falling from his slack jaw.

  “I do need something. You.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saying the words aloud excited Pamela, and she could feel warmth pooling between her thighs. This time she wasn’t the overwhelmed seducee. She was the seductress.

  Marcus’s hair was damp, the ends curling around his ears. Small droplets of water clung to his collarbone, evidence of his hastiness. If she let her tongue chase the stray bead would his flavor burst in her mouth? The suggestion made her dizzy and she took a deep breath, her breasts pushing against the pima cotton.

  “You had a traumatic experience. You should rest and—”

  She let the towel slide down her body and pool at her feet. Her nipples puckered at the cool air whispering across her skin.

  She stood naked before him, and his eyes took a tour of her curves. When his visual journey was complete, his gaze slammed into hers, awing her with the force of the hunger reflected there.

  He inhaled raggedly. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said. He snaked his hand out, cupped the back of her head, and pulled her to him, claiming her mouth.