The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) (14 page)

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 many 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.

The kiss was hot and full, their lips moving together, the pace insistent. Her mouth opened for his tongue and he entered, the taste and feel of him dizzying. She grasped his shoulders, wanting more of him, unable to get close enough. Fabric abraded her skin and she backed away.

He moaned in protest.

“Your shirt. Take it off,” she huffed, fumbling with the buttons. With blue flames blazing in his eyes, he tore the shirt, buttons flying everywhere. She melted back into his embrace, placing her hands on his chest. Her fingers tingled at the muscles rippling beneath her caress.

So warm.

Unable to resist any longer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his shoulder, her tongue finally catching a stray drop of water. He tasted like the sparkling freshness after a cleansing rain. One taste was not enough. She continued kissing down his chest. When she reached his nipple, he jerked against her tongue. She looked up at him through the veil of her lashes.

“Did you like that?” she asked, surprised by her boldness.

“Hmmm. I liked it a lot,” he murmured. He reached out and returned the favor. Holding the weight of her breast in his hand, he flicked his thumb back and forth over the nub. She moaned as the tip hardened and more heat pooled between her legs.

“I remembered how much
you
liked that. It runs on a loop in my fantasies.”

He fantasized about her?

Did he touch himself?

“Oh, God,” she whispered, arching her back, giving him unrestricted access.

He turned his attention to the other breast, his lips and tongue working the flesh into a hard bud. The pleasure was so intense her knees gave out and she sagged against him. He held her, his arm a steel band. His tongue and mouth went back and forth between her breasts.

It was good, but it wasn’t enough.

She needed to touch him, make him feel as good as she felt. The mantra ran through her mind, a compulsion she had to obey. Gathering all her strength, she wrenched away from him.

He reached for her, his eyes glazed with passion. “Pamela?”

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back into the room, moaning at the pleasurable friction generated by the simple act of walking. He sat on the bed and she straddled him, feeling his hard and pulsing arousal straining toward her.

Not yet.

They kissed again, their tongues tangling, their moans rising. She broke their kiss and climbed off him. She unbuckled his slacks and pulled them off while he stared at her, the brilliance of his blue eyes burning her everywhere they landed.

She was sure she would incinerate into a pile of wanton ash.

He sat before her, his stomach flat, her hands flexing on his rock-hard thighs. His long, thick erection bobbed before her, proof that this virile, magnificent man wanted her. He reached for her, pulling her down by her elbows.

“No,” she said, resisting. She pressed against him until he was lying flat on the bed, then took him in her hands and tasted him.

“Pamela,” he cried, rising up. He thrust into her mouth. She took him in, working him with her lips and her hands, wanting to give him all the pleasure he had given her. He placed his hands on either side of her head and stopped her ministrations.

“I can’t take much more, and I’m not finishing like this.”

He lifted her up and reversed their positions. Starting at the top of her head, he whispered kisses over her eyes and nose, stopping to thoroughly plunder her mouth before moving downward. He lavished attention on both her breasts before licking a trail of fire down her belly that stopped at the apex of her thighs.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his words speaking into the core of her, teasing her with his hot breath against her flesh.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Say it.”

“I want this.”

“Do you want me?” His voice was so deep she could barely hear his words.

If he only knew how much she wanted him.

How long she’d wanted him.

“Yes, Marcus, I want you.”

He buried his face between her legs. She cried and came apart in his hands, but he didn’t stop. He placed his hands underneath her and pulled her in while he consumed her, licking the folds, teasing her with his teeth and his tongue, working the nub back and forth. When she thought her body incapable of feeling any more pleasure than at that moment, he stood, hooked her knees over his elbows, and surged into her.

The pleasure was so intense she squeezed her eyes shut. But she forced them open again so she could watch him thrust into her.

This was what she wanted, why she’d made her decision. For these feelings and emotions. How could she turn down the opportunity to experience this? With him? Pushing those thoughts aside, she gave herself up to the sensations he built within her. And shattered again when she reached the pinnacle of pleasure, unable to catch her breath.

While her body quivered and quaked, he grabbed her hips and inched her farther up the bed. She felt his absence keenly, but it wasn’t long before he was sliding back into her, his hips setting a motion she was only too happy to match.

“Oh God, Pamela,” he moaned, quickening his pace. His body rocked with spasms and he shouted when his own climax soared through him. He collapsed on top of her, his harsh breath warming the base of her neck. When he tried to move, she clasped her legs and arms around him.

“No,” she protested weakly.

“Sweetheart, I’m probably hurting you.”

“Just stay. One minute longer,” she said, hoping to imprint him on her body and herself in his heart.

But his words arrowed through her. He wasn’t now, but he would.

Through the thick muscled walls of his chest, Pamela could hear Marcus’s heart beating steadily. There was no place else she’d rather be. She was safe here. Nothing could touch her, no one could harm her as long as he held her.

He stroked her hair.

“The women’s shelter is important to you.”

It wasn’t a question.

“It is,” she said. She’d known this conversation was coming. She’d seen the worry and concern in his eyes at the hospital, had heard it in his voice when he’d tried to forbid her from going back.

“Your safety is very important to me.”

“As important as the Holcombe?” she asked, but when he tensed, she could have kicked herself. Why had she brought that up?

“I’m not thinking about the Holcombe right now. When I thought you’d been in an accident, it terrified me. I don’t want to get a phone call like that again.”

“I can’t stop volunteering at the shelter, Marcus. Those women need me.”

“I need you…to be safe,” he said.

“I will be.”

“That’s what you would have said this morning.”

“But I’m here. And I’m fine.”

He sighed and hugged her close. “I had to give it a shot. Despite what happened today, I admire what you’re doing.” He paused. “My mom could have used a place like your shelter.”

Pamela froze.

His mother?

“Was she abused?”

“Not in the way you mean. She could have used a place with the resources the shelter provides. A place that would have given her some time to get on her feet. Maybe our lives would have been different.”

Pamela remained quiet, afraid to say more or ask a question and ruin the moment.

“The press loves the ‘rise from poverty’ story, but when I was really young, I lived a typical middle-class life. My mom stayed at home, my dad worked at a bank, and we had a nice little house. I remember being happy and playing outside with my friends. And then when I was twelve, my dad got sick. Cancer. Five months later, he was gone.”

Pamela’s heart constricted in her chest. Losing a parent changed you. She’d been a couple of years older than him when her mother died.

“The hospital bills took up most of their savings and the funeral took the rest. And for the first time I could remember, my mother had to go to work. She found a job as a secretary at a real estate company, but she didn’t make enough and we lost our home. We moved to an apartment and she got a second job.” He paused for so long she thought he wouldn’t continue. “As a housekeeper at the Holcombe.”

Pamela started. Tension strung his body tight. She was afraid to look at him, terrified to hear what he might say next.

“She worked the night shift, which meant she left me alone. The neighbor across the hall looked in on me. Mrs. Watkins,” he said, sounding surprised that he remembered the name. “My mom made dinner and we ate together. I’d do my homework and she’d put me to bed before she left for work. She didn’t like leaving me—I remember she always cried as she tucked me in—but she needed the money.”

He blew out his breath, as if he was fortifying himself against the coming pain.

“One morning I woke up and found my mom at the kitchen table. She was trembling. Her maid’s uniform was torn at the shoulder and her hair was tangled. When I asked her”—he hesitated, cleared his throat, then tried to speak again—“when I asked her what was wrong, she told me she’d lost her job and we would have to leave. And I didn’t understand why.”

Pamela placed a gentle kiss on his chest.

“What happened?” she risked asking in a low voice.

“My mom had been cleaning one of the penthouse suites and the guy who occupied it assumed more than a chocolate mint came with his turndown service.” Bitterness and rage mixed, coating his words.

“He forced himself on my mom, but she managed to get away. She reported it to her supervisor, who wanted to call the police. The manager convinced them to wait and called Holcombe at home. He came to the hotel, took my mom into a room and asked her what happened. When she told him, he called her a liar.” His voice rose on the last word. “He told her he owned a respectable hotel and if she was looking for other ways to supplement her income there were places near Chinatown where she could engage in that sort of activity. And then he fired her and told her to get out.”

Pamela felt the blood drain from her face. She’d known David Holcombe her entire life. The fact that he could treat one of his employees in that manner repulsed her. And filled her with shame.

“I thought I could help her. That I could fix it. I cut school and went to the hotel. I didn’t have a plan, but I was sure if I could talk to Holcombe, I could get my mom her job back. The man at the desk wouldn’t let me see him. He told me to leave before he called the police.”

“My God, Marcus. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t hear her. She’d lost him to the wrath-filled landscape of his memories.

“I cut school for the next few days and waited, hoping I would get the chance to talk to him. One afternoon, when I was about to give up, I saw him. He’d grabbed a busboy and was yelling at him in the back alley. When the boy ran inside, I approached Holcombe. I told him who I was and said my mother needed the job. I begged him to give her a second chance.”

His voice broke, but she couldn’t stop him if she’d wanted to. The words tumbled forth, rushing to see the light of day.

“He looked at me like I was nothing. No, worse than nothing. Like I was dog crap on the bottom of his expensive Italian loafers. And I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said, ‘Randolph Andrews is a pillar of this community. His grandfather was in business with the Rockefellers. There are people in this world who matter and people who don’t. You and your mother don’t matter.’”

That bastard! If David Holcombe had been standing before her at that moment, she would have hit him. She wasn’t surprised he would protect Randolph Andrews. The man came from a powerful and influential family. She’d seen firsthand David’s affinity for members of the upper class.

“She tried to get jobs at other hotels but no one would hire her. On top of that, she lost her job at the real estate company. Her boss never admitted it, but I know Holcombe used his power and influence to blacklist her. That was it. We were evicted from our apartment and we moved to California to live with my aunt. My mother died four years later. Heart attack.”

Pamela pulled him to her and hugged him tight. He resisted at first, his body unyielding, but she held on and eventually, he surrendered, his arms enclosing her in a steel grip.

“After my dad died I was supposed to look out for my mom. I failed. I made a vow to her that one day I would own the Holcombe and no one would ever treat her that way again. She’d be valued and respected. But she died, never seeing me keep that promise.” He spoke low, his words whispered against her hair. “I couldn’t protect her then and I can’t bear not being able to protect you now. Please, please be safe.”

And suddenly, it was clear. Why he was doing this. Why he married her. Why the Holcombe had his complete focus and was the most important thing in the world to him.