The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) by Tracey Livesay Read Free Book Online Page B

collegiate course load, he got all the motivation he needed by imagining the moment he would come face to face with David Holcombe.
    His mother used to urge him to leave what happened in the past and move on, the way she had. But he found it hard to forget. Impossible to forgive. He vowed he would set it right for her, and getting the Holcombe was the culmination of every action he’d taken since her death.
    When it was his turn, he gave his name to a young woman with a clipboard.
    “One moment, Mr. Pearson.” She spoke into her radio and a minute later, Pamela was crossing the room toward them.
    His body tightened. His eyes followed the dips and curves of her figure swathed in deep red fabric. “Hi.”
    “Um…hello.” Her gaze met his for a brief second, then slid slowly down his form, resting first on his chest, then his hips, and then…
    He fought back a grin. Pamela Harrington was checking him out. Now that was damned sexy. He cleared his throat, and instantly her gaze flew back to his and hints of pink flushed her cheekbones. She clenched her hands into fists.
    “You look beautiful,” he said. “The color of your dress brings out the green in your eyes. Stunning, really.”
    The pink in her cheeks bloomed, but she didn’t look away. “I appreciate the compliment, although the word ‘stunning’ may be excessive.”
    He reached out, caressed her elbow for a moment, then moved closer to her. Close enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. “Believe me, it’s not strong enough…,” he murmured.
    She cleared her throat. “We have a problem.”
    His stomach plummeted. “Did Holcombe not show?”
    “No, he’s here.”
    Marcus felt light-headed. He let out a huge breath. “Good. What’s the issue, then?”
    Rather than responding, Pamela gestured for him to follow. Nodding to a few people, she hurried to a small alcove hidden behind the propped-open double doors that led into the ballroom.
    “Do you have your phone?”
    “Always.”
    He gave it to her, and she immediately began tapping on the screen. When she handed it back to him, he read the gossip column she’d pulled up:
    Socialite Pamela Harrington and real estate mogul Marcus Pearson were spotted at the courthouse. Sources say wedding bells are in their future. Sorry, Mr. Wentworth, you snooze, you lose.
    If the tension that stiffened Pamela’s shoulders was any indication, this was not good.
    “I told you this would happen. Forty-eight hours! That’s how long it took for the information to leak from the courthouse.” She was wired, scurrying back and forth in the small space.
    He grabbed her shoulders. “You were right, but the information’s out there and we can’t recall it. What do we do?”
    “The website caters to the young movers and shakers in DC. Most of the people here are old guard. They may not have seen this. But we’ll need to talk to the Senator.”
    He followed her through the arched entryway into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings, and the hardwood floors were polished to a reflective shine. The sounds of conversation and the clinking of glasses competed with the music playing softly in the background.
    “This is a beautiful house.”
    “The estate has been in my family for several generations. My great-great-grandfather, Jeremiah Harrington, built the main house in the 1920s, and since then each generation has added to it until it’s what you see today.”
    He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handed her one, then strolled next to her around the perimeter of the room, stopping to check out the items up for bid in the silent auction.
    “Pamela!”
    His heart pounded in his chest. That voice was imprinted on his psyche in permanent marker. It was thinner than he remembered, but just as pompous.
    Pamela faced him and straightened his bow tie. “Are you ready?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Here they come. Hello, David.” Pamela held her hands out and let the older man draw her in