by Janet Dailey
There was a sharp knock on her door before it burst open. “Miss James, someone took my … chair.” Susan finished the sentence lamely as she saw Mr. Stein sitting in it and the other two men. “I didn’t know you had it, Mr. Stein.” She glanced apologetically at Tamara and rolled her eyes. “I’ll find another one.”
“Thanks, Susan.” Tamara smiled, but the way she was trying to guard her reaction made it an unnatural movement.
Before the woman could close the door, the delivery boy arrived with their sandwiches. Adam began asking her some questions—nothing out of the ordinary—and Tamara concentrated all her attention on the conversation with him.
Chapter Three
As Harold Stein drained the last of his coffee from the styrofoam cup, Bickford Rutledge said, “I know you are anxious to get back to your project, Harold. I’m certain Miss James is more than qualified to answer any questions Adam might have.”
“Yes, actually, I would like to get back,” the man declared with a glimmer of relief in his expression. He stood up quickly before Rutledge could change his mind.
Tamara opened her mouth to protest. She might need Mr. Stein’s support desperately before the afternoon was over. But when he had made it so plain he wanted to leave, how could she ask him to stay? The last thing she wanted to do was arouse the suspicions of either Rutledge or Adam Slater. No matter what, she mustn’t act guilty. Somehow she would have to make her new employer understand that what she had done hadn’t been entirely wrong. Was there such a thing as “a little illegal?” But until she decided the best way to approach her new and formidable employer, she didn’t want to prejudice her case, unless it was in her favor.
So Tamara made no attempt to stop the older man when he left her office. Adam immediately suggested that he take a look at the company records in order to understand her bookkeeping system before he supervised their audit. Tamara drew a silent breath of relief that the audit wouldn’t begin today. She allowed herself to relax slightly, which wasn’t too difficult because she and Adam talked the same language.
He had pulled the straight-backed chair behind her desk so he could sit beside her while they went over the ledgers. Bickford Rutledge continued to sit in the chair opposite the desk, but since Tamara was occupied, she wasn’t bothered nearly as badly by his steady regard. He asked questions, too, which showed he was following their discussion.
“Would you mind if I removed my jacket?” he asked her after they had been closeted in her small office for nearly an hour.
“No, I don’t mind,” she replied, but didn’t watch as he shrugged out of the tailored jacket.
“That’s a great idea.” Adam stood up to remove his jacket and loosen the blue and gold striped tie around his neck. Before he sat down, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them back.
From the crispness of business suits and ties to the casualness of shirt-sleeves, the change in attitude was dramatic. Tamara immediately picked up on Adam’s shared enthusiasm for working with numbers. He enjoyed what he did, the same as she did. They discussed ways of incorporating her system and making an easy transition to the system used at the corporate offices. Plus, there was the payroll system that needed to be transferred as well.
When Adam inquired how the billing was handled, Tamara went to the wall of filing cabinets to show him an example rather than attempt to explain. Her gaze bounced off Bickford Rutledge, who was leaning a shoulder against a side wall while he leafed through a copy of a year-old financial statement. Her pulse accelerated under the lazy study of his green eyes. She firmly slowed it and opened a file drawer of the cabinet near the wall.
“It’s good you don’t suffer from claustrophobia, Miss James,” Bickford Rutledge remarked.
“Yes, this office is a little small,” she admitted. Never had it felt smaller than now—with him filling every inch. But Tamara didn’t look at him when she answered.
When she found the particular folder she was looking for, she removed it and slid the drawer shut. As she turned, Tamara flipped open the folder and walked right into Bickford Rutledge, unaware that he had straightened from the wall.
His arm instinctively went around her waist as she careened into him. It stayed there to steady her. In consequence, Tamara was vividly conscious of thrusting outlines of his muscled thighs and hips. While one hand continued to clutch the folder, her other hand was splayed across his shirt front. Beneath it, she could feel the steady pounding of his heart. She didn’t need any proof of how vital and alive he was. She could feel it tingling like an electric current through her nerve ends.
“As you said, the office is a little small,” he murmured.
She sensed his reluctance to let her go as he dragged his hand away from the back of her waist and allowed space to come between them. Tamara walked to the desk. Adam’s back had been to the filing cabinets, so he was unaware of the incident. She set the folder in front of him, but had a difficult time finding a concise explanation for their procedure. The contact had disturbed her.
Bick saw the quick smile Tamara gave Adam. Funny, he was already thinking of her as Tamara. Maybe not so funny, he reconsidered, remembering the softness of her body when she had blindly walked into him earlier that afternoon. If he had planned it, it couldn’t have worked better. Just for a second, she had relaxed against him, letting her weight rest against him.
For some reason, she was wary of him, erecting an aloof barrier whenever it looked like he was getting under her skin. Yet she was relaxed with Adam. So her coolness wasn’t directed at all men, but restricted to him. Maybe it was natural. Bick disliked playing games, though. He was attracted to her and didn’t attempt to disguise it, while she seemed to guard every word and look directed to him.
He noticed her shoulder rub against Adam’s arm. He found himself resenting the innocent contact and how at ease she was with Adam. It gleamed hard in his eyes. As he watched, Bick saw her steal a glance at her watch.
“Do you have a date this evening, Miss James?” Bick shot the question at her, as it occurred to him for the first time that it was possible she had a boyfriend.
Her head jerked up. The guilty light in her eyes revealed she knew she had been caught clock-watching. “No. But—”
“Good. Then you won’t object to staying a bit longer than usual.” His gaze sliced to Adam. “I know Adam wants to get this finished up before he starts the audit tomorrow.”
“I don’t object … if it isn’t too late,” she agreed.
Adam glanced at his watch. “I think I’ll call Peggy and let her know where I am. She worries,” he explained offhandedly, and reached for the phone.
As he dialed the number, he knocked over the framed photograph on Tamara’s desk. Bick rescued it and glanced at the picture before setting it upright. It was a snapshot of two women, the younger one obviously Tamara. The other one looked remarkably like her, except that she was older.
“Your mother?” Bick questioned as he set the picture frame upright on her desk.
“Yes.” Tamara glanced at the photograph, a softly affectionate light gleaming in her blue eyes.
“I can see where you inherited your looks,” he murmured.
But she didn’t acknowledge his comment. Instead, when Adam hung up the phone, she said, “I’d better make a call, too.”
“We’ll have to call it quits by seven,” Adam announced while Tamara dialed a number. “Peggy is coming by with a fresh change of clothes to pick me up. We have some dinner we have to attend tonight.” There was a mischievous light in his brown eyes when he added softly, “There’s no reason why you have to stay, is there, old buddy?”
“I can think of one, old buddy,” Bick murmured with faint sarcasm, and flicked a glance at Tamara. Whoever she had called, he hadn’t been able to overhear the conversation. “No problems?” he asked her when the receiver was replaced on the cradle.
“No, no problems,” she assured him with an indifferent shrug that appeared forced.
&nbs
p; It seemed an eternity to Bick before seven o’clock and Adam’s wife arrived. Several minutes were wasted with introductions and the usual polite exchanges that accompanied them. When he saw Tamara take her purse from the desk drawer, he walked to the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Adam. Take care, Peggy.” He opened the door and paused. “Are you leaving now, too, Miss James?”
“Yes, I am.” He held the door open for her and she walked by with a quiet, “Thank you.”
She gave no indication that she expected him to walk with her and continued down the corridor toward the main entrance. His longer strides easily caught up with her, but Bick felt a little irritated by her aloofness.
“Since you worked late and missed dinner, I’d like to take you out, Miss James,” he offered casually.
“It isn’t necessary. I’ll make note of the extra hours on my time card. That’s all the compensation I require,” Tamara insisted.
“But what about the compensation I require?” he reasoned. “I’m not looking forward to dinner alone. You could take pity on me.”
Long, thick lashes veiled the sidelong glance she gave him. “I’m certain you can find someone to keep you company, Mr. Rutledge, with very little effort.”
They were at the main door and he reached around her to open it. “I’ve made very little effort to persuade you to come with me. Or is someone keeping a meal warm for you?”
“No. I’ll just fix something cold. It doesn’t matter.”
Outside the air was pleasantly cool and the morning wind had died to a hesitant breeze. “Now, you are making me feel guilty, Miss James. I’ve asked you to work late and forced you to miss a hot evening meal. And you won’t let me make up for it.”
“It was very thoughtful of you, but I must go home. Thank you, though,” she added, plainly as an afterthought. “Good night.”
“Where are you going?” He caught hold of her elbow when she started to walk away from him.
“Home. I told you.”
Bick felt her straining against his hold in a mute resistance. In the flash of her blue eyes, he read defiance. The evening was ahead of him, promising nothing. She was beside him, which in itself was a promise of something. He didn’t intend to let her slip away from him yet.
“If you won’t have dinner with me, you can at least permit me to give you a ride home,” Bick stated.
“I can catch the bus at the corner. One will be along shortly,” she argued, but not very forcefully.
“Shortly? Or twenty minutes from now?” His mouth slowly curved into a smile as he noted the acknowledgment in her expression that he might be right. “My car is parked in the lot. A short, comfortable ride in it would surely be swifter, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed with a reluctant nod of acceptance.
“This way.” With one obstacle surmounted, Bick was confident he could handle any other barrier she might place in his path. He kept a guiding hand on her elbow as he walked her to his car. “If you won’t have dinner with me tonight, then have lunch tomorrow.” He paused to unlock the passenger door.
Bick sensed her hesitancy before she answered. “It isn’t necessary.”
Another obstacle was crumbling. He hid a smile as he opened the door and held it for her. “It is. There is a little matter that has to be cleared up.”
“What?” Halting abruptly, she went pale. At the same time, there was a leap of fear in the blue eyes that scanned his face.
It puzzled him. He reached out to touch the vein pounding wildly in her throat and felt its frantic throbbing under his fingertips. Desire surged through him, not a lusting one, but an overwhelming desire to protect. Her parted lips held a mute appeal for something—Bick didn’t know what—but he sought to reassure them.
“Don’t be afraid.” He bent his head to brush his mouth across her lips.
When they quivered beneath the gentle contact, a more elemental emotion claimed him. His kiss became exploring, igniting a hesitant and almost unwilling response. Curving his hand to the shape of her slender neck, Bick resisted an urge to free her pale hair from the pins that held it in its smooth coil and wind his fingers into the silken mass. He didn’t want to incite a sudden rush of vanity, not when he was making such delightful discoveries.
His hand sought her waist, then slid beneath the silk shawl up to her shoulderblades. She pliantly arched closer at its pressure until the soft tips of her breasts brushed against his shirt front, his unbuttoned suit jacket swinging open. The kiss, warm and stimulating though it was, was just a taste. He wanted more, but an inner voice cautioned him not to rush it. Bick sensed that something was holding her back, preventing her from responding as fully as she was capable of doing, so he submitted to the reasoning instinct. His mouth moved over her lips to savor the softness of them in a slow release.
Straightening from her by degrees, Bick studied her reaction through half-closed eyes. There was a vague shock when he discovered her features were expressing the same confused curiosity he was experiencing. An inner questioning of what made her so different from a half a hundred other women he’d held in his arms and kissed much more intimately? Yet he couldn’t answer that any more than he could define what had made the embrace seem special.
An invisible door closed between them. Bick suddenly wasn’t able to read her thoughts in her expression. Irritation flickered through him. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to shatter that poise of hers forever so she could never hide behind it again. There was a savage urge to do something about it that very minute, but he fought it down.
“I’m not going to apologize for kissing you,” Bick declared in a smooth murmur. “Only for, perhaps, doing it too soon.”
She seemed about to say something, but no indignant outburst came. She hadn’t objected to the kiss and she was honest enough not to pretend otherwise, a rare quality indeed. Saying nothing, she moved to slide into the passenger seat and Bick closed the door to walk around to the driver’s side.
After she had given him her address, Bick drove the car out of the parking lot into the street. Stopped at the corner traffic light, Tamara thought to ask, “Do you need directions?”
“No, I can find it.”
“Do you live here in Kansas City?” With his attention on the changing light and the flow of traffic, she was able to study the bold lines of his profile—all hard, male angles.
“Yes.”
No doubt in Johnson County, Tamara thought, and lapsed into silence to hold court over her conflicting emotions. She had known he was going to kiss her, so why hadn’t she stopped him? Obviously she would have been a hypocrite to protest afterward, when she had made it plain she had enjoyed it. Enjoyed—it was such a tame word to describe the raw wonder she had felt.
An assortment of fast food restaurants flanked both sides of the street, clustering together to compete for trade the way they always seemed to do. Although it wasn’t yet sunset, their neon lights were luring customers in.
“If I can’t persuade you to let me take you to dinner, at least you can let my buy you a quick sandwich,” Bick persisted.
Tamara wanted to agree. Whatever the force was that drew her to him, it was potent, but she retained a grip on her priorities and gave a negative shake of her head.
“I honestly have to go home.” At his skeptical glance, she realized her steadfast determination required an explanation. She was neither afraid nor playing a game. “My … my mother isn’t well.”
“You live with your parents?”
“With my mother. My father died when I was small.” Here was her chance, the opening to explain the extenuating circumstances that had prompted her to “borrow” the money. Somehow her tongue became all tied up in knots.
“I meant what I said earlier. I am going to insist that I take you to lunch tomorrow to make up for tonight. Agreed?” Beneath the challenge, there was a low threat.
Tamara smothered the phrase that was almost becoming redundant and didn’t protes
t that it wasn’t necessary. Instead she lifted a shoulder in an attempt at indifference. “You’re the boss.”
A little voice inside her head said, why not? Why keep fighting the fact that he’s obviously attracted to you and make use of it? Have lunch with him tomorrow. Maybe even flirt with him a little. If he likes you, he will be more apt to understand. Why not have two aces up your sleeve instead of one? When Tamara’s gaze strayed to his relentless features, another voice asked, was that wise?
“Which house?” Bick questioned, suddenly turning to catch her staring.
With a self-conscious start, Tamara realized they had reached the block where she lived. “The white one with the green shutters.” Bick stopped the car at the curb in front of it. Tamara searched for the door handle and couldn’t find it. “I think the car makers make a game out of changing the location of door handles in every car so people will have to play hide-and-seek to find it,” she muttered.
Bick leaned over to reach across and lift the handle hidden in the armrest. His push swung the car door ajar. He didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to touch her, although his face was briefly very close to hers.
Sitting once again behind the wheel, he said, “Lunch. Twelve o’clock sharp.”
“Yes,” Tamara agreed on a breathless note, and tried to conceal the wish that he would kiss her again. “Thanks for the ride.”
His gaze watched her lips form the words with unnerving interest, but he didn’t reply or attempt to stop her from getting out of the car. Tamara was conscious that the car remained parked at the curb until she had reached the front door and opened it. Once Tamara was inside the house, a tiny pain began hammering at her temples. There were so many things to think about. Not the least among them was the audit that would begin tomorrow.
When Tamara arrived at the office the next morning, Adam Slater was already there along with another older man named Fred Hastings. Somehow she had expected Bick Rutledge to put in an appearance, but he didn’t. It was just as well, because it took all her skill and ingenuity to steer the audit in the direction she wanted it to go and gain all the time she could.
