The Hostage Bride

by Janet Dailey

  Tamara pushed out of her chair. “What are you going to do?”

  Bick paused to glance over his shoulder, raking her with his eyes. “That, my sweet, beautiful … witch, is something I haven’t decided yet. It keeps running through my head that embezzlers invariably wind up in prison.” With that, he yanked open the door and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Tamara staring after him in shock.

  With the closing of the front door, she collapsed in the chair and buried her head in her hands. What had she done? It had all been so innocent.

  “You’re back, Mr. Rutledge.” Mrs. Davies started to rise from her chair when he entered, reaching for the messages that had arrived in his absence.

  Bick swept past her desk. “I don’t want to be disturbed—for any reason,” he snapped, and was inside his office with the door closed before his secretary could do more than open her mouth.

  He walked to the side of the spacious room opposite his desk where the liquor cabinet stood in a corner. It was well stocked, but seldom used. Breaking the seal on a bottle of Scotch, Bick filled a squat glass, bolted down a swallow, and refilled the glass. In a delayed decision, he took the bottle of Scotch with him when he walked to the cream-colored sofa and stripped off his suit jacket and tie. He sat down on the plump cushions and propped his long legs on the coffee table in front of him. With almost single-minded determination, Bick set to work to empty the bottle on the table.

  A hand tentatively nudged his shoulder. “Mr. Rutledge?” Mrs. Davies’s hesitant voice called his name.

  The sound seemed to reverbrate on his eardrums and pound through his heavy head. Bick tried to open his eyes and had to cover them with his hand against the sudden glare of light. His mouth felt coated with thick wool and his stomach threatened to revolt if he moved a fraction of an inch.

  “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he reminded her in a very soft, yet very harsh, voice—but even that jarred him.

  “That was yesterday, Mr. Rutledge.”

  Bick groaned at the misplaced hours.

  Another voice, a man’s, suggested, “You’d better round up a pot of very black coffee, Mrs. Davies. And some aspirin.” Peering through the narrow slit of his lashes, Bick recognized Adam looking down at him with amused sympathy. Mrs. Davies had gone in search of the much-needed remedies. “You really tied one on, didn’t you?” Adam observed.

  “Hell, I don’t remember,” Bick muttered.

  After three cautiously downed cups of thick black coffee and two aspirin, Bick began to feel part of the human race. He was aware of his sleep-creased clothes and the dark shadow of a day’s beard growth on his face.

  “More coffee?” Adam suggested.

  “Yeah.” Bick held out his cup for a refill.

  “What’s the problem?” Adam asked, settling back in the chair opposite the sofa.

  “How to handle Miss James and her twenty-thousand-dollar loan.” Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Bick stared into the black surface of the coffee, the cup held in both hands. “We can’t keep the lid on this much longer. I’m going to be forced to take some kind of action, soon.”

  “That bothers you?”

  “Yes. Remember the employee that started a black market business with the company’s airline vouchers. The board made sure he got nailed. It’s their policy to be tough and come down hard on any employee caught with his hand in the till.” Bick rubbed his hand over his face, the stubble rasping across his palm. “They make an example of them so nobody else will get similar ideas.”

  “In this case, I think you’ll agree there are extenuating circumstances,” Adam replied. “Plus, there is that insurance policy.”

  “That’s just it.” He sighed. “There isn’t any insurance policy. She lied about that.”

  Adam released a whistling breath. “I see what you mean.”

  “I fired her.”

  “You had to.”

  “The part about her mother was true. I went to the house yesterday.” Bick took a drink of his coffee, but it seemed to have lost its stimulating effect. The dullness was back pounding at his head. “I shudder when I think about a woman as beautiful as she is spending time in prison for embezzlement.”

  “It does sound like it was an act of desperation. The courts might take that into consideration and be lenient. She could get off with a suspended sentence and probation.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” He set the cup on the table with a thud and pushed impatiently to his feet.

  “I don’t suppose there is any way she could raise that much money—a second mortgage on her house or anything like that?”

  “The only way she could get her hands on that much money is if I gave it to her.” His grimly angry statement brought a long silence. Even without looking at him, Bick knew Adam was thinking he was a prize fool. “That’s what she’s expecting me to do. The trap is all baited and set, and I’ve already been nibbling.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “The minute I give her twenty grand, she’s going to need more. Which means she’s just going to pull the same number on somebody else. She’s not only clever; she’s lethal. Beauty and treachery, all in one shapely package.”

  “I think she’s just frightened and desperate.”

  Bick gave Adam a pitying look. He’d believed that, too, for a little while. “I’m sure she is.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to shower, shave, and change clothes.” He walked toward the door hidden in a wall mural that led to a private bath and dressing room, complete with a closet containing clean shirts and suits. “After that, I’m going to take care of any urgent business Mrs. Davies has for me. Then I’m going to withdraw twenty thousand dollars from my personal bank account and go visit Miss Tamara James.”

  “I thought as much,” Adam murmured with a faint smile.

  “God knows why I’m doing it,” Bick muttered.

  It was after two o’clock when he arrived at Tamara’s house. The nurse, Sadie Kent, answered his knock. Her expression was pinched with disapproval when she recognized him. She blocked the opening with her tall frame and didn’t invite him inside.

  “Would you inform Tamara I would like to speak to her for a few minutes?” Bick requested.

  “She isn’t here.”

  “Why isn’t she? Where did she go?” He snapped out the questions in irritation.

  “Ssh, keep your voice down. Mrs. James is resting.” The nurse stepped outside and closed the door to glower at him. “She is still under the impression that Tamara is working for you. Tamara doesn’t want her mother to know she lost her job until she can find another one.”

  “Where is she?” Bick repeated.

  “Out looking for work.”

  “In that case, I’ll just wait here until she comes home.”

  The nurse straightened her mouth into a thin line. “Why? Haven’t you brought enough trouble to that girl? Large companies like yours are always gobbling up smaller ones and laying people off. It isn’t right.”

  So that was the explanation Tamara had given for losing her job. He might have known she’d come up with a believable story. “I have an offer that I think Tamara will be interested in. May I come inside and wait until she returns?”

  “Be quiet, then. Mrs. James is taking her nap and I don’t want her to know you’re here,” the nurse ordered, and opened the door to let him into the house.

  When Tamara entered the house a little past three o’clock, Sadie pressed a finger against her lips to indicate her mother was resting and motioned her toward the kitchen. She crossed the room quietly.

  “You have a visitor,” Sadie whispered.

  Tamara pushed open the door and saw Bick seated at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him. “Any luck with your job hunting?”

  “Yes.” She walked to the counter to pour herself a cup. “I’ve been hired as a waitress—for more money as a matter of fact. What are you doing here?” His presence wa
s having a rippling effect on her nerves, spreading a fine tension through her system.

  “I came to make you an offer.”

  “What kind of an offer?” Had he reconsidered? Was he going to let her have her job back? Hope flared that maybe not all was lost.

  “What would you say if I told you I was willing to give you the twenty thousand dollars to repay your … ‘loan.’” He hesitated before the last word to underline it.

  Tamara sat down, wondering if this was another one of his cruel jokes. “Are you?”

  “As long as you agree to the conditions I make.”

  “Which are?” She scanned his expression, but it was a mask for his thoughts.

  “In return for the twenty grand, you will become my wife and—”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” His mouth slanted, but there wasn’t any humor in the suggestion of a smile.

  Her pulse was hammering a thousand beats a minute. She hadn’t misunderstood. He was proposing, but the green of his eyes held no desirous light. There was no warmth in his look.

  “Why would you want to marry me?” she questioned warily.

  “For a variety of reasons. I feel guilty about letting you run around loose, yet I can’t stand the thought of seeing you in prison,” Bick replied, sliding an indifferent look over her face. “And I want you to move into my house and I don’t think your mother would approve unless there was a marriage license involved. The license will pacify her and I will pacify you by promising to provide for your mother’s comforts and care. I will hire a nurse to live in. You can visit your mother during the day while I work and spend the nights with me when I’m home. Not the least among my reasons for wanting you as my wife is a desire to have some return for my money.”

  She stared at him. The proposal sounded very cold-blooded in a hot-blooded sort of way. “Do you expect me to agree?”

  “I don’t think you have any choice.” He smiled at her lazily. “Your loan is paid back. Your mother is cared for. You won’t have to work. All your troubles are over.”

  Or just beginning? “I … I don’t know.”

  “Naturally I will have a marriage contract drawn up, spelling out what you can expect to receive from me. The ceremony can take place a week from Sunday. Since we are just going through the motions for proprieties sake, we’ll restrict it to the basics.” Bick was talking as if she had already accepted.

  “I haven’t said I would marry you,” she reminded him.

  “Considering the alternatives, you aren’t going to say no.” He leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the arm-rest. “Unless you have someone else lined up to give you the twenty thousand.”

  Casting him a hurt and angry glance, Tamara rose from her chair. “No, I don’t!” She walked away to stand in front of the kitchen sink, rubbing her elbows in agitation. “I’ve never tried to line anybody up for anything.”

  There was the scrape of the chair leg, followed by the sound of his approach. Tamara stiffened at the touch of his hands on her waist, jolted by the electric current that flowed from his fingers. There was a ringing in her ears as his hands moved to the front of her ribs, sliding under her crossed arms, aiming for her breasts. She caught at his wrists to try to stop him while his body heat warmed the length of her backside. His intimate touch ignited tremors that shuddered through her when her weak attempt failed. Then his breath stirred her hair and caressed her ear as he bent his head to lick kisses along the throbbing cord in her neck.

  “You’ve heard my offer,” he murmured against her skin. “What more could you want?”

  You, she thought. But she would have him if they were married. So why was she hesitating? Exerting only the slightest pressure, Bick turned her around and into his arms. Her breath quickened when his lips traced the outline of hers, his clean male scent enflaming her senses.

  “I need an answer,” Bick prompted in a low, rumbling voice that disturbed her.

  “Yes,” Tamara breathed into his mouth, and it stopped tormenting her lips with its feather touch to harden in moist possession.

  Its sensual magic had Tamara straining toward him and his hands moved to aid in her progress, pressing her fully to his virile length. She stopped thinking altogether about his unemotional proposal and concentrated on feeling the unmistakable and passionate hunger in his embrace, a consuming fire that ran just as deep and hot within her.

  The pressure of his mouth was already easing from her lips when the door opened and Sadie walked into the kitchen. “Oops!” She turned to leave.

  “Don’t run off, Ms. Kent,” Bick instructed in a low drawl, lifting his head to glance at the nurse. “Congratulations are in order. Tamara has agreed to marry me.”

  “She has? Do you mean that was your offer?” Without waiting for his answer, her gaze raced to the kiss-softened features of Tamara’s face, all signs of tension and stress gone. “That’s wonderful.”

  Incapable of saying anything, Tamara remained within the circle of his arms, leaning against him. When she sensed his eyes on her, she lifted her head. The hardness was back in his look, chips of green stone regarding her.

  “Yes, it is wonderful,” Bick agreed, but the dryness of his voice was searing.

  “Your mother is going to be so happy when you tell her,” Sadie declared in a watery voice. “She’s awake now.”

  His encircling arms were withdrawn, leaving Tamara momentarily bereft, until her hand was engulfed in the largeness of his. “We’ll go tell her the news.”

  Her mother took the announcement calmly, although she expressed concern at their haste when she learned the wedding was a little more than a week away. Bick smoothly reassured her that neither he nor Tamara were rushing into it. With skillful tact, he conveyed the impression that the marriage was taking place so soon because of her failing health and Tamara’s wish to have her mother present at the occasion.

  When he was through, her mother was convinced of the rightness of their decision. By implication, he made it clear that Tamara would no longer be working, saying he would arrange to have her job filled immediately so she would have the week before the wedding free. Under his persuasive charm, her mother’s apprehensions appeared groundless without Tamara needing to add her assurances. In fact, she had taken very little part in the conversation.

  Barely twenty minutes later, she was walking him to the door so he could return to his office. She was a bit dazed to realize that their engagement was an accomplished fact, unquestioned by anyone. She raised no objection when Bick drew her outside the door as if he wanted to say his goodbye to her in private, and beyond the benevolent curiosity of the nurse.

  “Now that we have that settled,” he said when the door was closed and they couldn’t be overheard, “we have a couple more details to get straight.” He was all very businesslike again, organized and aloof. “I won’t be physically giving you the money. I will simply repay the … loan in your behalf.”

  His statement implied a lack of trust and Tamara was stung into replying, “Do you think I would spend it on something else?”

  “I don’t intend to find out,” Bick said, smiling coldly. “The other matter is a ring. What size do you wear?”

  “Five. And I’m not allergic to jewelry,” she added. “I had sold what I had and used that as an excuse as to why I didn’t wear any.”

  “Is that information a veiled suggestion to buy you something expensive?” he taunted. “Do you think you might want to sell it someday.”

  “No to both questions,” Tamara retorted, but Bick seemed unimpressed by her abrupt denial.

  “Don’t forget to call the restaurant and tell them you aren’t hiring on as a waitress.” He shifted the subject easily.

  “I won’t.” There was a moment of hesitation as she realized all that he was doing for her and the way he had eased her mother’s mind. “I am grateful for what you’re doing.” Her words were stiff and tentative.

  He laid his fingers along her jaw, lifting it fracti
onally to let his gaze skim her face. “A week from Sunday, you can show me just how grateful you are.”

  Tamara quivered at the primitive message in his look. A smile slashed at his mouth before his hand fell away and he was turning to walk away.

  Chapter Seven

  “You may kiss the bride,” the minister prompted with a smiling look.

  Tamara’s hand trembled in the firm clasp of Bick’s, the gold band cold on her finger, as she hesitantly turned to face him. The possessive look in his eyes brought the color back to her face, erasing the chill to warm her blood. His mouth descended to fuse itself to hers in a kiss that forever stamped his ownership.

  When he released her, it took Tamara a full minute to assimilate her surroundings. Bick’s arm was around her waist in support as they stood near the foot of her mother’s bed, accepting the minister’s congratulations. Then Sadie, who had been one of the witnesses, was giving her a teary hug and admonishing Bick to be good to Tamara. After that, Adam bent to brush a kiss across her cheek and shake hands with Bick while his wife, Peggy, offered them both her best wishes.

  Her gaze sought the figure in the hospital bed, the only other remaining person to observe the ceremony, a wedding performed with only the essential ingredients; no baskets of flowers, no wedding party, no tiers of candles, no white wedding dress. A small cake and a bottle of champagne to toast the happy couple were waiting in the living room. Her mother’s expression radiated her inner happiness and contentment. To Tamara, it made up for the brutally cold marriage contract she had signed that disavowed any personal claim to Bick’s fortune, granted her nothing but her personal possessions in the event of a divorce, and stated his intention to care for her mother as long as she lived. She had objected to nothing contained in the document, but it carried its own sense of foreboding because it spoke volumes of Bick’s lack of trust.

  “Happy, darling?”

  Bick’s use of an endearment startled Tamara, but the sharpness of his gaze said she was frowning. Instantly she smoothed the expression away and smiled with forced gladness.