The Hostage Bride (6 page)

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 protest 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.

At half past eleven, Bick walked into her office. Outside of a “Good morning” directed to the two men, he didn’t waste time with preliminaries. “Are you ready?”

“You’re early.” A shaft of fear went through her as Tamara mentally calculated how far the
auditors would progress before she returned. Her heart thumped a little louder at the look in his vividly green eyes. It was at once possessive and persuasive, and utterly irresistible.

“A little,” Bick admitted indifferently. “You two can manage without Miss James for an hour or so, can’t you?” It was a statement that wouldn’t tolerate a negative reply. “I’m taking her to lunch,” he said, as if he’d done it every day of his life.

“Sure, we can manage,” Adam replied and arched his back to relieve muscles that were cramping from sitting in one position for so long. “We’ll be breaking for a sandwich in twenty minutes or so ourselves.”

Bick nodded and looked expectantly at Tamara. After fetching her purse, she walked to the door he held open for her. The warm weight of his hand was on the small of her back to guide her out of the building. Tamara was conscious of the curious looks she was receiving from her staff and wondered if they were envious or whether they thought she was buttering up the new boss.

When they were outside, Bick said, “I made reservations for noon.”

“Fine.” It didn’t occur to Tamara to ask where as he helped her into the car, since it didn’t matter to her. When she was settled in the passenger seat, he closed the door. She found herself missing the firm touch of his hand and envied the steering wheel that was taking her place.

With typical feminine vanity, she lowered the
sun visor to glance at her reflection in its mirror and check her makeup. The blue of her eyes looked overly bright, the result of the excited confusion churning inside her. The summer dress of flowered silk was one of the most flattering ones she owned that was suitable to wear to the office. She was glad she had surrendered to the impulse to wear it, liking the way the style was designed to subtly accent her curves. Her lipstick had faded. Tamara would have freshened the mocha rose color, but Bick leaned over to flip the visor up.

“You couldn’t look lovelier,” he stated and started the car.

The husky pitch of his voice warmed her blood. It didn’t matter whether he meant it or not. Just for a little while, Tamara succumbed to the temptation to be a woman and forget the problems and responsibilities that had denied her the chance these last three years. Circumstances had made her suppress her own sexuality, but Bick was so definitely male that he made her recognize it. She reveled in the sensations it aroused.

Hugging the feelings inside her, Tamara let her sparkling gaze wander out the moving car window to the rawboned skyline of Kansas City shining under a high, prairie sun. They were entering the country club district, where trees abounded and the streets were adorned with fountains and statuary.

The fountains were a harmony of sight, sound, and movement. Bubbling water rushed to spray
its song over a rearing horse, caught motionless in a symphony of powerful lines and perfect symmetry. Its conquering rider clung to its bare back under the deluge of the fountain’s shower. The sight of it and its circle of statues were all reflected in the rippling pool of water that embraced it.

“More fountains than Rome, more boulevards than Paris—what more could a city have?” Tamara murmured.

“Yes, the City of Fountains … and vastly underrated,” Bick agreed somewhat absently.

Tamara had never been to the restaurant Bick had chosen. It was not surprising considering the subdued elegance of its rich wood paneling and linen-covered tables. When she had been dating, most of her escorts had not been able to afford places like this.

A black-uniformed headwaiter greeted Bick by name when they entered. “Good day, Mr. Rutledge.” The man bent slightly at the waist. “A table for two or will others be joining you?”

“Miss James and I are lunching alone,” Bick informed him, using her name as if to reinforce her status as someone special. His downward glance roamed possessively over her features as he added, “If anyone attempts to join us, I will cheerfully tell them to get lost.”

If her breath hadn’t already been disturbed by his caressing look, his statement permanently disrupted it. The waiter gave her an assessing glance before he bestowed a smile of approval on Bick.

“Of course,” he agreed, and moved to enter the dining area, leading them to their table. “This way, please.”

He showed them to a table in a secluded corner of the room. He pulled the table away from the bench seat so Tamara could sit facing the rest of the dining area. Instead of sitting opposite her, Bick slid onto the cushioned seat beside her. The solidly muscled flesh of his left thigh and hip burned through the thin fabric of her dress to electrify her nerve ends. Her shoulder rubbed his arm as she opened the menu the headwaiter had given to her. The hunger Tamara felt had nothing to do with food. Bick recommended the luncheon steak and she accepted his suggestion.

Bick ordered for her when the waiter came. “Would you care for a cocktail before lunch?” the waiter inquired.

“None for me, thank you,” said Tamara.

Bick declined also, but ordered a liter of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Two glasses?” the waiter asked. “Yes,” Bick replied without consulting her.

Wine, dim lights—all that was missing was soft music, Tamara thought, and experienced a sudden need to dispel the intimate atmosphere.

“You mentioned yesterday evening that there was something you wished to discuss with me, Mr. Rutledge,” she reminded him.

“Did I?” An eyebrow arched with mock blank-ness. “And the name is Bick. Bickford Taylor Rutledge is too much a mouthful for anyone to say.”

In her mind she was already on a first-name basis with him, but Tamara pursued her original topic rather than acknowledge the permission he had given her. “I presume you wanted to discuss my position under the new management.” Or did he already know something about the money?

“How do you feel about the merger?” he asked.

“Surprised,” Tamara admitted after an initial hesitation. “Who is going to be in charge now that Mr. Stein has stepped down? Will you?”

“No. I have already selected a business manager to fill the position. He’ll be taking over Monday.”

“That was a rather foolish question on my part, wasn’t it?” she murmured self-consciously. “Naturally you’ll be at the corporate offices, running everything.”

“That’s right,” Bick agreed blandly. “Would you like a position there? If you worked there, it wouldn’t be at all uncommon for us to see each other every day. I can arrange to have you work on my personal staff, if you like.”

With an effort, Tamara concealed the fact that his offer had shaken her. “I wasn’t angling for a promotion.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that you were. Would you be interested?” he challenged.

Tamara attempted to joke her way out of an answer. “Would you be chasing me around a desk all day?”

When her half-laughing glance lifted to encounter his, her breath was taken by the green intensity of his gaze. “Would you be running?”

Her throat worked convulsively, but she couldn’t manage to squeeze an answer out. The waiter returned to provide a welcome distraction as he poured the wine for Bick to sample before filling the two wineglasses with the ruby-red liquid.

Although she hadn’t tasted a drop of liquor in more than three years, Tamara leaned forward to take the glass in both her hands. She crossed her legs to elude the searing contact with his thigh and made another attempt to steer the conversation to a less disturbing channel.

“This morning Adam and I were discussing the most efficient way to transfer the—”

A thumb and forefinger captured her chin to turn it toward him, his touch effectively silencing her even before Bick rubbed his thumb across her mouth. “No business discussions,” he stated, and watched the liberties his thumb was taking with a glint of envy. “This is strictly a social lunch.”

“It is?” Mentally Tamara was trying to decide if that was good or bad, but she seemed incapable of making the definition.

“Yes.” Bick released her chin to take hold of her hand. “You have very nicely shaped hands,” he observed as his fingers absently stroked the back of the one he held. “No rings. No bracelets. No necklace. Don’t you like jewelry, Tamara?”

She’d sold every piece that had any value, but she gave him the same excuse she’d given her mother. “I’m allergic to it,” she lied.

“Allergic to gold?” An eyebrow lifted in amused surprise.

“I think I’m allergic to the alloys they use in it,” she shrugged.

“What about your watch?” His gaze slid to her left wrist.

“A leather band and stainless steel back,” Tamara explained. “Very utilitarian.”

“What do your male admirers give you for presents?” he questioned with a narrowed look.

Tamara was reluctant to admit that she had none because she wasn’t sufficiently prepared to go into the long explanation that would entail. “Fortunately, I’m not allergic to flowers.”

The waiter arrived to serve their food and Tamara was able to withdraw her hand from his clasp. The steak was excellent, but she spent more time playing with it than she did eating it. Her attention kept wandering to the man sitting next to her, the inherent strength in his large hands, and the gleaming darkness of his chestnut hair.

She sipped at her wine, but barely drank half of it. There was enough intoxication in the moment without adding more. If she ever needed to think clearly, this was the time.

When the waiter had removed their luncheon plates, he had suggested dessert, but Tamara had asked for only coffee, as had Bick. With the meal over, Bick had rested his arm along the back cushion of the bench. While he had begun asking her opinion on nonbusiness-related topics, his hand had drifted onto her shoulder.

It had been easy for Tamara to talk to him up to that point, but it had become difficult for her to disassociate herself from the knowledge of his touch. When she had leaned forward to discreetly elude it, his hand had merely slipped down to the back of her ribs. In a somewhat absent fashion, he caressed her shoulder bones and let his hand wander down her spine and curve around the side of her rib cage, his fingertips brushing near the swell of her breast. He was wreaking havoc with her senses, not to mention her heartbeat.