The Hostage Bride (15 page)

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I earned that money?” she demanded hoarsely. Standing behind
him and to one side, Tamara could see the muscles working convulsively along his jaw, but he didn’t answer. “You ask me!” she cried in frustration, and grabbed at his arm to make him look at her.

Bick shook off the attempt and countered it by gripping her wrist. “I could almost kill you for this,” he warned.

Tamara was too incensed to be threatened by the ominous gleam in his eyes. “I earned that money typing! Typing for some of the same people who used to hire me before! It gives me spending money and helps pass the time while Mother is resting!” she told him angrily, and jerked her wrist free of his hold. “That’s what I was doing today in that hotel! Delivering some envelopes I had addressed for the hotel’s convention center! But I don’t expect you to take my word for it!” She pivoted away to stalk to the telephone extension in the living room and lifted the receiver to offer it to him. “You call the hotel yourself. Ask them if they know me! Ask them if I do typing for them on occasion!” Tamara challenged.

At that moment the housekeeper came bustling in the room, clicking her tongue at the broken lamp on the floor. She began picking up the pieces scattered in the thick shag of the carpet. The intrusion was more than Tamara would tolerate.

“You order her out of this room, Bick Rutledge,” she demanded.

His gaze skipped to the housekeeper. “You can clean it up later, Freyda.”

“It will only take a moment.” The housekeeper didn’t pause in her task.

“Leave it!” Bick snapped.

“Very well.” The woman gave in with ill grace and walked stiffly from the room.

“Aren’t you going to call?” Tamara demanded with the telephone receiver still in her hand. “No, of course not,” she realized. “You’ll wait until you get to your office tomorrow to check out my ‘story.’”

Bick ignored her sarcastic jibe. “Why didn’t you ask me for some money?”

“You have to be kidding.” The huskiness of anger remained in her voice although much of the heat of it had burned off. “I don’t want to be dependent on you for every penny. And asking you only invites insults that make me feel cheap.”

“You aren’t cheap. You should take a look at some of the checks I’ve written lately and you’d know you haven’t been a bargain!” he flared.

“It always comes back to money, doesn’t it?” Tamara murmured in a low, taut voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were typing to earn money? Why was it such a secret?” Bick demanded.

“I don’t have to tell you every single thing I do. As it is, you make me feel like I’m being held hostage for twenty thousand dollars,” she protested. “And it isn’t fair!”

“You aren’t staying here against your will,” he stated, and released a hard laugh. “As a matter of fact, there isn’t an unwilling bone in your body!”

He started across the room toward her. The unwavering grimness of his look warned Tamara that he intended to prove his statement. She took a step backward and bumped against a table. Before she could move sideways out of his path, his hand was snaring her arm and pulling her back.

“No!” The animal cry of protest came from her throat as she struggled and struck out at him.

She was hauled against his chest, his strength overpowering her. The few of her blows that landed glanced harmlessly off his muscled frame. He pinned her arms to her sides and scooped her kicking legs into the air. Tamara twisted and strained violently as he carried her out of the living room down the hall to the master bedroom.

Kicking the door shut, he crossed the room to drop her on the bed. Before she could roll to the other side, Bick was there to pull her back, pinning her to the mattress with his crushing weight. When she tried to turn away from the assault of his mouth, he grabbed a handful of hair and forced her surrender. But Tamara continued to resist, her hands straining to push at his chest while her legs tried to wiggle out of the scissors grip of his.

“You brute! Let me go!” Her protest was a hoarse burst of impotence and frustration.

“You don’t want me to make love to you?” Bick murmured against her throat.

“No.”

“Like hell you don’t.” He bruised her mouth
with his lips, then lifted his head to add a taunting, “I can feel you trembling.”

It was true, Tamara realized. An inflaming heat was spreading through her skin, melting her resistance even as she tried not to weaken.

“Bick, you’re hurting me.” It was hard to breath with the weight of his chest crushing her lungs.

He eased the pressure of his pinning weight and the force of his kiss became persuasive. “You deserve to be punished after the agony I went through this afternoon when I saw you in that hotel.”

“You shouldn’t have jumped to such an awful conclusion without talking to me first,” Tamara replied in a voice that quivered from the delicious havoc his lips were creating. “That wasn’t fair.”

His hands began seeking out her curves. “Where is it written in our marriage contract that I have to be fair?” he questioned softly. “Is it fair the way you tangle me in knots? You get near me and I can’t tell black from white.”

It became a wondrous struggle to prove who affected the other more. When it was over, Tamara didn’t know whether she had won or lost. It didn’t really matter, she decided, and snuggled closer against Bick, watching the play of her fingers over the muscled tautness of his shoulder.

“I’ve decided what we’re going to do for the rest of the evening,” Bick murmured as he nuzzled her ear.

“What?” She turned her head on the pillow to
look at him, forcing Bick to abandon his idle munching.

While his green eyes roamed sexily over her face, his hand glided across her stomach to cup the fullness of a breast in its palm. “We’re going to spend it right here in this bed—unless you have a better idea.”

“Not a one,” Tamara admitted.

He shifted to remove his arm from beneath her shoulders and take the pillow from beneath her head. The movement slipped the satin sheet lower on his hips as he bent over her.

“One more thing, though.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I don’t want you doing any more typing for anybody. I’ll give you an allowance so you can have some spending money.”

“No.” That spark of independence flared in her look. “I don’t want you to give me anything.”

“You don’t?”

Tamara was surprised to see amusement twitching his mouth when she expected anger. “No, I don’t,” she replied warily.

“You don’t want me to give you …
anything?”
The suggestive pause was deliberate and heavy with passionate implication.

It caught at her breath. Bick didn’t have to wait for an answer because it was written in her look. “You know what I meant,” she whispered.

“Then show me what you didn’t mean,” he challenged, and opened his mouth on her lips.

The kiss had just begun to deepen and flame with the portent of what was to come when there was a sharp knock at their bedroom door, catching
them both by surprise. Bick struggled for a normal breath.

“Yes, what is it?” he demanded and frowned at the interruption.

No permission had been granted to enter, but the knob was being turned anyway. Swearing under his breath, Bick pulled the sheet over Tamara and elevated himself on an elbow to glare at the housekeeper. There were pinched lines of disapproval in her expression at finding them in bed at this hour of the day, but no embarrassment.

“I beg your pardon,” she said insincerely, “but there is a gentleman on the telephone for you. I couldn’t understand his name because his accent was much too thick.”

“Hans!” Bick breathed in the name and glanced sharply at his watch. “My God, we were supposed to meet him for dinner five minutes ago!” He stretched across Tamara to pick up the telephone extension on the bedside table while the housekeeper silently withdrew. The telephone cord was too short and Bick had to remain angled across her, a position neither of them minded. “Hello, Hans? … Yes, we’re running a little bit late. What? …” A smile touched his mouth as he glanced at Tamara. “I had a family matter that demanded my attention, but we’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” After saying goodbye, he reached over to replace the receiver on the hook, then paused above her. “I forgot I promised we would join him for dinner.”

“I guess that means we’ll have to cancel our
previous plans.” She sighed and half-smiled in regret.

“We’ll take a raincheck for tomorrow night.”

“I might have a headache tomorrow night,” she suggested playfully.

“I’ll have the cure.” He claimed her mouth in a long, sensuous kiss to prove his self-confidence wasn’t misplaced, but her response was more than he had bargained for, and he dragged his mouth from hers with an effort. “Tamara, we’re going to be late.”

She lifted a hand to trace the outline of his mouth, warm from the kiss. “I can’t get out of bed until you move,” she reminded him with infuriating logic.

His hand captured the fingers teasing his mouth and slammed them to the mattress beside her head. He did the same with the other hand and pinned both to the mattress above her head. With his position of dominance established, his gaze suddenly glazed with the knowledge.

“Hell, what does it matter if we’re thirty minutes late?” he muttered thickly and lowered his head to show her how they were going to spend the extra minutes.

As it turned out, they were forty-five minutes late arriving at the hotel. Hans Zimmer was polite enough not to point out the fact to them. Although the German field representative spoke in a monotonous voice and wrestled with the English language, Tamara was entertained by his witty and astute observations about the
United States, which kept the social-business evening from dragging.

While they were having coffee, the man in charge of the conventions held at the hotel stopped by the table to thank Tamara for being so prompt with the typing. At Bick’s invitation, he stayed to have a cup of coffee with them. During the short but friendly conversation he had with Bick, the man unconsciously confirmed everything Tamara had said.

But having her story proved true wasn’t any consolation for her. Tamara was aware that Bick’s remarks had invited the confirmation or a denial, because he hadn’t completely believed her. When the man left, Tamara took a sip of coffee that had suddenly become very bitter.

Lowering her voice so their German table companion wouldn’t overhear what she said, she murmured to Bick, “Now you won’t have to waste precious time tomorrow calling the hotel to confirm what I was doing here, will you?”

He flashed her a silencing look, but she knew she was right. And it hurt.

Bick awakened slowly and turned to look at his bed partner. The drowsy remnants of sleep vanished from his eyes at the empty pillow beside his. His gaze began a swift arc of the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of Tamara sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her, leaning over the backrest to gaze out the window.

“You’re awake kind of early this morning, aren’t you?” He tossed back the covers and swung out of bed.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep,” she responded absently without turning to look at him.

It had happened several times in recent days, Bick remembered. He had already guessed the cause, since her mother’s condition had deteriorated rapidly in the past two weeks. He had noticed when he had paid his regular visit on Saturday. Now Tamara was beginning to lose
sleep because of it, but he had been reluctant to discuss it with her, not wanting to upset her more.

But it bothered him the way Tamara sat staring out the window while he dressed, as if maintaining some silent vigil. He walked to the sofa and laid a hand on her shoulder. Other than a downward glance at his hand, she didn’t move.

“Worried about your mother?” he asked gently.

Pressing her lips together, she gave him a hesitant nod of affirmation. The action let him see the pale and weary look of her face. Bick was glad of the distraction since he couldn’t think of a single word to offer her in comfort.

“You are beginning to look peaked,” Bick observed. “In addition to all this worrying, you aren’t still doing typing as well?”

“Yes, I am.” There was no hesitation in her answer. Despite the time that had passed, it was still a sore subject between them.

“Give it up, Tamara,” he urged. “You are putting too much pressure on yourself. Considering how much money I’ve already spent on your behalf, what difference does it make if I give you an allowance too?” As soon as it was out, Bick knew he had put his foot in his mouth again. He wanted to kick himself.

Stiffly she uncurled her legs and rose from the couch. “I don’t want to discuss it.” She walked away from him, her fingers nervously linked in front of her. “You’d better go have your breakfast or you’ll be late.”

Bick hesitated, wanting to undo the damage he’d done—but how? Impatient that he found no answer, he left the room. How in the world did he run a national corporation when he couldn’t even manage his wife? The answer to that one he had. With Tamara, he was emotionally involved and vulnerable.

The incident plagued him all morning. Before leaving for lunch, he told Mrs. Davies to cancel all his appointments after three o’clock. He had decided to leave the office early and pick up Tamara at her mother’s so she wouldn’t have that long bus ride home. Maybe he could buy her a present—or take her out to dinner. The latter sounded the wisest. It wouldn’t be misinterpreted.

He was clearing his desk to leave when Mrs. Davies rang through. “There is a Ms. Kent on line one. She says it’s urgent.”

Bick immediately switched over to the call. “Sadie. Is anything wrong?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s Lucretia—Mrs. James.”

He could hear the emotion choking her voice. “I’ll be right over,” he promised grimly.

“Do you … do you know where Tamara is? I called the house but she isn’t there. And I—”

“Do you mean she isn’t with her mother—with you?” he said incredulously.

“No. She was here for an hour or so in the morning, then left. Don’t you know where she is either?” He could hear the panic in the nurse’s voice.