The Hostage Bride (12 page)

“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 fractionally 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.

“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.

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?” she countered. At the sudden clenching of a muscle in his jaw, she changed the subject. “I think Mother would like to congratulate us.”

“Of course.” The pressure of his hand on her waist guided her to the side of the bed where Tamara bent to kiss the flaccid cheek of her mother.

“You make a beautiful bride, Tamara.” Her
mother beamed and glanced at Bick. “Make her happy. She deserves to be.”

“I promise you, Mother James, that I will do everything I can to make certain Tamara receives all that she deserves,” he replied, and Tamara was the only one who heard the alternate meaning in his vow.

“Time to cut the cake.” Sadie wheeled the trolly cart into the bedroom so Lucretia James could observe the wedding ritual.

Leaving her mother’s bedside, Tamara was escorted by Bick to the cart. The flat cake was inscribed with their names and decorated with ribbons and rosettes of frosting. Tamara’s hand shook slightly as she held the cake knife with its lace bow on the handle and cut the first slice. The flashbulb on Sadie’s camera went off when Tamara raised the piece of cake to Bick’s mouth and watched him take the bite.

Then it was her turn. She was nervously conscious of the tanned fingers offering the cake to her and the intensity of his watching gaze. Her attempt at a small bite resulted in a smear of thick, creamy frosting coating her lips. The cake tasted dry when she swallowed it hastily in order to lick the excess frosting from her lips. She couldn’t get it all and reached for a napkin stamped with silver wedding bells.

She never got the napkin to her mouth as Bick’s hand closed around her wrist to stop her. “No.” The soft word was followed by a gentle tug that brought her close.

Turning her slightly to block her from the view of the few wedding guests, he lowered his
head and opened his mouth on her lips, his tongue darting out to lick away the frosting with infinitely thorough care. The pure sensuality of his action drew a sighing moan from her throat. She could taste the sweetness of melting frosting, unsure whether it came from his tongue or her own.

The minister coughed delicately and Bick pulled away, breathing in deeply for control. Scarlet flames stained Tamara’s cheeks, the embarrassed flush spreading down her neck.

“I’ll cut the rest of the cake now,” Sadie volunteered, stepping forward to pick up the knife. “Would you want to take a slice to your mother?”

“Yes.” Tamara seized the chance to escape the man whose caress nearly robbed her of any feeling of shame. It was unnerving to be infected with such wantoness, even if he was her husband.

Bick didn’t attempt to keep her at his side when she took the china dessert plate with its wedding cake and silverware to her mother’s bed. Aware that his eyes followed her, she sat on the edge of the bed to feed her mother the cake.

“You do love him very much, don’t you?” her mother stated.

Tamara didn’t argue. “Is it so obvious?” she said instead. Her mother’s sigh was a long, sad sound that made Tamara study her with anxious eyes. “What’s the matter, Mama?”

“I am happy, but”—she hesitated on the qualifying word—“but I just realized that I won’t live long enough to see my grandchildren.”

Tamara couldn’t smother the audible gasp as a rush of tears burned her eyes. “Oh, Mama.” She bit at her lip.

“Please don’t cry,” her mother scolded. “I am truly happy. There was a time when I thought I would never meet the man you would marry. I feel very lucky. You can’t know how relieved I am that you won’t be shouldering all this responsibility on your own anymore. There is someone to care for you now.”

“Someone to look after both of us,” Tamara corrected.

“Yes, that’s true. And don’t you go rushing and try to have a baby right away because of what I said,” her mother added.

“I won’t. Besides, Bick doesn’t want children right away.” She thought that was a safe guess, considering his apparent lack of trust in her.

“That is wise. It’s good to have time together first.”

Pop!
The champagne cork sailed into the air. Tamara turned to look as Bick let the foam from the sparkling wine bubble into the first of a row of glasses.

“Set the cake on the bedside table and go drink your toast,” her mother ordered.

By the time Tamara had set the plate on the table and risen from the bed, Bick had crossed the room to bring her glass. The toast was a simple wish for their happiness, offered by Adam, but Tamara wondered afterward if the wish was truly simple.

Very soon the conversation began to lag. Bick glanced at her mother. “I believe the excitement
is beginning to tire you, Mother James. It’s time we left.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she agreed so concisely. “Your honeymoon is going to be very short. You will want to enjoy every minute of it.”

Bick swirled the remaining champagne in his glass with absent concentration. “Yes, we will. Unfortunately, the bridegroom has to go to work in the morning.” He drained the glass and tossed Tamara a veiled look. “But I think my bride would have been homesick for her mother if we had taken a trip.”

“We have been very close,” her mother said.

“We will always be,” Tamara promised.

The goodbyes began and a reissuance of congratulations. The ever-romantic Sadie even managed to shower them with a handful of rice as they walked out the door. As Bick helped her into the car, Tamara’s gaze was drawn back to the house. Even though Sadie had given up her apartment and moved in to be with her mother at night, she felt tugged in two directions. Despite her half-formed anxiety toward her marriage, Tamara couldn’t deny she was excited by the man who was her husband, but the feeling of responsibility for her mother was equally strong. Bick noticed the direction of her gaze and flicked a backward glance at the house.

“I wonder if your mother knows the lengths you are willing to go for her,” he mused with faint cynicism.

The comment was one that went over and over in her mind during the drive to his house. How
much of her decision to marry was because of her mother and their resulting financial dilemma? Tamara realized that she wouldn’t have accepted this proposition from just any man. Her attraction to Bick Rutledge was volatile and strong, bordering on love. She had to admit that her acceptance was due, in no small measure, to the man who had asked her.

Bick stopped the car in a cul de sac culminating in front of a brick, pillared mansion in a plush, residential area. Its size was awesome compared to the home she had known much of her life. Tamara felt the intimidation of its subdued grandeur as she followed Bick to the white double doors of the front entrance. Unconsciously she edged closer to him.