The Hostage Bride by Janet Dailey Page B

the doctors. I can give you several numbers to call. One for our family doctor, the specialist’s number, his consultant, or maybe—”
    “That’s enough,” Bick snapped. “I am already convinced you were telling the truth about your mother.”
    “Am I supposed to be grateful?” she challenged, and pulled out a chair to sit at the table.
    “You told the truth about your mother, but there’s still that matter about the missing twenty thousand dollars,” he pointed out in sharp reminder.
    And now no insurance money to pay it back—and no job. “Yes, I know.” Tamara sighed and cupped both hands around the mug to warm her chilled flesh with its heat. “How am I going to explain this to my mother?” She lifted her gaze to meet his piercing look.
    “Tell her you have me wrapped around your little finger. I gave you the day off because I had been making you work so hard,” he jeered, letting her see that his opinion of her intention hadn’t changed. “I don’t know what you’re going to tell her. That’s your problem.”
    “What’s going to happen next?”
    He moved to stand near her chair. “Do you want me to give you the money?”
    “Would you?” A wary hope took the dullness from her blue eyes.
    Setting his cup on the table, he put a hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table in front of her and leaned down. “Why should I?” Bick challenged.
    “Because … you want to help me.” Considering the low opinion he held for her, there couldn’t be any other reason—not any more. His hard, lean features told her that.
    “What would I get out of it?” His hand left the table to curve around her throat and tilt her head back.
    Gripped by the throat, she couldn’t elude his mouth when it came down to capture hers and force a deeply passionate kiss that flamed her blood. He freed her lips to draw a breath while his hand slid from her throat to possessively cover the roundness of a breast with his palm.
    “Lady, you’d be an expensive lay.” His insolent comment prompted her into slapping his hand away. The action merely drew a smile as Bick straightened. “And what would it accomplish? It might get you out of trouble for the moment, but inside of a month you’d be badly in need of money again. That probably doesn’t concern you, though,” he taunted. “With your beauty, charm, and body, you’ll find yourself another sucker to supply the cash. That insurance policy is a good ploy. Maybe the next guy won’t be smart enough to check on it.”
    “I didn’t deliberately lie about that,” she insisted. “I told you I didn’t know my mother had cashed it in.”
    “So you said.” His mouth thinned in grim skepticism, and he turned to walk to the door.
    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 hewalked to the