The Hostage Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

his glance to her hand.
    “Nervous?” It was a low, one-word question, containing the inflection of an amused taunt.
    Embarrassment trembled through her body at the way he had drawn attention to the moistness of her palm instead of courteously ignoring it. The backlash of humiliation stiffened her pride and permitted her to meet his probing gaze.
    “Yes,” she admitted.
    “You needn’t be, Miss James. Miss—” The pause was to prompt Tamara into supplying her first name. When she hesitated, he murmured, “I can always check the employee records.”
    “Tamara James.” She gave it to him, along with a stiff smile.
    “Tamara James.” An eyebrow was lifted as he tested the name and he verbally concluded, “I like it.”
    Just for a minute, Tamara wondered if she was supposed to feel honored, but there wasn’t time for any feeling of irritation to grow. A movement in the doorway signaled the return of the man referred to as Adam. As he wheeled a swivel desk chair into Tamara’s office, she was being drawn forward to meet him by the hand that was still holding hers. Bickford Rutledge released it to let his arm curve around her waist. The action was very proprietorial and Tamara tried to take offense at it. It was as if he already owned her, body and soul. The insane part was she could summon no genuine objection.
    “Adam, I want you to meet Miss Tamara James.” Bickford Rutledge made the introduction since Harold Stein was still on the telephone. “Adam Slater is your counterpart in my organization,” he explained to her with a downward glance that fleetingly caressed her features and added to her tumultuous emotions. While his hand remained heavily on her waist, his gaze turned to the man with the chair. “Be easy on her, Adam,” he advised dryly. “She’s nervous about facing her new employers.”
    How much of her attack of nerves was causedby this confrontation with her new employer and the rather dire situation she was in? And how much was caused by Bickford Rutledge, the man? Awareness of the hard, male frame heating her side was licking through her nerve ends. It had been years since a man had disturbed her this way, and Tamara couldn’t recall it ever being to this extent.
    She wondered if her cheeks were flushed, if she were betraying this purely physical reaction to his touch. With an effort, Tamara forced her gaze to focus solely on the man in front of her. She wished there was a mirror around so she could see if the mask of cool professionalism was in place.
    “How do you do, Mr. Slater,” she greeted him, and stepped forward to politely shake hands with him. The side benefit of her action was that she succeeded in escaping the hand on her waist.
    “This is definitely my pleasure, Miss James,” he countered, a wide smile splitting his face.
    Adam Slater was almost as tall as Bickford Rutledge, but he was more slimly built, less muscled. His brown hair was a shade lighter than that of the president of the firm and lacked the fiery lights. His eyes were a warm brown, not the disconcerting green. There was nothing about him that made Tamara feel threatened. Not that she would describe Bickford Rutledge’s attitude toward her as menacing. The danger from him was much more subtle.
    Harold Stein hung up the telephone andturned to announce, “The sandwiches and coffee will be delivered in twenty minutes.” He took a step forward and nearly walked into the chair Adam had wheeled into the small office. “Oh,” he blinked. “You found another chair. We might as well sit down and make ourselves comfortable, don’t you think?” he suggested.
    As Tamara turned to follow through with his suggestion, she was facing the broad chest of Bickford Rutledge. There was very little room to maneuver around him.
    “Won’t you use my desk, Mr. Rutledge?” she offered, motioning to her chair.
    “I wouldn’t dream of putting you out.” He refused and stepped to one side so she could get by him. “Finish